The girl had given him courage, since her tiny offering still lay upon the bunk. Unconsciously he reached for it and twirled the silver-plated barrel. It was fully loaded with six cartridges.

"Two guns," he said. "I'll go!"

He moved not too quickly to the door and bent down. The lock was on the inside, held by four small screws. He tested the bolt by pressing against a panel with his shoulder. A click sounded in the chamfer.

Searching his pocket with his freed hand, he touched a ten-cent piece, drew this out and eyed it. It would do as a screw driver, and he found the slot of the first screw. It turned easily enough then; rapidly he worked with every nerve alert. Boats arrived and pushed off from the side of the ship; the crew were busy in the forehold; a watch-tackle creaked; and coarse remarks rolled along the deck. The poachers were intent on getting the seal pelts stored below before morning.

Stirling removed the third screw from the lock, pocketed it and drew back for a last glance through the porthole. A streak of yellow and a flaming whorl had shot athwart the sky; dawn was breaking swiftly in the Arctic east. It presaged a cloudless day.

He returned to the door, after listening intently, and tore the loosened lock from the woodwork. Tossing this to the bunk, he strained with his fingertips, digging deeply into the nearest panel. The door slid open on noiseless guides, and a breath of salty air greeted him.

He felt to see if both revolvers were in his pockets, then, working rapidly, arranged a rude dummy in the bunk. This he formed out of a blanket and two southwesters, so that it resembled the sleeping form of a man. He stepped to the door with a dry chuckle of satisfaction, and went out on deck and close under the rail without being detected.

Raising his bare head, he glanced toward the island, with its looming shadows and rocky walls. Below these walls were the homes of the great bull seals and their mates. The animals had been disturbed, and their barking and roar blended with the sound of the waves on the sand.

Beyond, and to leeward of the bull herd, were richer rookeries where had gathered the bachelor seals and those denied the other homes. It was to this portion of the beach that Marr had guided his hunters, and they had made short work of most of the bachelor seals. They had plied capstan bars, while the Kanakas and Gay Islanders had done the skinning.

Stirling saw the white sheen of a whaleboat being paddled out to the ship. He reached into his pocket, removed the automatic which Eagan had given him, and crept on hands and knees toward the forepeak.

Five of the crew were below in the hold from whence a light struck upward and illuminated the standing rigging and spars of the ship. A voice called from the quarter-deck. It was Whitehouse who stood there, Marr having gone ashore with the raiders.

Stirling watched his chance and stood erect. There seemed no way to fail. The ship swung with gentle tugging in the bight of a whale line that had been lashed to a small anchor. The double line showed distinctly from the position where he stood. He had but to rush forward, lean over, sever the line, and get back to the cabin before Whitehouse discovered that the ship was adrift.

The Ice Pilot turned and stared along the deck to where the mate's figure moved grotesquely behind the canvas rail. Two or three seamen had hurried aft to meet the outcoming boat, and they mounted the poop ladder on the weather side and joined Whitehouse.

Stirling reached the heel of the foremast after cautiously rounding the fore hatch. His eyes hardened as he lifted his hand, poised it before him, and took one step toward the capstan and the starboard-anchor davit to which the whale line had been fastened.

Then like a scarlet snake with myriad scales, there rose from the island a rocket which reached to the higher skies, curved, and burst into a star shower of green and blue lights. The flare from this rocket brought out the rookeries and the whaleboats; the dead, skinned seals; the crouched figures of the crew ashore. It bathed the entire ocean with sinister light; it struck a spike of terror into the raiders' hearts.

They threw down skinning knives and bludgeons. They charged down across the red sands and thrust out the boats, glancing back with blanched faces as they frantically rowed toward the ship.

Stirling heard Whitehouse roll out a string of oaths which were as lurid as the rocket's warning glare. A stout shout sounded from Marr, who was in the leading whaleboat. Fire doors were opened below deck, scoops grated across the stokehold plates, the first engineer climbed swiftly to the companion and sprang out on deck.

The seal raiders were discovered; the guards had been warned on the other islands of the group. A wireless message was even then flashing across the waters of the Bering Sea. The Bear, or some other ship, would be down upon them.

Stirling realized exactly what had happened, and his brain worked swiftly. There was yet time to cut the anchor lines, but this would be done by the returning crew. In no other way could they sheer the ship from the shore and make to open sea.

He stepped back, brushed against a seaman who had risen from the forehatch, and rounded the galley house before the startled sailor could detect who had pressed against him.

The door to the cabin was slightly open. Stirling thrust through his fingers and tugged, then slipped inside and closed the door. Still thinking clearly, he shoved the two guns under the mattress of his bunk, screwed the lock back in place, then lay down and replaced the cuff over his freed wrist.

A quiet smile wreathed his face as he listened to the sounds which floated in through the open porthole. Curses and commands mingled in a jargon; boats were hurriedly hoisted to their positions on the davits; seamen sprang to the decks and rushed forward.

A bell sounded in the engine room; the screw thrashed and bit deeply into the sea. The Pole Star swung, cleared the beach by a scant cable's length, and drove out toward the north and east.

A grim face darkened the porthole, and Marr's glance bored the gloom of the cabin until he discerned Stirling's form on the bunk.

"You're there!" he said, bitterly. "Well, you'll stay there for some time. You and that rat Eagan came near spoiling our plans."

Stirling did not answer the irate skipper, thinking an answer beneath him. It was plainly evident, however, that Eagan was out of the lives of the men aboard the Pole Star. He had awakened the entire Bering Sea against the poachers.

Driving rapidly, under all steam and a well-set foresail and main, the Pole Star lay the island of St. Paul over her counter as the sun brightened the waters of the Bering Sea to the eastward.

The alarm had been given; they were in great danger. Watchers on the island, including Eagan, would see the poacher going spars down before they laid aside their glasses. Its course would be given to the first government boat raised by wireless. It was more than probable that the Bear would take up the chase by noon.

Stirling felt the swift shift of helm which came at sunrise. Marr had realized his danger and had sheered toward the west at least two points. This course, by magnetic compass, would bring the ship broadside of Siberia and into the wide mouth of the Gulf of Anadir.

The galley boy, accompanied by Whitehouse, appeared at the cabin door as the ship's bell was struck eight times. The mate noticed the loose condition of the lock as he inserted his own key. He stepped inside and examined the screws which Stirling had hastily replaced, his glance shrewd and hard.

"You'll go aft!" he said in bitter tones. "We're not taking any chances with you from now on. It's a blym long woiy from here to the port we'll reach some doiy."

Stirling sat upright and reached for the food which the boy had brought on a tin tray. He drank the coffee, smiling as Whitehouse lingered in the open doorway.

The two men locked glances. Stirling's eyes held, steady and penetrating, but Whitehouse turned with a quick oath. "I'll be back," he said over his shoulder as he vanished from the opening.

The galley boy was gathering up the tins and cups when Marr appeared, followed by the mate. The little skipper looked somewhat the worse for the events of the night—his face was unshaven, a splotch of dried seal's blood showed on his cheek, one hand was bandaged, and his eyes were sunken and red-rimmed.

"Had your lock off," he said, as he clapped a hand to his side pocket and strode into the cabin. "Well, you didn't do much. Eagan did it all. At that we got enough seals to make expenses."

Stirling crossed his wrists and clicked the irons.

"Better release me," he said with sincere directness. "It'll go mighty hard, Marr, as it is. A little more and you will swing as sure as there is a law in this sea. I don't doubt that Eagan will manage to run you down. It isn't the time of MacLane and the others whom you have imitated."

"Confound you and Eagan—the stool! He don't know my course."

"He knows you gammed that Japanese sealer off Rat Island. That's almost enough to know. I'd advise you to swing to Dutch Pass, surrender to the port officer there, and get off light."

Marr whipped out a string of imprecations. "I'm a hard man!" he finished by saying. "I brook no interference. You'll go aft and into a strong room, where you'll stay for the balance of the voyage, eh, Mr. Whitehouse?"

"This cabin won't 'old 'im," the mate declared, fumbling with the lock. "E's too blym near the crew and the steerage. The starboard room aft the cross alleyway is the place for our friend here."

"It's too darned good!" exclaimed Marr. "Stand up, Stirling. We'll lead you to your new home."

Stirling was of two minds. There was scant chance for resistance as he twisted and untwisted the handcuff chain. He glanced about the cabin. The objects of personal value most certainly would be stolen by the crew or the galley crowd, and he prized a few of these beyond price.

"I want my things," he said in cool resignation. "Let me bundle up a few geegaws and I'll come along. It'll take me five minutes."

Marr tapped his side pocket suggestively. "Go ahead," he said, backing from the cabin and glancing meaningly toward Whitehouse. "Five minutes, you get. No more! Take off his cuffs."

The two seamen stood between the cabin door and the rail of the ship, and whispered each to the other, but Stirling could not catch their words. He stood erect, turned slowly, and reached under the mattress as Marr gripped Whitehouse by the arm and pointed toward the horizon.

Stirling's hands came away with the little revolver which the girl had passed in to him. This he thrust down between his collar and neck, and its chill sent a remembered thrill through his body.

Whitehouse stuck his head within the doorway. "Be deuced quick habout hit!" he snarled. "Get your traps and come along. There's a smudge o' smoke to windward."

"Glad of that!" said Stirling, stooping on one knee and reaching for his dunnage bag. "I hope it's the Bear or the Corwin or the cutter we saw going for the Arctic. She's about due back."

"Bally fine chance!" Whitehouse snickered. "More likely she's a blubber hunter tryin' out. It's more than likely."

Stirling knew better than this. No ships in the Bering whaled for oil; that pursuit was confined to Southern seas.

Marr was plainly nervous as he led Stirling toward the after part of the Pole Star, and kept glancing to the south and west. He halted on the poop steps and stared downward.

Whitehouse followed Stirling. The mate had motioned the crew to one side, and they had gathered in the waist, jeering as the trio passed them. They, too, were nervous. The smudge of smoke had widened to a splotch which streaked the horizon; a ship of some kind was dashing parallel to the course taken by the Pole Star.

The chase was on.

Stirling hitched his dunnage bag under his left arm and turned as he reached the quarter-deck. His eyes were the best upon the whaler, and he knew every ship that came into Bering Sea. He threw all his power into determining the nature of the fast-flying stranger, then he smiled slowly. She was the Bear. A vague sense of the position of the masts and the rake of the funnel told him that the redoubtable revenue cutter had received Eagan's message from St. Paul Island. She was coming with the speed of the wind, and was not more than seven knots astern.

Marr realized that Stirling had detected the name of the pursuer, and his face clouded. He shouted an order to the wheelsman, then sprang to the speaking tube which led down to the engine room. A volcano of smoke belched from the Pole Star's funnel. She swerved like a skater on ice, and the deck planks vibrated and trembled. A bellow of rage and defiance came from the crew at the change of course; they lined the rail and stared over the sparkling sea, shaking their grimy fists and calling down anathemas.

"Come on," cried Whitehouse into Stirling's ear. "Get down to your cabin. It'll be a blym long time before that revenue ship gets in range of us. I think we are the faster."

Stirling followed the mate through the cabin companion and down to an alleyway. At the starboard end of this Whitehouse inserted a key in a lock and slid open a door, motioning inside with a jerk of his thumb.

The Ice Pilot found himself in a small stateroom which was trimmed with maple and white tiling. He dropped his dunnage bag as the mate closed the door and turned the bolt, and his eyes roamed about the cabin.

The single porthole, set deep in the double skin of the ship, was brass-rimmed and no larger than a small dinner plate. It could be opened by turning two bronze wing screws, and the view through it was upon a patch of water, with swift-flowing ice darting by.

"Prison or palace?" he said as he turned and studied the cabin, swaying with the motion of the ship. The list was slightly to port. Some sail had been spread to catch a light breeze which had sprung up with the sun. The deck overhead resounded with gliding steps; Marr and the mate were doing everything possible to hold their speed.

The cabin's furnishings were yachtlike and serviceable. The bunk was covered with a hair mattress and an eiderdown counterpane. Over it were two brass racks for luggage and dunnage, and on the opposite wall a washbowl and towel rack could be folded into a seat. Pictures were strewed about, which were all marines painted by a decorator of merit.

Stirling glanced from one to the other. Tropic scenes brought to mind the incongruity of their latitude—the Pole Star was hustling from the equator as fast as steam could drive her. Her last course was toward the barren land of Siberia and the upper headland of the Gulf of Anadir. It was terra incognita to most seamen and all save a few whale-ships or traders.

Stirling examined the lock of his door. It was far stronger than the one in the galley cabin, and had been set within the wood and mortised so that only a small, flat keyhole showed.

He bent his head and listened. A step had glided along the alleyway. It was repeated in shuffling motion, going from starboard to port and back again across the ship. Whitehouse had left a seaman on guard.

Stirling stood erect and squared his shoulders, towering almost to the dunnage-racks over the white bunk. His eyes hardened as he glanced from the green-filled porthole to the door and back. The cabin was a secure prison, as Marr had said. It would require considerable ingenuity to escape from it. The sentry on guard was sure to be armed with one of the sealing rifles; he would be changed each watch.

The ship hurtled onward toward the Siberian coast. The screw thrashed astern, bit deeply into the waves, and thrashed again—each time the foam boiled astern the ship trembled and racked.

Bells clanged; shouts sounded; running feet were overhead; blocks creaked; the wind freshened and called for more canvas. The menace astern crept up to a four-mile range. A gun boomed across the wild waste of Northern waters. A shot fell to windward; another followed. Then, and slowly, the grip of the pursuer was shaken off. Superspeed, a fair wind, and a straining stokehold crew, made the slight difference.

Stirling frowned as he sensed that the Bear was being distanced. He opened the porthole glass and pressed his face to the aperture. He could see little save following seas and ice floes. The revenue cutter was somewhere astern. Her guns were silent; this meant that the range had increased to useless distance.