For a moment the little group paused on the summit of the ridge, and gazed down at the inlet with the brig floating amid the great cakes of ice.

“Gosh, we weren’t far off after all!” exclaimed Jim.

Sergeant Manley smiled. “You don’t have to be far off to get lost up here,” he said, “and I’m blessin’ the day we met you. Best of luck all around. Saved you boys, saved us the Lord alone knows how many weeks of mushing it, and ended the hunt for Jacquet.”

“Aye, an’ nae forgettin’ the tidy bit o’ siller comin’ to our pockets,” put in the practical Campbell.

“Say, what are they doing on the shore?” cried Tom who had been studying the scene intently. “Look, they’ve got tents and I can see a lot of the men there. Why aren’t they on the brig?”

Sergeant Manley whipped out his glasses and focused them on the shore of the inlet.

“Something queer!” he exclaimed. “Wonder if the Ruby’s stove too. Let’s go.”

The next moment the powerful Newfoundlands were tearing down the slope with the lighter, cream-colored Eskimo dogs in the rear, and with the two stalwart policemen riding the runners and “yip-yiing” at the teams. Like the wind the sleds raced down the steep hillside, and the two boys bent their heads as the cold wind whistled across their faces.

Out on to the flat they dashed, and leaping off, the two officers brought their teams to a sudden halt within a dozen yards of the first tent.

“Wall, I’ll be squeegeed!” cried Cap’n Pem as he turned at the sound of the party’s arrival. “Where’n——” Then, catching sight of the boys’ companions he leaped forward with a hop and a skip.

“By the etarnal, I’m glad to see ye!” he cried. “Nor’west perlice, ain’t ye? Where’n Sam Hill’d these youngsters pick ye up?”

“Any trouble?” demanded Sergeant Manley without stopping to reply to the old whaleman’s queries.

“Trouble!” exploded old Pem. “Mut’ny! Them there critters has seized the Ruby an’ won’t let nary a man aboard, dod gast their hides!”

“Where’s the captain?” snapped out the sergeant as he slipped his carbine from its sheath and Campbell did the same.

“Here he comes,” said Tom. “What started the mutiny, Cap’n Pem?”

“Them there gutter snipes!” replied the old whaleman. “Said this here was a salvage job an’ wouldn’t stir hand nor foot lessen we give ’em half the valer o’ the Narwhal’s cargo. I swan, I never heered o’ sech a thing. Never knowed a whaleman t’ talk o’ salvage. That’s what comes o’ these here unions an’ new-fangled idees.”

“Hello!” cried Captain Edwards, who now joined the group with Mike and the other members of the Narwhal’s company behind him. “See you’ve brought reËnforcements, boys. Glad you’re here, officers.”

“Understand you’ve a mutiny aboard,” said the Sergeant.

“Not my ship,” replied the captain, “that’s the trouble. We could rush ’em but they’ve got their skipper an’ mates there and she’s a British ship and I don’t know how far we Yankees could go.”

“Got any guns?” snapped out Manley.

“’Bout a dozen,” Captain Edwards assured him.

“Plenty!” declared the Sergeant. “Get your best men together, give them the guns, and I’ll take charge. Campbell, get the kayaks ready.”

Throwing off his mackinaw, Sergeant Manley strode forward, uttered sharp, crisp orders and with twelve of the Narwhal’s crew, including Nate, one-eyed Ned, Swanson, and Mr. Kemp, he marched to the waiting kayaks, ordering the men to shoot and shoot to kill if he gave the word. With ready carbine he stepped into a canoe. Behind him came the little flotilla. Instantly all was excitement on the decks of the brigantine. Men ran here and there. One or two leaped into the rigging, and the watching boys saw the flash of steel, and the glint of gun barrels.

“Golly, they’re going to fight!” exclaimed Jim.

“B’jabbers thin ’twill be a sorry day for thim!” declared Mike. “’Tis the King’s constabulary they do be afther resistin’, bad cess to thim.”

But the battle the boys expected never took place. No sooner did the mutineers recognize the police officers than all ideas of resistance were cast aside. Clambering on to the rail a man waved a white rag frantically in token of surrender. An instant later the kayaks were alongside, and Sergeant Manley and Campbell leaped over the bulwarks.

Cowed, with all the braggadocio gone from them, the Ruby’s crew backed away and stood muttering together near the foremast.

“Where’s the captain and mate?” snapped out the Sergeant, keeping the men covered with his weapon.

“Aft, in the cabin,” replied one of the men.

“Search that crowd, Campbell!” ordered the Sergeant, “and hold ’em.”

A minute later he reappeared accompanied by the skipper and his chief officer.

“Those are the ringleaders,” declared the captain, pointing to a big, bull-necked, low-browed fellow and a weasel-faced, shifty-eyed creature. “They started the trouble. Jones there’s the one killed the bo’sun.”

“That’s a lie!” roared the heavy man. “S’help me——”

“Silence!” roared Sergeant Manley. “Here, Campbell——”

With a quick motion, the bull-necked fellow whipped out a revolver. There was a sharp report and the mutineer plunged forward upon the deck and his gun clattered upon the planking. Campbell nonchalantly threw out the empty shell and snapped another into his carbine.

Terrified at the death of their leader, the mutineers, already frightened at the realization of their position, drew back with blanched faces while the rat-faced ringleader fell on his knees and pleaded for mercy.

“Get up!” ordered the Sergeant, and as the fellow rose a pair of handcuffs snapped upon his wrists.

“We’ll take him along with us,” announced Sergeant Manley. “Any others you want to lose, Captain?”

“I’d jolly well like to lose the whole bally lot,” replied the skipper earnestly, “but I can’t. Got to handle the ship you know.”

“Don’t think they’ll give you further trouble,” declared the Sergeant. “Have ’em searched. Keep ’em workin’ an’ carry a gun—each of you. Don’t forget you’re on a British ship and labor unions don’t go under that flag. You’re boss and let ’em know it. Expect those Yankees’ll be glad to lend you a hand with this crowd.”

Presently Captain Edwards and old Pem, with the remaining members of the Narwhal’s crew, came aboard; the few belongings of the shipwrecked whalemen were stowed and preparations were made for departure.

“Think I’ll go along with you to Rowe’s Welcome,” said Sergeant Manley as the whale boats were lowered and the repentant crew prepared to tow the Ruby out of the worst of the ice. “Have to report the loss of the Narwhal, and I’d like to see you safe on your way. Campbell, take the dogs and go overland.”

Then, as the brigantine moved slowly from the inlet, bumping her blunt bows into the floating ice and grinding between the cakes which went bobbing astern, the boys had their first chance to tell the story of their adventures.

“Thank heaven, this cruise is over—or near it!” cried Captain Edwards. “I’d be a nervous wreck if I had you boys to look after much longer, even if you do always come out smilin’ as a clam.”

“I’ll be b’iled if ye can’t git into more consarned scrapes’n a passel o’ monkeys!” declared Cap’n Pem. “Fast as ye’re outen one ye’re into a wusser.”

Mr. Kemp spat reflectively into the sea. “Some kids,” he remarked tersely.

At last the brigantine was clear of the shore ice, ahead stretched patches and lanes of open water, and under a light wind the Ruby went bumping and crashing on her way towards Rowe’s Welcome and the stove Narwhal.

“I suppose you men have a heap of queer adventures,” remarked Mr. Kemp as Sergeant Manley stopped for a chat. “I was mate with a chap what was in the force once, when I was on the destroyer.”

The Sergeant smiled. “Yes, we get our share,” he replied, “but most of ’em pretty much alike—runnin’ down renegades and outlaws. If any one wants plenty of exercise and out-doors air, I’ll recommend the force. To-day’s job’s the queerest I ever had yet, though. A Northwest policeman’s supposed to do most anything that turns up, but I’d never have dreamed of bein’ called on to board a ship and put down a mutiny.”

The next day the Ruby worked her way past Southampton Island into the Welcome. Eagerly the boys peered ahead for the first glimpse of the Narwhal and the village of their Eskimo friends.

“It’s been a fine cruise,” declared Jim, “but it makes me feel almost sick to think of leaving the old Narwhal here.”

“Humph!” snorted Cap’n Pem. “Ships has got ter go sometimes—same’s folks. Reckon the Welcome’s as good a place’s any ter let her ol’ bones rest. ’Sides, ye won’t lose nothin’, Dixon had her insured ter the limit.”

“That’s not it,” said Tom. “It’s like losing an old friend. Why, you know how we’d feel if we left you or any of the others up here, Cap’n Pem.”

The old whaleman turned his head, blew his nose loudly on his red cotton handkerchief and cleared his throat. “Derned if I don’t know jes how ye feel,” he replied. “Hate fer to see a ol’ ship go myself. Wall, there ain’t no help fer it. Everlastin’ lucky we salvaged all the cargo.”

“And luckier yet the Ruby was up here,” added Captain Edwards.

“Seems to me the whole trip’s been lucky—no matter what happened,” said Tom.

“Even with the cat,” laughed Jim.

“Gosh, where is she?” cried Tom. “I’d forgotten all about her and her kittens.”

“Lef’ her an’ t’others behin’,” said Cap’n Pem. “Ye didn’t think we could be a-totin’ a passel o’ cats ’long o’ us on that there sledge trip, did ye? Jes the same, I reckon I got ter take back what I said erbout her. Mebbe times has changed an’ cats is lucky now’days, what with injines an’ bumb lances an’ perlice a-puttin’ down mut’nies an’ all sech new-fangled contraptions.”

“Hurrah, you do admit it!” cried Jim. “If we keep on we’ll knock all your superstitions to pieces.”

But Cap’n Pem had not waited to hear.

A few minutes later, the Ruby rounded a jutting cape and there, before them, was the well-known cove with the Narwhal, forsaken and deserted, looming above the cakes of ice.

“Why, why—Gosh! She’s afloat!” cried Tom, hardly able to believe his eyes.

“Holy mackerel, she is!” agreed Mr. Kemp.

“I’ll be blowed!” exclaimed Captain Edwards. “By glory, we may go home in her yet!”

With wondering eyes the crew of the Narwhal gazed upon their schooner, for the ship they had left with her deck bulging above the bulwarks from the terrific pressure of the ice; the vessel whose stern had been raised high in air and that they were positive would sink to the bottom of the bay when the ice broke up, was now floating on an even keel, low in the water to be sure, but apparently sound and unhurt.

Scarcely had the Ruby’s anchor dropped over before Captain Edwards, Pem, Mr. Kemp, and the boys tumbled into a boat and were pulled rapidly to the Narwhal. Grasping the main chains, Tom leaped on to the deck and as he did so a ball of black fur sprang from a coil of rope and with a friendly “meow” the ship’s cat rubbed herself against the boy’s legs.

“Hurrah!” he shouted as the others jumped on to the deck. “It’s all right, here’s the cat!”

“Waall, I’ll be everlastin’ly swizzled!” cried Cap’n Pem as he looked about. “The ol’ deck’s dropped inter place. I’ll be b’iled if I think there’s a mite the matter with her!”

“Five feet of water in the hold,” announced Mr. Kemp who had been sounding the well.

“Course there is,” replied the captain. “May have sprung a leak, but if she did, it’s stopped now. If it hadn’t she’d have sunk. Reckon she dove off the ice too an’ shipped some down the for’ard hatch. Men, what do you say? Shall we take the chance and sail in the old Narwhal?”

“Aye! aye!” responded the men in chorus. “No lime juicers for us, long’s the schooner’s a-floatin’.”

“But how—how could she be squeezed all together as she was and be all right now?” asked Tom. “Why, her deck was like a hill and her bulwarks were bent in.”

Cap’n Pem chuckled and rubbed his hands together in glee. “Didn’t I tell ye whaleships was built to las’ forever?” he cried. “Bless yer souls! what’s a mite o’ squeezin’ to a ol’ hooker like the Narwhal. I bet ye she’s a-sailin’ an’ a-crusin’ an’ a-gettin’ jammed in the ice arter you an’ me and the rest ’re dead an’ gone. Yes, sir, nothin’ like a Yankee whaleship!”

All having agreed that they would sail home in the Narwhal, the crew were transferred from the Ruby. Then Sergeant Manley bade them all good luck and a quick voyage, and joining Campbell, who had arrived the day previously, he sped swiftly into the southwest towards distant Fort Churchill with his rat-faced mutineer prisoner.

With doleful shakes of his head the skipper of the Ruby said farewell, muttering something about “Yankees taking chances where no sane man would,” and hoisting sail, he headed his tubby old craft for the open sea.

Working steadily, toiling for hour after hour, the men pumped the water from the Narwhal. They labored with light hearts, for steadily they gained and when at last the pumps sucked, and the following day the sounding rod showed less than a foot of water, all knew that the schooner was tight and safe. Rapidly the long deck house was dismantled, the big foretopmast yard was sent up to the words of a rousing chantey, sails were bent on and running rigging rove. Then, like beavers, the men and the Eskimos toiled, bringing the casks of oils, the bales of whalebone, the great bundles of skins and hides, the sacks of ivory, and the countless other valuables, as well as stores and supplies, from the shore.

At last all was done. The last of the cargo was stowed. The standing rigging was taut and well tarred. The carpenter had patched the cracked rails and bulwarks, and had relaid some of the deck planks. The motor had been overhauled and tested. The sails hung loosely in their brails and the boats were at their davits. All this had taken much time to accomplish, and the Arctic spring had come swiftly to the land. The hills and valleys showed gray and bare. The black rocks loomed above the patches of sodden snow. The ice, rotten and spongy, had almost disappeared from the bay. The Eskimos’ igloos had long since gone, and the natives were living in their skin tents once more. Far overhead in the blue sky, the long files of geese and swans winged northward; great flocks of eiders gathered on the bay; curlew and snipe filled the night air with their plaintive whistling, and the snowbirds twittered from rocks and last year’s weeds.

For the last time the boys paddled ashore in their kayak and bade farewell to Nepaluka, to Newilic, to Kemiplu, the wrinkled old story teller, and to all their Eskimo friends whom they had grown to love and respect.

Then the clank of the windlass and the rousing chantey of the men warned them it was time to leave, and swiftly they paddled to the schooner, gave a farewell wave of their hands to the crowd of Eskimos ashore, and saw their little kayak hoisted to the deck.

Loudly the chantey rang over the bay. Loudly the Eskimos shouted and yelled as the dripping chain came in link by link, and the great anchor rose from the mud that had held it fast for half a year. Up the rigging the men sped. Quickly the huge sails were spread and sheeted home. Braces were manned, and the Narwhal slowly gathered way and the short seas splashed in spray from her forefoot. Out towards the vast reaches of the bay she sailed. Behind her, the land grew dim and faint. To a fair, stiff breeze she heeled, with every sail drawing, headed southward.

Battered by countless storms, scarred by ice, the veteran of a thousand battles with hurricanes and tempest, with crushing floes and grinding bergs, still staunch and sound, the gallant old schooner lifted her bow and plunged through the hissing green seas.

Safe within her old hold were the hard won treasures of the Arctic; yard long icicles and masses of frozen spray draped her bobstays, her rails, and her chains. But shaking the icy brine from her decks as she reared on the crests of the waves, sliding into the great hollows, crushing ice cakes with her shearing bows, she tore onward, while at braces and halyards and sheets the men roared out that most welcome and glorious of whaleman’s songs:

THE END