DUTCH COURAGE AND OTHER STORIES

by

JACK LONDON

New York

1924

[Illustration: JACK LONDON, SAILOR]

PREFACE

"I've never written a line that I'd be ashamed for my young daughters toread, and I never shall write such a line!"

Thus Jack London, well along in his career. And thus almost anycollection of his adventure stories is acceptable to young readers aswell as to their elders. So, in sorting over the few manuscripts stillunpublished in book form, while most of them were written primarily forboys and girls, I do not hesitate to include as appropriate a tale suchas "Whose Business Is to Live. "

Number two of the present group, "Typhoon Off the Coast of Japan, " isthe first story ever written by Jack London for publication. At the ageof seventeen he had returned from his deep-water voyage in the sealingschooner _Sophie Sutherland_, and was working thirteen hours a dayfor forty dollars a month in an Oakland, California, jute mill. The_San Francisco Call_ offered a prize of twenty-five dollars for thebest written descriptive article. Jack's mother, Flora London, remembering that I had excelled in his school "compositions, " urged himto enter the contest by recalling some happening of his travels. Grammarschool, years earlier, had been his sole disciplined education. But hiswide reading, worldly experience, and extraordinary powers ofobservation and correlation, enabled him to command first prize. It isnotable that the second and third awards went to students at Californiaand Stanford universities. 

Jack never took the trouble to hunt up that old _San FranciscoCall_ of November 12, 1893; but when I came to write his biography, "The Book of Jack London, " I unearthed the issue, and the tale appearsintact in my English edition, published in 1921. And now, gatheringmaterial for what will be the final Jack London collections, I cannotbut think that his first printed story will have unusual interest forhis readers of all ages. 

The boy Jack's unexpected success in that virgin venture naturallyspurred him to further effort. It was, for one thing, the pleasantestway he had ever earned so much money, even if it lacked the element ofphysical prowess and danger that had marked those purple days with theoyster pirates, and, later, equally exciting passages with the FishPatrol. He only waited to catch up on sleep lost while hammering out"Typhoon Off the Coast of Japan, " before applying himself to newfiction. That was what was the matter with it: it was sheer fiction inplace of the white-hot realism of the "true story" that had brought himdistinction. This second venture he afterward termed "gush. " It waspromptly rejected by the editor of the _Call_. Lacking experiencein such matters, Jack could not know why. And it did not occur to him tosubmit his manuscript elsewhere. His fire was dampened; he gave overwriting and continued with the jute mill and innocent social diversionin company with Louis Shattuck and his friends, who had supersededJack's wilder comrades and hazards of bay- and sea-faring. This period, following the publication of "Typhoon Off the Coast of Japan, " istouched upon in his book "John Barleycorn. "

The next that one hears of attempts at writing is when, during histramping episode, he showed some stories to his aunt, Mrs. Everhard, inSt. Joseph, Michigan. And in the ensuing months of that year, 1894, shereceived other romances mailed at his stopping places along the eastwardroute, alone or with Kelly's Industrial Army. As yet it had not sunkinto his consciousness that his unyouthful knowledge of life in the rawwould be the means of success in literature; therefore he discoursed ofimaginary things and persons, lords and ladies, days of chivalry andwhat not--anything but out of his priceless first-hand lore. At the sametime, however, he kept a small diary which, in the days when he hadfound himself, helped in visualizing his tramp life, in "The Road. "

The only out and out "juvenile" in the Jack London list prior to hisdeath is "The Cruise of the Dazzler, " published in 1902. At that it is agood and authentic maritime study of its kind, and not lacking in honestthrills. "Tales of the Fish Patrol" comes next as a book for boys; butthe happenings told therein are perilous enough to interest many anolder reader. 

I am often asked which of his books have made the strongest appeal toyouth. The impulse is to answer that it depends upon the particular typeof youth. As example, there lies before me a letter from a friend: "Ruth(she is eleven) has been reading every book of your husband's that shecan get hold of. She is crazy over the stories. I have bought nearly allof them, but cannot find 'The Son of the Wolf, ' 'Moon Face, ' and'Michael Brother of Jerry. ' Will you tell me where I can order these?" Ihave not yet learned Ruth's favorites; but I smile to myself at thoughtof the re-reading she may have to do when her mind has more fullydeveloped. 

The youth of every country who read Jack London naturally turn to hisadventure stories--particularly "The Call of the Wild" and its companion"White Fang, " "The Sea Wolf, " "The Cruise of the Snark, " and my ownjournal, "The Log of the Snark, " and "Our Hawaii, " "Smoke Bellew Tales, ""Adventure, " "The Mutiny of the Elsinore, " as well as "Before Adam, ""The Game, " "The Abysmal Brute, " "The Road, " "Jerry of the Islands" andits sequel "Michael Brother of Jerry. " And because of the last named, the youth of many lands are enrolling in the famous Jack London Club. This was inspired by Dr. Francis H. Bowley, President of theMassachusetts S. P. C. A. The Club expects no dues. Membership is automaticthrough the mere promise to leave any playhouse during an animalperformance. The protest thereby registered is bound, in good time, todo away with the abuses that attend animal training for show purposes. "Michael Brother of Jerry" was written out of Jack London's heart oflove and head of understanding of animals, aided by a years'-long studyof the conditions of which he treats. Incidentally this book containsone of the most charming bits of seafaring romance of the Southern Oceanthat he ever wrote. 

During the Great War, the English speaking soldiers called freely forthe foregoing novels, dubbing them "The Jacklondons"; and there was alsolively demand for "Burning Daylight, " "The Scarlet Plague, " "The StarRover, " "The Little Lady of the Big House, " "The Valley of the Moon, "and, because of its prophetic spirit, "The Iron Heel. " There waslikewise a desire for the short-story collections, such as "The God ofHis Fathers, " "Children of the Frost, " "The Faith of Men, " "Love ofLife, " "Lost Face, " "When God Laughs, " and later groups like "South SeaTales, " "A Son of the Sun, " "The Night Born, " and "The House of Pride, "and a long list beside. 

But for the serious minded youth of America, Great Britain, and allcountries where Jack London's work has been translated--youthconsidering life with a purpose--"Martin Eden" is the beacon. Passingyears only augment the number of messages that find their way to me fromnear and far, attesting the worth to thoughtful boys and girls, youngmen and women, of the author's own formative struggle in life andletters as partially outlined in "Martin Eden. "

The present sheaf of young folk's stories were written during the latterpart of that battle for recognition, and my gathering of them insidebook covers is pursuant of his own intention at the time of his death onNovember 22, 1916. 

 CHARMIAN LONDON. 

 Jack London Ranch, Glen Ellen, Sonoma County, California. August 1, 1922. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

 DUTCH COURAGE TYPHOON OFF THE COAST OF JAPAN THE LOST POACHER THE BANKS OF THE SACRAMENTO CHRIS FARRINGTON: ABLE SEAMAN TO REPEL BOARDERS AN ADVENTURE IN THE UPPER SEA BALD-FACE IN YEDDO BAY WHOSE BUSINESS IS TO LIVE

DUTCH COURAGE

"Just our luck!"

Gus Lafee finished wiping his hands and sullenly threw the towel uponthe rocks. His attitude was one of deep dejection. The light seemed goneout of the day and the glory from the golden sun. Even the keen mountainair was devoid of relish, and the early morning no longer yielded itscustomary zest. 

"Just our luck!" Gus repeated, this time avowedly for the edification ofanother young fellow who was busily engaged in sousing his head in thewater of the lake. 

"What are you grumbling about, anyway?" Hazard Van Dorn lifted asoap-rimmed face questioningly. His eyes were shut. "What's our luck?"

"Look there!" Gus threw a moody glance skyward. "Some duffer's got aheadof us. We've been scooped, that's all!"

Hazard opened his eyes, and caught a fleeting glimpse of a white flagwaving arrogantly on the edge of a wall of rock nearly a mile above hishead. Then his eyes closed with a snap, and his face wrinkledspasmodically. Gus threw him the towel, and uncommiseratingly watchedhim wipe out the offending soap. He felt too blue himself to take stockin trivialities. 

Hazard groaned. 

"Does it hurt--much?" Gus queried, coldly, without interest, as if itwere no more than his duty to ask after the welfare of his comrade. 

"I guess it does, " responded the suffering one. 

"Soap's pretty strong, eh?--Noticed it myself. "

"'Tisn't the soap. It's--it's _that!_" He opened his reddened eyesand pointed toward the innocent white little flag. "That's what hurts. "

Gus Lafee did not reply, but turned away to start the fire and begincooking breakfast. His disappointment and grief were too deep foranything but silence, and Hazard, who felt likewise, never opened hismouth as he fed the horses, nor once laid his head against their archingnecks or passed caressing fingers through their manes. The two boys wereblind, also, to the manifold glories of Mirror Lake which reposed attheir very feet. Nine times, had they chosen to move along its marginthe short distance of a hundred yards, could they have seen the sunriserepeated; nine times, from behind as many successive peaks, could theyhave seen the great orb rear his blazing rim; and nine times, had theybut looked into the waters of the lake, could they have seen thephenomena reflected faithfully and vividly. But all the Titanic grandeurof the scene was lost to them. They had been robbed of the chiefpleasure of their trip to Yosemite Valley. They had been frustrated intheir long-cherished design upon Half Dome, and hence were rendereddisconsolate and blind to the beauties and the wonders of the place. 

Half Dome rears its ice-scarred head fully five thousand feet above thelevel floor of Yosemite Valley. In the name itself of this great rocklies an accurate and complete description. Nothing more nor less is itthan a cyclopean, rounded dome, split in half as cleanly as an applethat is divided by a knife. It is, perhaps, quite needless to state thatbut one-half remains, hence its name, the other half having been carriedaway by the great ice-river in the stormy time of the Glacial Period. Inthat dim day one of those frigid rivers gouged a mighty channel from outthe solid rock. This channel to-day is Yosemite Valley. But to return tothe Half Dome. On its northeastern side, by circuitous trails and stiffclimbing, one may gain the Saddle. Against the slope of the Dome theSaddle leans like a gigantic slab, and from the top of this slab, onethousand feet in length, curves the great circle to the summit of theDome. A few degrees too steep for unaided climbing, these one thousandfeet defied for years the adventurous spirits who fixed yearning eyesupon the crest above. 

One day, a couple of clear-headed mountaineers had proceeded to insertiron eye-bolts into holes which they drilled into the rock every fewfeet apart. But when they found themselves three hundred feet above theSaddle, clinging like flies to the precarious wall with on either hand ayawning abyss, their nerves failed them and they abandoned theenterprise. So it remained for an indomitable Scotchman, one GeorgeAnderson, finally to achieve the feat. Beginning where they had leftoff, drilling and climbing for a week, he had at last set foot upon thatawful summit and gazed down into the depths where Mirror Lake reposed, nearly a mile beneath. 

In the years which followed, many bold men took advantage of the hugerope ladder which he had put in place; but one winter ladder, cables andall were carried away by the snow and ice. True, most of the eye-bolts, twisted and bent, remained. But few men had since essayed the hazardousundertaking, and of those few more than one gave up his life on thetreacherous heights, and not one succeeded. 

But Gus Lafee and Hazard Van Dorn had left the smiling valley-land ofCalifornia and journeyed into the high Sierras, intent on the greatadventure. And thus it was that their disappointment was deep andgrievous when they awoke on this morning to receive the forestallingmessage of the little white flag. 

"Camped at the foot of the Saddle last night and went up at the firstpeep of day, " Hazard ventured, long after the silent breakfast had beentucked away and the dishes washed. 

Gus nodded. It was not in the nature of things that a youth's spiritsshould long remain at low ebb, and his tongue was beginning to loosen. 

"Guess he's down by now, lying in camp and feeling as big as Alexander, "the other went on. "And I don't blame him, either; only I wish it werewe. "

"You can be sure he's down, " Gus spoke up at last. "It's mighty warm onthat naked rock with the sun beating down on it at this time of year. That was our plan, you know, to go up early and come down early. And anyman, sensible enough to get to the top, is bound to have sense enough todo it before the rock gets hot and his hands sweaty. "

"And you can be sure he didn't take his shoes with, him. " Hazard rolledover on his back and lazily regarded the speck of flag flutteringbriskly on the sheer edge of the precipice. "Say!" He sat up with astart. "What's that?"

A metallic ray of light flashed out from the summit of Half Dome, then asecond and a third. The heads of both boys were craned backward on theinstant, agog with excitement. 

"What a duffer!" Gus cried. "Why didn't he come down when it was cool?"

Hazard shook his head slowly, as if the question were too deep forimmediate answer and they had better defer judgment. 

The flashes continued, and as the boys soon noted, at irregularintervals of duration and disappearance. Now they were long, now short;and again they came and went with great rapidity, or ceased altogetherfor several moments at a time. 

"I have it!" Hazard's face lighted up with the coming of understanding. "I have it! That fellow up there is trying to talk to us. He's flashingthe sunlight down to us on a pocket-mirror--dot, dash; dot, dash; don'tyou see?"

The light also began to break in Gus's face. "Ah, I know! It's what theydo in war-time--signaling. They call it heliographing, don't they? Samething as telegraphing, only it's done without wires. And they use thesame dots and dashes, too. "

"Yes, the Morse alphabet. Wish I knew it. "

"Same here. He surely must have something to say to us, or he wouldn'tbe kicking up all that rumpus. "

Still the flashes came and went persistently, till Gus exclaimed: "Thatchap's in trouble, that's what's the matter with him! Most likely he'shurt himself or something or other. "

"Go on!" Hazard scouted. 

Gus got out the shotgun and fired both barrels three times in rapidsuccession. A perfect flutter of flashes came back before the echoes hadceased their antics. So unmistakable was the message that even doubtingHazard was convinced that the man who had forestalled them stood in somegrave danger. 

"Quick, Gus, " he cried, "and pack! I'll see to the horses. Our triphasn't come to nothing, after all. We've got to go right up Half Domeand rescue him. Where's the map? How do we get to the Saddle?"

"'Taking the horse-trail below the Vernal Falls, '" Gus read from theguide-book, "'one mile of brisk traveling brings the tourist to theworld-famed Nevada Fall. Close by, rising up in all its pomp and glory, the Cap of Liberty stands guard----"

"Skip all that!" Hazard impatiently interrupted. "The trail's what wewant. "

"Oh, here it is! 'Following the trail up the side of the fall will bringyou to the forks. The left one leads to Little Yosemite Valley, Cloud'sRest, and other points. '"

"Hold on; that'll do! I've got it on the map now, " again interruptedHazard. "From the Cloud's Rest trail a dotted line leads off to HalfDome. That shows the trail's abandoned. We'll have to look sharp to findit. It's a day's journey. "

"And to think of all that traveling, when right here we're at the bottomof the Dome!" Gus complained, staring up wistfully at the goal. 

"That's because this is Yosemite, and all the more reason for us tohurry. Come on! Be lively, now!"

Well used as they were to trail life, but few minutes sufficed to seethe camp equipage on the backs of the packhorses and the boys in thesaddle. In the late twilight of that evening they hobbled their animalsin a tiny mountain meadow, and cooked coffee and bacon for themselves atthe very base of the Saddle. Here, also, before they turned into theirblankets, they found the camp of the unlucky stranger who was destinedto spend the night on the naked roof of the Dome. 

Dawn was brightening into day when the panting lads threw themselvesdown at the summit of the Saddle and began taking off their shoes. Looking down from the great height, they seemed perched upon theridgepole of the world, and even the snow-crowned Sierra peaks seemedbeneath them. Directly below, on the one hand, lay Little YosemiteValley, half a mile deep; on the other hand, Big Yosemite, a mile. Already the sun's rays were striking about the adventurers, but thedarkness of night still shrouded the two great gulfs into which theypeered. And above them, bathed in the full day, rose only the majesticcurve of the Dome. 

"What's that for?" Gus asked, pointing to a leather-shielded flask whichHazard was securely fastening in his shirt pocket. 

"Dutch courage, of course, " was the reply. "We'll need all our nerve inthis undertaking, and a little bit more, and, " he tapped the flasksignificantly, "here's the little bit more. "

"Good idea, " Gus commented. 

How they had ever come possessed of this erroneous idea, it would behard to discover; but they were young yet, and there remained for themmany uncut pages of life. Believers, also, in the efficacy of whisky asa remedy for snake-bite, they had brought with them a fair supply ofmedicine-chest liquor. As yet they had not touched it. 

"Have some before we start?" Hazard asked. 

Gus looked into the gulf and shook his head. "Better wait till we get uphigher and the climbing is more ticklish. "

Some seventy feet above them projected the first eye-bolt. The winteraccumulations of ice had twisted and bent it down till it did not standmore than a bare inch and a half above the rock--a most difficult objectto lasso as such a distance. Time and again Hazard coiled his lariat intrue cowboy fashion and made the cast, and time and again was he baffledby the elusive peg. Nor could Gus do better. Taking advantage ofinequalities in the surface, they scrambled twenty feet up the Dome andfound they could rest in a shallow crevice. The cleft side of the Domewas so near that they could look over its edge from the crevice and gazedown the smooth, vertical wall for nearly two thousand feet. It was yettoo dark down below for them to see farther. 

The peg was now fifty feet away, but the path they must cover toget to it was quite smooth, and ran at an inclination of nearly fiftydegrees. It seemed impossible, in that intervening space, to find aresting-place. Either the climber must keep going up, or he must slidedown; he could not stop. But just here rose the danger. The Dome wassphere-shaped, and if he should begin to slide, his course would be, notto the point from which he had started and where the Saddle would catchhim, but off to the south toward Little Yosemite. This meant a plunge ofhalf a mile. 

"I'll try it, " Gus said simply. 

They knotted the two lariats together, so that they had over a hundredfeet of rope between them; and then each boy tied an end to his waist. 

"If I slide, " Gus cautioned, "come in on the slack and brace yourself. If you don't, you'll follow me, that's all!"

"Ay, ay!" was the confident response. "Better take a nip before youstart?"

Gus glanced at the proffered bottle. He knew himself and of what he wascapable. "Wait till I make the peg and you join me. All ready?"

"Ay. "

He struck out like a cat, on all fours, clawing energetically as heurged his upward progress, his comrade paying out the rope carefully. Atfirst his speed was good, but gradually it dwindled. Now he was fifteenfeet from the peg, now ten, now eight--but going, oh, so slowly! Hazard, looking up from his crevice, felt a contempt for him and disappointmentin him. It did look easy. Now Gus was five feet away, and after apainful effort, four feet. But when only a yard intervened, he came to astandstill--not exactly a standstill, for, like a squirrel in a wheel, he maintained his position on the face of the Dome by the most desperateclawing. 

He had failed, that was evident. The question now was, how to savehimself. With a sudden, catlike movement he whirled over on his back, caught his heel in a tiny, saucer-shaped depression and sat up. Then hiscourage failed him. Day had at last penetrated to the floor of thevalley, and he was appalled at the frightful distance. 

"Go ahead and make it!" Hazard ordered; but Gus merely shook his head. 

"Then come down!"

Again he shook his head. This was his ordeal, to sit, nerveless andinsecure, on the brink of the precipice. But Hazard, lying safely in hiscrevice, now had to face his own ordeal, but one of a different nature. When Gus began to slide--as he soon must--would he, Hazard, be able totake in the slack and then meet the shock as the other tautened the ropeand darted toward the plunge? It seemed doubtful. And there he lay, apparently safe, but in reality harnessed to death. Then rose thetemptation. Why not cast off the rope about his waist? He would be safeat all events. It was a simple way out of the difficulty. There was noneed that two should perish. But it was impossible for such temptationto overcome his pride of race, and his own pride in himself and in hishonor. So the rope remained about him. 

"Come down!" he ordered; but Gus seemed to have become petrified. 

"Come down, " he threatened, "or I'll drag you down!" He pulled on therope to show he was in earnest. 

"Don't you dare!" Gus articulated through his clenched teeth. 

"Sure, I will, if you don't come!" Again he jerked the rope. 

With a despairing gurgle Gus started, doing his best to work sidewaysfrom the plunge. Hazard, every sense on the alert, almost exulting inhis perfect coolness, took in the slack with deft rapidity. Then, as therope began to tighten, he braced himself. The shock drew him half out ofthe crevice; but he held firm and served as the center of the circle, while Gus, with the rope as a radius, described the circumference andended up on the extreme southern edge of the Saddle. A few moments laterHazard was offering him the flask. 

"Take some yourself, " Gus said. 

"No; you. I don't need it. "

"And I'm past needing it. " Evidently Gus was dubious of the bottle andits contents. 

Hazard put it away in his pocket. "Are you game, " he asked, "or are yougoing to give it up?"

"Never!" Gus protested. "I _am_ game. No Lafee ever showed thewhite feather yet. And if I did lose my grit up there, it was only forthe moment--sort of like seasickness. I'm all right now, and I'm goingto the top. "

"Good!" encouraged Hazard. "You lie in the crevice this time, and I'llshow you how easy it is. "

But Gus refused. He held that it was easier and safer for him to tryagain, arguing that it was less difficult for his one hundred andsixteen pounds to cling to the smooth rock than for Hazard's one hundredand sixty-five; also that it was easier for one hundred and sixty-fivepounds to bring a sliding one hundred and sixteen to a stop than _viceversa_. And further, that he had the benefit of his previousexperience. Hazard saw the justice of this, although it was with greatreluctance that he gave in. 

Success vindicated Gus's contention. The second time, just as it seemedas if his slide would be repeated, he made a last supreme effort andgripped the coveted peg. By means of the rope, Hazard quickly joinedhim. The next peg was nearly sixty feet away; but for nearly half thatdistance the base of some glacier in the forgotten past had ground ashallow furrow. Taking advantage of this, it was easy for Gus to lassothe eye-bolt. And it seemed, as was really the case, that the hardestpart of the task was over. True, the curve steepened to nearly sixtydegrees above them, but a comparatively unbroken line of eye-bolts, sixfeet apart, awaited the lads. They no longer had even to use the lasso. Standing on one peg it was child's play to throw the bight of the ropeover the next and to draw themselves up to it. 

A bronzed and bearded man met them at the top and gripped their hands inhearty fellowship. 

"Talk about your Mont Blancs!" he exclaimed, pausing in the midst ofgreeting them to survey the mighty panorama. "But there's nothing on allthe earth, nor over it, nor under it, to compare with this!" Then herecollected himself and thanked them for coming to his aid. No, he wasnot hurt or injured in any way. Simply because of his own carelessness, just as he had arrived at the top the previous day, he had dropped hisclimbing rope. Of course it was impossible to descend without it. Didthey understand heliographing? No? That was strange! How did they----

"Oh, we knew something was the matter, " Gus interrupted, "from the wayyou flashed when we fired off the shotgun. "

"Find it pretty cold last night without blankets?" Hazard queried. 

"I should say so. I've hardly thawed out yet. "

"Have some of this. " Hazard shoved the flask over to him. 

The stranger regarded him quite seriously for a moment, then said, "My dear fellow, do you see that row of pegs? Since it is my honestintention to climb down them very shortly, I am forced to decline. No, I don't think I'll have any, though I thank you just the same. "

Hazard glanced at Gus and then put the flask back in his pocket. Butwhen they pulled the doubled rope through the last eye-bolt and set footon the Saddle, he again drew out the bottle. 

"Now that we're down, we don't need it, " he remarked, pithily. "And I'veabout come to the conclusion that there isn't very much in Dutchcourage, after all. " He gazed up the great curve of the Dome. "Look atwhat we've done without it!"

Several seconds thereafter a party of tourists, gathered at the marginof Mirror Lake, were astounded at the unwonted phenomenon of a whiskyflask descending upon them like a comet out of a clear sky; and all theway back to the hotel they marveled greatly at the wonders of nature, especially meteorites. 

TYPHOON OFF THE COAST OF JAPAN

[Jack London's first story, published at the age of seventeen]

It was four bells in the morning watch. We had just finished breakfastwhen the order came forward for the watch on deck to stand by to heaveher to and all hands stand by the boats. 

"Port! hard a port!" cried our sailing-master. "Clew up the topsails!Let the flying jib run down! Back the jib over to windward and run downthe foresail!" And so was our schooner _Sophie Sutherland_ hove tooff the Japan coast, near Cape Jerimo, on April 10, 1893. 

Then came moments of bustle and confusion. There were eighteen men toman the six boats. Some were hooking on the falls, others casting offthe lashings; boat-steerers appeared with boat-compasses andwater-breakers, and boat-pullers with the lunch boxes. Hunters werestaggering under two or three shotguns, a rifle and heavy ammunitionbox, all of which were soon stowed away with their oilskins and mittensin the boats. 

The sailing-master gave his last orders, and away we went, pulling threepairs of oars to gain our positions. We were in the weather boat, and sohad a longer pull than the others. The first, second, and third leeboats soon had all sail set and were running off to the southward andwestward with the wind beam, while the schooner was running off toleeward of them, so that in case of accident the boats would have fairwind home. 

It was a glorious morning, but our boat-steerer shook his head ominouslyas he glanced at the rising sun and prophetically muttered: "Red sun inthe morning, sailor take warning. " The sun had an angry look, and a fewlight, fleecy "nigger-heads" in that quarter seemed abashed andfrightened and soon disappeared. 

Away off to the northward Cape Jerimo reared its black, forbidding headlike some huge monster rising from the deep. The winter's snow, not yetentirely dissipated by the sun, covered it in patches of glisteningwhite, over which the light wind swept on its way out to sea. Huge gullsrose slowly, fluttering their wings in the light breeze and strikingtheir webbed feet on the surface of the water for over half a milebefore they could leave it. Hardly had the patter, patter died awaywhen a flock of sea quail rose, and with whistling wings flew awayto windward, where members of a large band of whales were disportingthemselves, their blowings sounding like the exhaust of steam engines. The harsh, discordant cries of a sea-parrot grated unpleasantly on theear, and set half a dozen alert in a small band of seals that were aheadof us. Away they went, breaching and jumping entirely out of water. Asea-gull with slow, deliberate flight and long, majestic curves circledround us, and as a reminder of home a little English sparrow perchedimpudently on the fo'castle head, and, cocking his head on one side, chirped merrily. The boats were soon among the seals, and the bang!bang! of the guns could be heard from down to leeward. 

The wind was slowly rising, and by three o'clock as, with a dozen sealsin our boat, we were deliberating whether to go on or turn back, therecall flag was run up at the schooner's mizzen--a sure sign that withthe rising wind the barometer was falling and that our sailing-masterwas getting anxious for the welfare of the boats. 

Away we went before the wind with a single reef in our sail. Withclenched teeth sat the boat-steerer, grasping the steering oar firmlywith both hands, his restless eyes on the alert--a glance at theschooner ahead, as we rose on a sea, another at the mainsheet, and thenone astern where the dark ripple of the wind on the water told him of acoming puff or a large white-cap that threatened to overwhelm us. Thewaves were holding high carnival, performing the strangest antics, aswith wild glee they danced along in fierce pursuit--now up, now down, here, there, and everywhere, until some great sea of liquid green withits milk-white crest of foam rose from the ocean's throbbing bosom anddrove the others from view. But only for a moment, for again under newforms they reappeared. In the sun's path they wandered, where everyripple, great or small, every little spit or spray looked like moltensilver, where the water lost its dark green color and became a dazzling, silvery flood, only to vanish and become a wild waste of sullenturbulence, each dark foreboding sea rising and breaking, then rollingon again. The dash, the sparkle, the silvery light soon vanished withthe sun, which became obscured by black clouds that were rolling swiftlyin from the west, northwest; apt heralds of the coming storm. 

We soon reached the schooner and found ourselves the last aboard. In a few minutes the seals were skinned, boats and decks washed, andwe were down below by the roaring fo'castle fire, with a wash, changeof clothes, and a hot, substantial supper before us. Sail had been puton the schooner, as we had a run of seventy-five miles to make to thesouthward before morning, so as to get in the midst of the seals, outof which we had strayed during the last two days' hunting. 

We had the first watch from eight to midnight. The wind was soon blowinghalf a gale, and our sailing-master expected little sleep that night ashe paced up and down the poop. The topsails were soon clewed up and madefast, then the flying jib run down and furled. Quite a sea was rollingby this time, occasionally breaking over the decks, flooding them andthreatening to smash the boats. At six bells we were ordered to turnthem over and put on storm lashings. This occupied us till eight bells, when we were relieved by the mid-watch. I was the last to go below, doing so just as the watch on deck was furling the spanker. Below allwere asleep except our green hand, the "bricklayer, " who was dying ofconsumption. The wildly dancing movements of the sea lamp cast a pale, flickering light through the fo'castle and turned to golden honey thedrops of water on the yellow oilskins. In all the corners dark shadowsseemed to come and go, while up in the eyes of her, beyond the pallbits, descending from deck to deck, where they seemed to lurk like somedragon at the cavern's mouth, it was dark as Erebus. Now and again, thelight seemed to penetrate for a moment as the schooner rolled heavierthan usual, only to recede, leaving it darker and blacker than before. The roar of the wind through the rigging came to the ear muffled likethe distant rumble of a train crossing a trestle or the surf on thebeach, while the loud crash of the seas on her weather bow seemed almostto rend the beams and planking asunder as it resounded through thefo'castle. The creaking and groaning of the timbers, stanchions, andbulkheads, as the strain the vessel was undergoing was felt, served todrown the groans of the dying man as he tossed uneasily in his bunk. The working of the foremast against the deck beams caused a shower offlaky powder to fall, and sent another sound mingling with the tumultousstorm. Small cascades of water streamed from the pall bits from thefo'castle head above, and, joining issue with the streams from the wetoilskins, ran along the floor and disappeared aft into the main hold. 

At two bells in the middle watch--that is, in land parlance one o'clockin the morning--the order was roared out on the fo'castle: "All hands ondeck and shorten sail!"

Then the sleepy sailors tumbled out of their bunk and into theirclothes, oil-skins, and sea-boots and up on deck. 'Tis when that ordercomes on cold, blustering nights that "Jack" grimly mutters: "Who wouldnot sell a farm and go to sea?"

It was on deck that the force of the wind could be fully appreciated, especially after leaving the stifling fo'castle. It seemed to standup against you like a wall, making it almost impossible to move onthe heaving decks or to breathe as the fierce gusts came dashing by. The schooner was hove to under jib, foresail, and mainsail. We proceededto lower the foresail and make it fast. The night was dark, greatlyimpeding our labor. Still, though not a star or the moon could piercethe black masses of storm clouds that obscured the sky as they sweptalong before the gale, nature aided us in a measure. A soft lightemanated from the movement of the ocean. Each mighty sea, allphosphorescent and glowing with the tiny lights of myriads ofanimalculæ, threatened to overwhelm us with a deluge of fire. Higher andhigher, thinner and thinner, the crest grew as it began to curve andovertop preparatory to breaking, until with a roar it fell over thebulwarks, a mass of soft glowing light and tons of water which sent thesailors sprawling in all directions and left in each nook and crannylittle specks of light that glowed and trembled till the next sea washedthem away, depositing new ones in their places. Sometimes several seasfollowing each other with great rapidity and thundering down on ourdecks filled them full to the bulwarks, but soon they were dischargedthrough the lee scuppers. 

To reef the mainsail we were forced to run off before the gale under thesingle reefed jib. By the time we had finished the wind had forced upsuch a tremendous sea that it was impossible to heave her to. Away weflew on the wings of the storm through the muck and flying spray. A windsheer to starboard, then another to port as the enormous seas struck theschooner astern and nearly broached her to. As day broke we took in thejib, leaving not a sail unfurled. Since we had begun scudding she hadceased to take the seas over her bow, but amidships they broke fastand furious. It was a dry storm in the matter of rain, but the forceof the wind filled the air with fine spray, which flew as high as thecrosstrees and cut the face like a knife, making it impossible to seeover a hundred yards ahead. The sea was a dark lead color as with long, slow, majestic roll it was heaped up by the wind into liquid mountainsof foam. The wild antics of the schooner were sickening as she forgedalong. She would almost stop, as though climbing a mountain, thenrapidly rolling to right and left as she gained the summit of a hugesea, she steadied herself and paused for a moment as though affrightedat the yawning precipice before her. Like an avalanche, she shot forwardand down as the sea astern struck her with the force of a thousandbattering rams, burying her bow to the catheads in the milky foam at thebottom that came on deck in all directions--forward, astern, to rightand left, through the hawse-pipes and over the rail. 

The wind began to drop, and by ten o'clock we were talking of heavingher to. We passed a ship, two schooners, and a four-masted barkentineunder the smallest of canvas, and at eleven o'clock, running up thespanker and jib, we hove her to, and in another hour we were beatingback again against the aftersea under full sail to regain the sealingground away to the westward. 

Below, a couple of men were sewing the "bricklayer's" body in canvaspreparatory to the sea burial. And so with the storm passed away the"bricklayer's" soul. 

THE LOST POACHER

"But they won't take excuses. You're across the line, and that's enough. They'll take you. In you go, Siberia and the salt-mines. And as forUncle Sam, why, what's he to know about it? Never a word will get backto the States. 'The _Mary Thomas_, ' the papers will say, 'the_Mary Thomas_ lost with all hands. Probably in a typhoon in theJapanese seas. ' That's what the papers will say, and people, too. In yougo, Siberia and the salt-mines. Dead to the world and kith and kin, though you live fifty years. "

In such manner John Lewis, commonly known as the "sea-lawyer, " settledthe matter out of hand. 

It was a serious moment in the forecastle of the _Mary Thomas_. Nosooner had the watch below begun to talk the trouble over, than thewatch on deck came down and joined them. As there was no wind, everyhand could be spared with the exception of the man at the wheel, and heremained only for the sake of discipline. Even "Bub" Russell, thecabin-boy, had crept forward to hear what was going on. 

However, it was a serious moment, as the grave faces of the sailors borewitness. For the three preceding months the _Mary Thomas_ sealingschooner, had hunted the seal pack along the coast of Japan and north toBering Sea. Here, on the Asiatic side of the sea, they were forced togive over the chase, or rather, to go no farther; for beyond, theRussian cruisers patrolled forbidden ground, where the seals might breedin peace. 

A week before she had fallen into a heavy fog accompanied by calm. Sincethen the fog-bank had not lifted, and the only wind had been light airsand catspaws. This in itself was not so bad, for the sealing schoonersare never in a hurry so long as they are in the midst of the seals; butthe trouble lay in the fact that the current at this point bore heavilyto the north. Thus the _Mary Thomas_ had unwittingly drifted acrossthe line, and every hour she was penetrating, unwillingly, farther andfarther into the dangerous waters where the Russian bear kept guard. 

How far she had drifted no man knew. The sun had not been visiblefor a week, nor the stars, and the captain had been unable to takeobservations in order to determine his position. At any moment a cruisermight swoop down and hale the crew away to Siberia. The fate of otherpoaching seal-hunters was too well known to the men of the _MaryThomas_, and there was cause for grave faces. 

"Mine friends, " spoke up a German boat-steerer, "it vas a pad piziness. Shust as ve make a big catch, und all honest, somedings go wrong, undder Russians nab us, dake our skins and our schooner, und send us mitder anarchists to Siberia. Ach! a pretty pad piziness!"

"Yes, that's where it hurts, " the sea lawyer went on. "Fifteen hundredskins in the salt piles, and all honest, a big pay-day coming to everyman Jack of us, and then to be captured and lose it all! It'd bedifferent if we'd been poaching, but it's all honest work in openwater. "

"But if we haven't done anything wrong, they can't do anything to us, can they?" Bub queried. 

"It strikes me as 'ow it ain't the proper thing for a boy o' your ageshovin' in when 'is elders is talkin', " protested an English sailor, from over the edge of his bunk. 

"Oh, that's all right, Jack, " answered the sea-lawyer. "He's a perfectright to. Ain't he just as liable to lose his wages as the rest of us?"

"Wouldn't give thruppence for them!" Jack sniffed back. He had beenplanning to go home and see his family in Chelsea when he was paid off, and he was now feeling rather blue over the highly possible loss, notonly of his pay, but of his liberty. 

"How are they to know?" the sea-lawyer asked in answer to Bub's previousquestion. "Here we are in forbidden water. How do they know but what wecame here of our own accord? Here we are, fifteen hundred skins in thehold. How do they, know whether we got them in open water or in theclosed sea? Don't you see, Bub, the evidence is all against us. If youcaught a man with his pockets full of apples like those which grow onyour tree, and if you caught him in your tree besides, what'd you thinkif he told you he couldn't help it, and had just been sort of blownthere, and that anyway those apples came from some other tree--what'dyou think, eh?"

Bub saw it clearly when put in that light, and shook his headdespondently. 

"You'd rather be dead than go to Siberia, " one of the boat-pullers said. "They put you into the salt-mines and work you till you die. Never seedaylight again. Why, I've heard tell of one fellow that was chained tohis mate, and that mate died. And they were both chained together! Andif they send you to the quicksilver mines you get salivated. I'd ratherbe hung than salivated. "

"Wot's salivated?" Jack asked, suddenly sitting up in his bunk at thehint of fresh misfortunes. 

"Why, the quicksilver gets into your blood; I think that's the way. Andyour gums all swell like you had the scurvy, only worse, and your teethget loose in your jaws. And big ulcers form, and then you die horrible. The strongest man can't last long a-mining quicksilver. "

"A pad piziness, " the boat-steerer reiterated, dolorously, in thesilence which followed. "A pad piziness. I vish I was in Yokohama. Eh?Vot vas dot?"

The vessel had suddenly heeled over. The decks were aslant. A tinpannikin rolled down the inclined plane, rattling and banging. Fromabove came the slapping of canvas and the quivering rat-tat-tat of theafter leech of the loosely stretched foresail. Then the mate's voicesang down the hatch, "All hands on deck and make sail!"

Never had such summons been answered with more enthusiasm. The calm hadbroken. The wind had come which was to carry them south into safety. With a wild cheer all sprang on deck. Working with mad haste, they flungout topsails, flying jibs and stay-sails. As they worked, the fog-banklifted and the black vault of heaven, bespangled with the old familiarstars, rushed into view. When all was ship-shape, the _Mary Thomas_was lying gallantly over on her side to a beam wind and plunging aheaddue south. 

"Steamer's lights ahead on the port bow, sir!" cried the lookout fromhis station on the forecastle-head. There was excitement in the man'svoice. 

The captain sent Bub below for his night-glasses. Everybody crowded tothe lee-rail to gaze at the suspicious stranger, which already began toloom up vague and indistinct. In those unfrequented waters the chancewas one in a thousand that it could be anything else than a Russianpatrol. The captain was still anxiously gazing through the glasses, whena flash of flame left the stranger's side, followed by the loud reportof a cannon. The worst fears were confirmed. It was a patrol, evidentlyfiring across the bows of the _Mary Thomas_ in order to make herheave to. 

"Hard down with your helm!" the captain commanded the steers-man, allthe life gone out of his voice. Then to the crew, "Back over the jib andforesail! Run down the flying jib! Clew up the foretopsail! And aft hereand swing on to the main-sheet!"

The _Mary Thomas_ ran into the eye of the wind, lost headway, andfell to courtesying gravely to the long seas rolling up from the west. 

The cruiser steamed a little nearer and lowered a boat. The sealerswatched in heartbroken silence. They could see the white bulk of theboat as it was slacked away to the water, and its crew sliding aboard. They could hear the creaking of the davits and the commands of theofficers. Then the boat sprang away under the impulse of the oars, andcame toward them. The wind had been rising, and already the sea was toorough to permit the frail craft to lie alongside the tossing schooner;but watching their chance, and taking advantage of the boarding ropesthrown to them, an officer and a couple of men clambered aboard. The boat then sheered off into safety and lay to its oars, a youngmidshipman, sitting in the stern and holding the yoke-lines, in charge. 

The officer, whose uniform disclosed his rank as that of secondlieutenant in the Russian navy, went below with the captain of the_Mary Thomas_ to look at the ship's papers. A few minutes later heemerged, and upon his sailors removing the hatch-covers, passed downinto the hold with a lantern to inspect the salt piles. It was a goodlyheap which confronted him--fifteen hundred fresh skins, the season'scatch; and under the circumstances he could have had but one conclusion. 

"I am very sorry, " he said, in broken English to the sealing captain, when he again came on deck, "but it is my duty, in the name of the tsar, to seize your vessel as a poacher caught with fresh skins in the closedsea. The penalty, as you may know, is confiscation and imprisonment. "

The captain of the _Mary Thomas_ shrugged his shoulders in seemingindifference, and turned away. Although they may restrain all outwardshow, strong men, under unmerited misfortune, are sometimes very closeto tears. Just then the vision of his little California home, and of thewife and two yellow-haired boys, was strong upon him, and there was astrange, choking sensation in his throat, which made him afraid that ifhe attempted to speak he would sob instead. 

And also there was upon him the duty he owed his men. No weakness beforethem, for he must be a tower of strength to sustain them in misfortune. He had already explained to the second lieutenant, and knew thehopelessness of the situation. As the sea-lawyer had said, the evidencewas all against him. So he turned aft, and fell to pacing up and downthe poop of the vessel over which he was no longer commander. 

The Russian officer now took temporary charge. He ordered more of hismen aboard, and had all the canvas clewed up and furled snugly away. While this was being done, the boat plied back and forth between thetwo vessels, passing a heavy hawser, which was made fast to the greattowing-bitts on the schooner's forecastle-head. During all this workthe sealers stood about in sullen groups. It was madness to think ofresisting, with the guns of a man-of-war not a biscuit-toss away; butthey refused to lend a hand, preferring instead to maintain a gloomysilence. 

Having accomplished his task, the lieutenant ordered all but four of hismen back into the boat. Then the midshipman, a lad of sixteen, lookingstrangely mature and dignified in his uniform and sword, came aboard totake command of the captured sealer. Just as the lieutenant prepared todepart, his eyes chanced to alight upon Bub. Without a word of warning, he seized him by the arm and dropped him over the rail into the waitingboat; and then, with a parting wave of his hand, he followed him. 

It was only natural that Bub should be frightened at this unexpectedhappening. All the terrible stories he had heard of the Russians servedto make him fear them, and now returned to his mind with double force. To be captured by them was bad enough, but to be carried off by them, away from his comrades, was a fate of which he had not dreamed. 

"Be a good boy, Bub, " the captain called to him, as the boat drew awayfrom the _Mary Thomas_'s side, "and tell the truth!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" he answered, bravely enough, by all outward appearance. He felt a certain pride of race, and was ashamed to be a coward beforethese strange enemies, these wild Russian bears. 

"Und be politeful!" the German boat-steerer added, his rough voicelifting across the water like a fog-horn. 

Bub waved his hand in farewell, and his mates clustered along therail as they answered with a cheering shout. He found room in thestern-sheets, where he fell to regarding the lieutenant. He didn't lookso wild or bearish, after all--very much like other men, Bub concluded, and the sailors were much the same as all other man-of-war's men he hadever known. Nevertheless, as his feet struck the steel deck of thecruiser, he felt as if he had entered the portals of a prison. 

For a few minutes he was left unheeded. The sailors hoisted the boat up, and swung it in on the davits. Then great clouds of black smoke pouredout of the funnels, and they were under way--to Siberia, Bub could nothelp but think. He saw the _Mary Thomas_ swing abruptly into lineas she took the pressure from the hawser, and her side-lights, red andgreen, rose and fell as she was towed through the sea. 

Bub's eyes dimmed at the melancholy sight, but--but just then thelieutenant came to take him down to the commander, and he straightenedup and set his lips firmly, as if this were a very commonplace affairand he were used to being sent to Siberia every day in the week. Thecabin in which the commander sat was like a palace compared to thehumble fittings of the _Mary Thomas_, and the commander himself, ingold lace and dignity, was a most august personage, quite unlike thesimple man who navigated his schooner on the trail of the seal pack. 

Bub now quickly learned why he had been brought aboard, and in theprolonged questioning which followed, told nothing but the plain truth. The truth was harmless; only a lie could have injured his cause. He didnot know much, except that they had been sealing far to the south inopen water, and that when the calm and fog came down upon them, beingclose to the line, they had drifted across. Again and again he insistedthat they had not lowered a boat or shot a seal in the week they hadbeen drifting about in the forbidden sea; but the commander chose toconsider all that he said to be a tissue of falsehoods, and adopted abullying tone in an effort to frighten the boy. He threatened andcajoled by turns, but failed in the slightest to shake Bub's statements, and at last ordered him out of his presence. 

By some oversight, Bub was not put in anybody's charge, and wandered upon deck unobserved. Sometimes the sailors, in passing, bent curiousglances upon him, but otherwise he was left strictly alone. Nor could hehave attracted much attention, for he was small, the night dark, and thewatch on deck intent on its own business. Stumbling over the strangedecks, he made his way aft where he could look upon the side-lights ofthe _Mary Thomas_, following steadily in the rear. 

For a long while he watched, and then lay down in the darkness close towhere the hawser passed over the stern to the captured schooner. Oncean officer came up and examined the straining rope to see if it werechafing, but Bub cowered away in the shadow undiscovered. This, however, gave him an idea which concerned the lives and liberties of twenty-twomen, and which was to avert crushing sorrow from more than one happyhome many thousand miles away. 

In the first place, he reasoned, the crew were all guiltless of anycrime, and yet were being carried relentlessly away to imprisonment inSiberia--a living death, he had heard, and he believed it implicitly. In the second place, he was a prisoner, hard and fast, with no chanceof escape. In the third, it was possible for the twenty-two men on the_Mary Thomas_ to escape. The only thing which bound them was afour-inch hawser. They dared not cut it at their end, for a watch wassure to be maintained upon it by their Russian captors; but at this end, ah! at his end----

Bub did not stop to reason further. Wriggling close to the hawser, heopened his jack-knife and went to work, The blade was not very sharp, and he sawed away, rope-yarn by rope-yarn, the awful picture of thesolitary Siberian exile he must endure growing clearer and more terribleat every stroke. Such a fate was bad enough to undergo with one'scomrades, but to face it alone seemed frightful. And besides, the veryact he was performing was sure to bring greater punishment upon him. 

In the midst of such somber thoughts, he heard footsteps approaching. He wriggled away into the shadow. An officer stopped where he had beenworking, half-stooped to examine the hawser, then changed his mind andstraightened up. For a few minutes he stood there, gazing at the lightsof the captured schooner, and then went forward again. 

Now was the time! Bub crept back and went on sawing. Now two parts weresevered. Now three. But one remained. The tension upon this was so greatthat it readily yielded. Splash! The freed end went overboard. He layquietly, his heart in his mouth, listening. No one on the cruiser buthimself had heard. 

He saw the red and green lights of the _Mary Thomas_ grow dimmerand dimmer. Then a faint hallo came over the water from the Russianprize crew. Still nobody heard. The smoke continued to pour out of thecruiser's funnels, and her propellers throbbed as mightily as ever. 

What was happening on the _Mary Thomas_? Bub could only surmise;but of one thing he was certain: his comrades would assert themselvesand overpower the four sailors and the midshipman. A few minutes laterhe saw a small flash, and straining his ears heard the very faint reportof a pistol. Then, oh joy! both the red and green lights suddenlydisappeared. The _Mary Thomas_ was retaken!

Just as an officer came aft, Bub crept forward, and hid away inone of the boats. Not an instant too soon. The alarm was given. Loudvoices rose in command. The cruiser altered her course. An electricsearch-light began to throw its white rays across the sea, here, there, everywhere; but in its flashing path no tossing schooner was revealed. 

Bub went to sleep soon after that, nor did he wake till the gray ofdawn. The engines were pulsing monotonously, and the water, splashingnoisily, told him the decks were being washed down. One sweeping glance, and he saw that they were alone on the expanse of ocean. The _MaryThomas_ had escaped. As he lifted his head, a roar of laughter wentup from the sailors. Even the officer, who ordered him taken below andlocked up, could not quite conceal the laughter in his eyes. Bub thoughtoften in the days of confinement which followed, that they were not veryangry with him for what he had done. 

He was not far from right. There is a certain innate nobility deep downin the hearts of all men, which forces them to admire a brave act, evenif it is performed by an enemy. The Russians were in nowise differentfrom other men. True, a boy had outwitted them; but they could not blamehim, and they were sore puzzled as to what to do with him. It wouldnever do to take a little mite like him in to represent all thatremained of the lost poacher. 

So, two weeks later, a United States man-of-war, steaming out of theRussian port of Vladivostok, was signaled by a Russian cruiser. A boatpassed between the two ships, and a small boy dropped over the rail uponthe deck of the American vessel. A week later he was put ashore atHakodate, and after some telegraphing, his fare was paid on the railroadto Yokohama. 

From the depot he hurried through the quaint Japanese streets to theharbor, and hired a _sampan_ boatman to put him aboard a certainvessel whose familiar rigging had quickly caught his eye. Her gasketswere off, her sails unfurled; she was just starting back to the UnitedStates. As he came closer, a crowd of sailors sprang upon the forecastlehead, and the windlass-bars rose and fell as the anchor was torn fromits muddy bottom. 

"'Yankee ship come down the ribber!'" the sea-lawyer's voice rolled outas he led the anchor song. 

"'Pull, my bully boys, pull!'" roared back the old familiar chorus, themen's bodies lifting and bending to the rhythm. 

Bub Russell paid the boatman and stepped on deck. The anchor wasforgotten. A mighty cheer went up from the men, and almost before hecould catch his breath he was on the shoulders of the captain, surrounded by his mates, and endeavoring to answer twenty questions tothe second. 

The next day a schooner hove to off a Japanese fishing village, sentashore four sailors and a little midshipman, and sailed away. These mendid not talk English, but they had money and quickly made their way toYokohama. From that day the Japanese village folk never heard anythingmore about them, and they are still a much-talked-of mystery. As theRussian government never said anything about the incident, the UnitedStates is still ignorant of the whereabouts of the lost poacher, nor hasshe ever heard, officially, of the way in which some of her citizens"shanghaied" five subjects of the tsar. Even nations have secretssometimes. 

THE BANKS OF THE SACRAMENTO

 "And it's blow, ye winds, heigh-ho, For Cal-i-for-ni-o; For there's plenty of gold so I've been told, On the banks of the Sacramento!"

It was only a little boy, singing in a shrill treble the sea chanteywhich seamen sing the wide world over when they man the capstan bars andbreak the anchors out for "Frisco" port. It was only a little boy whohad never seen the sea, but two hundred feet beneath him rolled theSacramento. "Young" Jerry he was called, after "Old" Jerry, his father, from whom he had learned the song, as well as received his shock ofbright-red hair, his blue, dancing eyes, and his fair and inevitablyfreckled skin. 

For Old Jerry had been a sailor, and had followed the sea till middlelife, haunted always by the words of the ringing chantey. Then one dayhe had sung the song in earnest, in an Asiatic port, swinging andthrilling round the capstan-circle with twenty others. And at SanFrancisco he turned his back upon his ship and upon the sea, and wentto behold with his own eyes the banks of the Sacramento. 

He beheld the gold, too, for he found employment at the Yellow Dreammine, and proved of utmost usefulness in rigging the great ore-cablesacross the river and two hundred feet above its surface. 

After that he took charge of the cables and kept them in repair, and ranthem and loved them, and became himself an indispensable fixture of theYellow Dream mine. Then he loved pretty Margaret Kelly; but she had lefthim and Young Jerry, the latter barely toddling, to take up her lastlong sleep in the little graveyard among the great sober pines. 

Old Jerry never went back to the sea. He remained by his cables, andlavished upon them and Young Jerry all the love of his nature. When evildays came to the Yellow-Dream, he still remained in the employ of thecompany as watchman over the all but abandoned property. 

But this morning he was not visible. Young Jerry only was to be seen, sitting on the cabin step and singing the ancient chantey. He had cookedand eaten his breakfast all by himself, and had just come out to take alook at the world. Twenty feet before him stood the steel drum roundwhich the endless cable worked. By the drum, snug and fast, was theore-car. Following with his eyes the dizzy flight of the cables to thefarther bank, he could see the other drum and the other car. 

The contrivance was worked by gravity, the loaded car crossing the riverby virtue of its own weight, and at the same time dragging the empty carback. The loaded car being emptied, and the empty car being loaded withmore ore, the performance could be repeated--a performance which hadbeen repeated tens of thousands of times since the day Old Jerry becamethe keeper of the cables. 

Young Jerry broke off his song at the sound of approaching footsteps, Atall, blue-shirted man, a rifle across the hollow of his arm, came outfrom the gloom of the pine-trees. It was Hall, watchman of the YellowDragon mine, the cables of which spanned the Sacramento a mile fartherup. 

"Hello, younker!" was his greeting. "What you doin' here by yourlonesome?"

"Oh, bachin', " Jerry tried to answer unconcernedly, as if it were a veryordinary sort of thing. "Dad's away, you see. "

"Where's he gone?" the man asked. 

"San Francisco. Went last night. His brother's dead in the old country, and he's gone down to see the lawyers. Won't be back till tomorrownight. "

So spoke Jerry, and with pride, because of the responsibility which hadfallen to him of keeping an eye on the property of the Yellow Dream, andthe glorious adventure of living alone on the cliff above the river andof cooking his own meals. 

"Well, take care of yourself, " Hall said, "and don't monkey with thecables. I'm goin' to see if I can't pick up a deer in the Cripple CowCañon. "

"It's goin' to rain, I think, " Jerry said, with mature deliberation. 

"And it's little I mind a wettin', " Hall laughed, as he strode awayamong the trees. 

Jerry's prediction concerning rain was more than fulfilled. By teno'clock the pines were swaying and moaning, the cabin windows rattling, and the rain driving by in fierce squalls. At half past eleven hekindled a fire, and promptly at the stroke of twelve sat down to hisdinner. 

No out-of-doors for him that day, he decided, when he had washed the fewdishes and put them neatly away; and he wondered how wet Hall was andwhether he had succeeded in picking up a deer. 

At one o'clock there came a knock at the door, and when he opened it aman and a woman staggered in on the breast of a great gust of wind. Theywere Mr. And Mrs. Spillane, ranchers, who lived in a lonely valley adozen miles back from the river. 

"Where's Hall?" was Spillane's opening speech, and he spoke sharply andquickly. 

Jerry noted that he was nervous and abrupt in his movements, and thatMrs. Spillane seemed laboring under some strong anxiety. She was a thin, washed-out, worked-out woman, whose life of dreary and unending toil hadstamped itself harshly upon her face. It was the same life that hadbowed her husband's shoulders and gnarled his hands and turned his hairto a dry and dusty gray. 

"He's gone hunting up Cripple Cow, " Jerry answered. "Did you want tocross?"

The woman began to weep quietly, while Spillane dropped a troubledexclamation and strode to the window. Jerry joined him in gazing out towhere the cables lost themselves in the thick downpour. 

It was the custom of the backwoods people in that section of countryto cross the Sacramento on the Yellow Dragon cable. For this service asmall toll was charged, which tolls the Yellow Dragon Company applied tothe payment of Hall's wages. 

"We've got to get across, Jerry, " Spillane said, at the same timejerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his wife. "Herfather's hurt at the Clover Leaf. Powder explosion. Not expected tolive. We just got word. "

Jerry felt himself fluttering inwardly. He knew that Spillane wanted tocross on the Yellow Dream cable, and in the absence of his father hefelt that he dared not assume such a responsibility, for the cable hadnever been used for passengers; in fact, had not been used at all for along time. 

"Maybe Hall will be back soon, " he said. 

Spillane shook his head, and demanded, "Where's your father?"

"San Francisco, " Jerry answered, briefly. 

Spillane groaned, and fiercely drove his clenched fist into the palm ofthe other hand. His wife was crying more audibly, and Jerry could hearher murmuring, "And daddy's dyin', dyin'!"

The tears welled up in his own eyes, and he stood irresolute, notknowing what he should do. But the man decided for him. 

"Look here, kid, " he said, with determination, "the wife and me aregoin' over on this here cable of yours! Will you run it for us?"

Jerry backed slightly away. He did it unconsciously, as if recoilinginstinctively from something unwelcome. 

"Better see if Hall's back, " he suggested. 

"And if he ain't?"

Again Jerry hesitated. 

"I'll stand for the risk, " Spillane added. "Don't you see, kid, we'vesimply got to cross!"

Jerry nodded his head reluctantly. 

"And there ain't no use waitin' for Hall, " Spillane went on. "You knowas well as me he ain't back from Cripple Cow this time of day! So comealong and let's get started. "

No wonder that Mrs. Spillane seemed terrified as they helped herinto the ore-car--so Jerry thought, as he gazed into the apparentlyfathomless gulf beneath her. For it was so filled with rain and cloud, hurtling and curling in the fierce blast, that the other shore, sevenhundred feet away, was invisible, while the cliff at their feet droppedsheer down and lost itself in the swirling vapor. By all appearances itmight be a mile to bottom instead of two hundred feet. 

"All ready?" he asked. 

"Let her go!" Spillane shouted, to make himself heard above the roar ofthe wind. 

He had clambered in beside his wife, and was holding one of her hands inhis. 

Jerry looked upon this with disapproval. "You'll need all your hands forholdin' on, the way the wind's yowlin. '"

The man and the woman shifted their hands accordingly, tightly grippingthe sides of the car, and Jerry slowly and carefully released the brake. The drum began to revolve as the endless cable passed round it, and thecar slid slowly out into the chasm, its trolley wheels rolling on thestationary cable overhead, to which it was suspended. 

It was not the first time Jerry had worked the cable, but it was thefirst time he had done so away from the supervising eye of his father. By means of the brake he regulated the speed of the car. It neededregulating, for at times, caught by the stronger gusts of wind, itswayed violently back and forth; and once, just before it was swallowedup in a rain squall, it seemed about to spill out its human contents. 

After that Jerry had no way of knowing where the car was except by meansof the cable. This he watched keenly as it glided around the drum. "Three hundred feet, " he breathed to himself, as the cable markings wentby, "three hundred and fifty, four hundred; four hundred and----"

The cable had stopped. Jerry threw off the brake, but it did not move. He caught the cable with his hands and tried to start it by tuggingsmartly. Something had gone wrong. What? He could not guess; he couldnot see. Looking up, he could vaguely make out the empty car, which hadbeen crossing from the opposite cliff at a speed equal to that of theloaded car. It was about two hundred and fifty feet away. That meant, heknew, that somewhere in the gray obscurity, two hundred feet above theriver and two hundred and fifty feet from the other bank, Spillane andhis wife were suspended and stationary. 

Three times Jerry shouted with all the shrill force of his lungs, butno answering cry came out of the storm. It was impossible for him tohear them or to make himself heard. As he stood for a moment, thinkingrapidly, the flying clouds seemed to thin and lift. He caught a briefglimpse of the swollen Sacramento beneath, and a briefer glimpse of thecar and the man and woman. Then the clouds descended thicker than ever. 

The boy examined the drum closely, and found nothing the matter with it. Evidently it was the drum on the other side that had gone wrong. He wasappalled at thought of the man and woman out there in the midst of thestorm, hanging over the abyss, rocking back and forth in the frail carand ignorant of what was taking place on shore. And he did not like tothink of their hanging there while he went round by the Yellow Dragoncable to the other drum. 

But he remembered a block and tackle in the tool-house, and ran andbrought it. They were double blocks, and he murmured aloud, "A purchaseof four, " as he made the tackle fast to the endless cable. Then heheaved upon it, heaved until it seemed that his arms were being drawnout from their sockets and that his shoulder muscles would be rippedasunder. Yet the cable did not budge. Nothing remained but to cross overto the other side. 

He was already soaking wet, so he did not mind the rain as he ran overthe trail to the Yellow Dragon. The storm was with him, and it was easygoing, although there was no Hall at the other end of it to man thebrake for him and regulate the speed of the car. This he did forhimself, however, by means of a stout rope, which he passed, with aturn, round the stationary cable. 

As the full force of the wind struck him in mid-air, swaying the cableand whistling and roaring past it, and rocking and careening the car, heappreciated more fully what must be the condition of mind of Spillaneand his wife. And this appreciation gave strength to him, as, safelyacross, he fought his way up the other bank, in the teeth of the gale, to the Yellow Dream cable. 

To his consternation, he found the drum in thorough working order. Everything was running smoothly at both ends. Where was the hitch? Inthe middle, without a doubt. 

From this side, the car containing Spillane was only two hundred andfifty feet away. He could make out the man and woman through thewhirling vapor, crouching in the bottom of the car and exposed to thepelting rain and the full fury of the wind. In a lull between thesqualls he shouted to Spillane to examine the trolley of the car. 

Spillane heard, for he saw him rise up cautiously on his knees, and withhis hands go over both trolley-wheels. Then he turned his face towardthe bank. 

"She's all right, kid!"

Jerry heard the words, faint and far, as from a remote distance. Thenwhat was the matter? Nothing remained but the other and empty car, whichhe could not see, but which he knew to be there, somewhere in thatterrible gulf two hundred feet beyond Spillane's car. 

His mind was made up on the instant. He was only fourteen years old, slightly and wirily built; but his life had been lived among themountains, his father had taught him no small measure of "sailoring, "and he was not particularly afraid of heights. 

In the tool-box by the drum he found an old monkey-wrench and a shortbar of iron, also a coil of fairly new Manila rope. He looked in vainfor a piece of board with which to rig a "boatswain's chair. " There wasnothing at hand but large planks, which he had no means of sawing, so hewas compelled to do without the more comfortable form of saddle. 

The saddle he rigged was very simple. With the rope he made merely alarge loop round the stationary cable, to which hung the empty car. Whenhe sat in the loop his hands could just reach the cable conveniently, and where the rope was likely to fray against the cable he lashed hiscoat, in lieu of the old sack he would have used had he been able tofind one. 

These preparations swiftly completed, he swung out over the chasm, sitting in the rope saddle and pulling himself along the cable by hishands. With him he carried the monkey-wrench and short iron bar and afew spare feet of rope. It was a slightly up-hill pull, but this he didnot mind so much as the wind. When the furious gusts hurled him back andforth, sometimes half twisting him about, and he gazed down into thegray depths, he was aware that he was afraid. It was an old cable. Whatif it should break under his weight and the pressure of the wind?

It was fear he was experiencing, honest fear, and he knew that there wasa "gone" feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a trembling of the kneeswhich he could not quell. 

But he held himself bravely to the task. The cable was old and worn, sharp pieces of wire projected from it, and his hands were cut andbleeding by the time he took his first rest, and held a shoutedconversation with Spillane. The car was directly beneath him and only afew feet away, so he was able to explain the condition of affairs andhis errand. 

"Wish I could help you, " Spillane shouted at him as he started on, "butthe wife's gone all to pieces! Anyway, kid, take care of yourself! I gotmyself in this fix, but it's up to you to get me out!"

"Oh, I'll do it!" Jerry shouted back. "Tell Mrs. Spillane that she'll beashore now in a jiffy!"

In the midst of pelting rain, which half-blinded him, swinging from sideto side like a rapid and erratic pendulum, his torn hands paining himseverely and his lungs panting from his exertions and panting from thevery air which the wind sometimes blew into his mouth with stranglingforce, he finally arrived at the empty car. 

A single glance showed him that he had not made the dangerous journey invain. The front trolley-wheel, loose from long wear, had jumped thecable, and the cable was now jammed tightly between the wheel and thesheave-block. 

One thing was clear--the wheel must be removed from the block. A secondthing was equally clear--while the wheel was being removed the car wouldhave to be fastened to the cable by the rope he had brought. 

At the end of a quarter of an hour, beyond making the car secure, hehad accomplished nothing. The key which bound the wheel on its axle wasrusted and jammed. He hammered at it with one hand and held on the besthe could with the other, but the wind persisted in swinging and twistinghis body, and made his blows miss more often than not. Nine-tenths ofthe strength he expended was in trying to hold himself steady. For fearthat he might drop the monkey-wrench he made it fast to his wrist withhis handkerchief. 

At the end of half an hour Jerry had hammered the key clear, but hecould not draw it out. A dozen times it seemed that he must give upin despair, that all the danger and toil he had gone through were fornothing. Then an idea came to him, and he went through his pockets withfeverish haste, and found what he sought--a ten-penny nail. 

But for that nail, put in his pocket he knew not when or why, he wouldhave had to make another trip over the cable and back. Thrusting thenail through the looped head of the key, he at last had a grip, and inno time the key was out. 

Then came punching and prying with the iron bar to get the wheel itselffree from where it was jammed by the cable against the side of theblock. After that Jerry replaced the wheel, and by means of the rope, heaved up on the car till the trolley once more rested properly on thecable. 

All this took time. More than an hour and a half had elapsed since hisarrival at the empty car. And now, for the first time, he dropped out ofhis saddle and down into the car. He removed the detaining ropes, andthe trolley-wheels began slowly to revolve. The car was moving, and heknew that somewhere beyond, although he could not see, the car ofSpillane was likewise moving, and in the opposite direction. 

There was no need for a brake, for his weight sufficientlycounterbalanced the weight in the other car; and soon he saw the cliffrising out of the cloud depths and the old familiar drum going round andround. 

Jerry climbed out and made the car securely fast. He did it deliberatelyand carefully, and then, quite unhero-like, he sank down by the drum, regardless of the pelting storm, and burst out sobbing. 

There were many reasons why he sobbed--partly from the pain of hishands, which was excruciating; partly from exhaustion; partly fromrelief and release from the nerve-tension he had been under for so long;and in a large measure from thankfulness that the man and woman weresaved. 

They were not there to thank him; but somewhere beyond that howling, storm-driven gulf he knew they were hurrying over the trail toward theClover Leaf. 

Jerry staggered to the cabin, and his hand left the white knob red withblood as he opened the door, but he took no notice of it. 

He was too proudly contented with himself, for he was certain that hehad done well, and he was honest enough to admit to himself that he haddone well. But a small regret arose and persisted in his thoughts--ifhis father had only been there to see!

CHRIS FARRINGTON: ABLE SEAMAN

"If you vas in der old country ships, a liddle shaver like you vood peonly der boy, und you vood wait on der able seamen. Und ven der ableseaman sing out, 'Boy, der water-jug!' you vood jump quick, like a shot, und bring der water-jug. Und ven der able seaman sing out, 'Boy, myboots!' you vood get der boots. Und you vood pe politeful, und say'Yessir' und 'No sir. ' But you pe in der American ship, und you t'inkyou are so good as der able seamen. Chris, mine boy, I haf ben asailorman for twenty-two years, und do you t'ink you are so good as me?I vas a sailorman pefore you vas borned, und I knot und reef und spliceven you play mit topstrings und fly kites. "

"But you are unfair, Emil!" cried Chris Farrington, his sensitive faceflushed and hurt. He was a slender though strongly built young fellow ofseventeen, with Yankee ancestry writ large all over him. 

"Dere you go vonce again!" the Swedish sailor exploded. "My name isMister Johansen, und a kid of a boy like you call me 'Emil!' It vasinsulting, und comes pecause of der American ship!"

"But you call me 'Chris!'" the boy expostulated, reproachfully. 

"But you vas a boy. "

"Who does a man's work, " Chris retorted. "And because I do a man's workI have as much right to call you by your first name as you me. We areall equals in this fo'castle, and you know it. When we signed for thevoyage in San Francisco, we signed as sailors on the _SophieSutherland_ and there was no difference made with any of us. Haven'tI always done my work? Did I ever shirk? Did you or any other man everhave to take a wheel for me? Or a lookout? Or go aloft?"

"Chris is right, " interrupted a young English sailor. "No man has had todo a tap of his work yet. He signed as good as any of us, and he's shownhimself as good--"

"Better!" broke in a Nova Scotia man. "Better than some of us! Whenwe struck the sealing-grounds he turned out to be next to the bestboat-steerer aboard. Only French Louis, who'd been at it for years, could beat him. I'm only a boat-puller, and you're only a boat-puller, too, Emil Johansen, for all your twenty-two years at sea. Why don't youbecome a boat-steerer?"

"Too clumsy, " laughed the Englishman, "and too slow. "

"Little that counts, one way or the other, " joined in Dane Jurgensen, coming to the aid of his Scandinavian brother. "Emil is a man grown andan able seaman; the boy is neither. "

And so the argument raged back and forth, the Swedes, Norwegians andDanes, because of race kinship, taking the part of Johansen, and theEnglish, Canadians and Americans taking the part of Chris. From anunprejudiced point of view, the right was on the side of Chris. As hehad truly said, he did a man's work, and the same work that any of themdid. But they were prejudiced, and badly so, and out of the words whichpassed rose a standing quarrel which divided the forecastle into twoparties. 

 * * * * *

The _Sophie Sutherland_ was a seal-hunter, registered out of SanFrancisco, and engaged in hunting the furry sea-animals along theJapanese coast north to Bering Sea. The other vessels were two-mastedschooners, but she was a three-master and the largest in the fleet. Infact, she was a full-rigged, three-topmast schooner, newly built. 

Although Chris Farrington knew that justice was with him, and that heperformed all his work faithfully and well, many a time, in secretthought, he longed for some pressing emergency to arise whereby he coulddemonstrate to the Scandinavian seamen that he also was an able seaman. 

But one stormy night, by an accident for which he was in nowiseaccountable, in overhauling a spare anchor-chain he had all the fingersof his left hand badly crushed. And his hopes were likewise crushed, forit was impossible for him to continue hunting with the boats, and he wasforced to stay idly aboard until his fingers should heal. Yet, althoughhe little dreamed it, this very accident was to give him thelong-looked-for opportunity. 

One afternoon in the latter part of May the _Sophie Sutherland_rolled sluggishly in a breathless calm. The seals were abundant, thehunting good, and the boats were all away and out of sight. And withthem was almost every man of the crew. Besides Chris, there remainedonly the captain, the sailing-master and the Chinese cook. 

The captain was captain only by courtesy. He was an old man, pasteighty, and blissfully ignorant of the sea and its ways; but he was theowner of the vessel, and hence the honorable title. Of course thesailing-master, who was really captain, was a thorough-going seaman. Themate, whose post was aboard, was out with the boats, having temporarilytaken Chris's place as boat-steerer. 

When good weather and good sport came together, the boats wereaccustomed to range far and wide, and often did not return to theschooner until long after dark. But for all that it was a perfecthunting day, Chris noted a growing anxiety on the part of thesailing-master. He paced the deck nervously, and was constantly sweepingthe horizon with his marine glasses. Not a boat was in sight. As sunsetarrived, he even sent Chris aloft to the mizzen-topmast-head, but withno better luck. The boats could not possibly be back before midnight. 

Since noon the barometer had been falling with startling rapidity, andall the signs were ripe for a great storm--how great, not even thesailing-master anticipated. He and Chris set to work to prepare forit. They put storm gaskets on the furled topsails, lowered and stowedthe foresail and spanker and took in the two inner jibs. In the oneremaining jib they put a single reef, and a single reef in the mainsail. 

Night had fallen before they finished, and with the darkness came thestorm. A low moan swept over the sea, and the wind struck the _SophieSutherland_ flat. But she righted quickly, and with the sailing-masterat the wheel, sheered her bow into within five points of the wind. Working as well as he could with his bandaged hand, and with the feebleaid of the Chinese cook, Chris went forward and backed the jib over tothe weather side. This with the flat mainsail, left the schooner hove to. 

"God help the boats! It's no gale! It's a typhoon!" the sailing-mastershouted to Chris at eleven o'clock. "Too much canvas! Got to get twomore reefs into that mainsail, and got to do it right away!" He glancedat the old captain, shivering in oilskins at the binnacle and holding onfor dear life. "There's only you and I, Chris--and the cook; but he'snext to worthless!"

In order to make the reef, it was necessary to lower the mainsail, andthe removal of this after pressure was bound to make the schooner falloff before the wind and sea because of the forward pressure of the jib. 

"Take the wheel!" the sailing-master directed. "And when I give theword, hard up with it! And when she's square before it, steady her! Andkeep her there! We'll heave to again as soon as I get the reefs in!"

Gripping the kicking spokes, Chris watched him and the reluctant cook goforward into the howling darkness. The _Sophie Sutherland_ wasplunging into the huge head-seas and wallowing tremendously, the tensesteel stays and taut rigging humming like harp-strings to the wind. Abuffeted cry came to his ears, and he felt the schooner's bow paying offof its own accord. The mainsail was down!

He ran the wheel hard-over and kept anxious track of the changingdirection of the wind on his face and of the heave of the vessel. Thiswas the crucial moment. In performing the evolution she would have topass broadside to the surge before she could get before it. The wind wasblowing directly on his right cheek, when he felt the _SophieSutherland_ lean over and begin to rise toward the sky--up--up--aninfinite distance! Would she clear the crest of the gigantic wave?

Again by the feel of it, for he could see nothing, he knew that a wallof water was rearing and curving far above him along the whole weatherside. There was an instant's calm as the liquid wall intervened and shutoff the wind. The schooner righted, and for that instant seemed atperfect rest. Then she rolled to meet the descending rush. 

Chris shouted to the captain to hold tight, and prepared himself for theshock. But the man did not live who could face it. An ocean of watersmote Chris's back and his clutch on the spokes was loosened as if itwere a baby's. Stunned, powerless, like a straw on the face of atorrent, he was swept onward he knew not whither. Missing the corner ofthe cabin, he was dashed forward along the poop runway a hundred feet ormore, striking violently against the foot of the foremast. A secondwave, crushing inboard, hurled him back the way he had come, and lefthim half-drowned where the poop steps should have been. 

Bruised and bleeding, dimly conscious, he felt for the rail and draggedhimself to his feet. Unless something could be done, he knew the lastmoment had come. As he faced the poop, the wind drove into his mouthwith suffocating force. This brought him back to his senses with astart. The wind was blowing from dead aft! The schooner was out of thetrough and before it! But the send of the sea was bound to breach her toagain. Crawling up the runway, he managed to get to the wheel just intime to prevent this. The binnacle light was still burning. They weresafe!

That is, he and the schooner were safe. As to the welfare of his threecompanions he could not say. Nor did he dare leave the wheel in order tofind out, for it took every second of his undivided attention to keepthe vessel to her course. The least fraction of carelessness and theheave of the sea under the quarter was liable to thrust her into thetrough. So, a boy of one hundred and forty pounds, he clung to hisherculean task of guiding the two hundred straining tons of fabric amidthe chaos of the great storm forces. 

Half an hour later, groaning and sobbing, the captain crawled to Chris'sfeet. All was lost, he whimpered. He was smitten unto death. The galleyhad gone by the board, the mainsail and running-gear, the cook, everything!

"Where's the sailing-master?" Chris demanded when he had caught hisbreath after steadying a wild lurch of the schooner. It was no child'splay to steer a vessel under single-reefed jib before a typhoon. 

"Clean up for'ard, " the old man replied. "Jammed under thefo'c'sle-head, but still breathing. Both his arms are broken, he says, and he doesn't know how many ribs. He's hurt bad. "

"Well, he'll drown there the way she's shipping water through thehawse-pipes. Go for'ard!" Chris commanded, taking charge of things as amatter of course. "Tell him not to worry; that I'm at the wheel. Helphim as much as you can, and make him help"--he stopped and ran thespokes to starboard as a tremendous billow rose under the stern andyawed the schooner to port--"and make him help himself for the rest. Unship the fo'castle hatch and get him down into a bunk. Then ship thehatch again. "

The captain turned his aged face forward and wavered pitifully. Thewaist of the ship was full of water to the bulwarks. He had just comethrough it, and knew death lurked every inch of the way. 

"Go!" Chris shouted, fiercely. And as the fear-stricken man started, "And take another look for the cook!"

Two hours later, almost dead from suffering, the captain returned. Hehad obeyed orders. The sailing-master was helpless, although safe in abunk; the cook was gone. Chris sent the captain below to the cabin tochange his clothes. 

After interminable hours of toil, day broke cold and gray. Chris lookedabout him. The _Sophie Sutherland_ was racing before the typhoonlike a thing possessed. There was no rain, but the wind whipped thespray of the sea mast-high, obscuring everything except in the immediateneighborhood. 

Two waves only could Chris see at a time--the one before and the onebehind. So small and insignificant the schooner seemed on the longPacific roll! Rushing up a maddening mountain, she would poise like acockle-shell on the giddy summit, breathless and rolling, leap outwardand down into the yawning chasm beneath, and bury herself in the smotherof foam at the bottom. Then the recovery, another mountain, anothersickening upward rush, another poise, and the downward crash. Abreast ofhim, to starboard, like a ghost of the storm, Chris saw the cook dashingapace with the schooner. Evidently, when washed overboard, he hadgrasped and become entangled in a trailing halyard. 

For three hours more, alone with this gruesome companion, Chris held the_Sophie Sutherland_ before the wind and sea. He had long sinceforgotten his mangled fingers. The bandages had been torn away, and thecold, salt spray had eaten into the half-healed wounds until they werenumb and no longer pained. But he was not cold. The terrific labor ofsteering forced the perspiration from every pore. Yet he was faint andweak with hunger and exhaustion, and hailed with delight the advent ondeck of the captain, who fed him all of a pound of cake-chocolate. Itstrengthened him at once. 

He ordered the captain to cut the halyard by which the cook's body wastowing, and also to go forward and cut loose the jib-halyard and sheet. When he had done so, the jib fluttered a couple of moments like ahandkerchief, then tore out of the bolt-ropes and vanished. The_Sophie Sutherland_ was running under bare poles. 

By noon the storm had spent itself, and by six in the evening the waveshad died down sufficiently to let Chris leave the helm. It was almosthopeless to dream of the small boats weathering the typhoon, but thereis always the chance in saving human life, and Chris at once appliedhimself to going back over the course along which he had fled. Hemanaged to get a reef in one of the inner jibs and two reefs in thespanker, and then, with the aid of the watch-tackle, to hoist them tothe stiff breeze that yet blew. And all through the night, tacking backand forth on the back track, he shook out canvas as fast as the windwould permit. 

The injured sailing-master had turned delirious and between tending himand lending a hand with the ship, Chris kept the captain busy. "Taughtme more seamanship, " as he afterward said, "than I'd learned on thewhole voyage. " But by daybreak the old man's feeble frame succumbed, andhe fell off into exhausted sleep on the weather poop. 

Chris, who could now lash the wheel, covered the tired man with blanketsfrom below, and went fishing in the lazaretto for something to eat. But by the day following he found himself forced to give in, drowsingfitfully by the wheel and waking ever and anon to take a look at things. 

On the afternoon of the third day he picked up a schooner, dismasted andbattered. As he approached, close-hauled on the wind, he saw her deckscrowded by an unusually large crew, and on sailing in closer, made outamong others the faces of his missing comrades. And he was just in thenick of time, for they were fighting a losing fight at the pumps. Anhour later they, with the crew of the sinking craft, were aboard the_Sophie Sutherland_. 

Having wandered so far from their own vessel, they had taken refuge onthe strange schooner just before the storm broke. She was a Canadiansealer on her first voyage, and as was now apparent, her last. 

The captain of the _Sophie Sutherland_ had a story to tell, also, and he told it well--so well, in fact, that when all hands were gatheredtogether on deck during the dog-watch, Emil Johansen strode over toChris and gripped him by the hand. 

"Chris, " he said, so loudly that all could hear, "Chris, I gif in. Youvas yoost so good a sailorman as I. You vas a bully boy, und ableseaman, und I pe proud for you!

"Und Chris!" He turned as if he had forgotten something, and calledback, "From dis time always you call me 'Emil' mitout der 'Mister!'"

TO REPEL BOARDERS

"No; honest, now, Bob, I'm sure I was born too late. The twentiethcentury's no place for me. If I'd had my way----"

"You'd have been born in the sixteenth, " I broke in, laughing, "withDrake and Hawkins and Raleigh and the rest of the sea-kings. "

"You're right!" Paul affirmed. He rolled over upon his back on thelittle after-deck, with a long sigh of dissatisfaction. 

It was a little past midnight, and, with the wind nearly astern, we wererunning down Lower San Francisco Bay to Bay Farm Island. Paul Fairfaxand I went to the same school, lived next door to each other, and"chummed it" together. By saving money, by earning more, and byeach of us foregoing a bicycle on his birthday, we had collectedthe purchase-price of the _Mist_, a beamy twenty-eight-footer, sloop-rigged, with baby topsail and centerboard. Paul's father was ayachtsman himself, and he had conducted the business for us, pokingaround, overhauling, sticking his penknife into the timbers, and testingthe planks with the greatest care. In fact, it was on his schooner, the _Whim_, that Paul and I had picked up what we knew aboutboat-sailing, and now that the _Mist_ was ours, we were hard atwork adding to our knowledge. 

The _Mist_, being broad of beam, was comfortable and roomy. A man could stand upright in the cabin, and what with the stove, cooking-utensils, and bunks, we were good for trips in her of a week ata time. And we were just starting out on the first of such trips, and itwas because it was the first trip that we were sailing by night. Earlyin the evening we had beaten out from Oakland, and we were now off themouth of Alameda Creek, a large salt-water estuary which fills andempties San Leandro Bay. 

"Men lived in those days, " Paul said, so suddenly as to startle me frommy own thoughts. "In the days of the sea-kings, I mean, " he explained. 

I said "Oh!" sympathetically, and began to whistle "Captain Kidd. "

"Now, I've my ideas about things, " Paul went on. "They talk aboutromance and adventure and all that, but I say romance and adventure aredead. We're too civilized. We don't have adventures in the twentiethcentury. We go to the circus----"

"But----" I strove to interrupt, though he would not listen to me. 

"You look here, Bob, " he said. "In all the time you and I've gonetogether what adventures have we had? True, we were out in the hillsonce, and didn't get back till late at night, and we were good andhungry, but we weren't even lost. We knew where we were all the time. Itwas only a case of walk. What I mean is, we've never had to fight forour lives. Understand? We've never had a pistol fired at us, or acannon, or a sword waving over our heads, or--or anything. .. . 

"You'd better slack away three or four feet of that main-sheet, " he saidin a hopeless sort of way, as though it did not matter much anyway. "Thewind's still veering around. 

"Why, in the old times the sea was one constant glorious adventure, "he continued. "A boy left school and became a midshipman, and in a fewweeks was cruising after Spanish galleons or locking yard-arms with aFrench privateer, or--doing lots of things. "

"Well--there _are_ adventures today, " I objected. 

But Paul went on as though I had not spoken:

"And today we go from school to high school, and from high school tocollege, and then we go into the office or become doctors and things, and the only adventures we know about are the ones we read in books. Why, just as sure as I'm sitting here on the stern of the sloop_Mist_, just so sure am I that we wouldn't know what to do if areal adventure came along. Now, would we?"

"Oh, I don't know, " I answered non-committally. 

"Well, you wouldn't be a coward, would you?" he demanded. 

I was sure I wouldn't and said so. 

"But you don't have to be a coward to lose your head, do you?"

I agreed that brave men might get excited. 

"Well, then, " Paul summed up, with a note of regret in his voice, "thechances are that we'd spoil the adventure. So it's a shame, and that'sall I can say about it. "

"The adventure hasn't come yet, " I answered, not caring to see him downin the mouth over nothing. You see, Paul was a peculiar fellow in somethings, and I knew him pretty well. He read a good deal, and had a quickimagination, and once in a while he'd get into moods like this one. So Isaid, "The adventure hasn't come yet, so there's no use worrying aboutits being spoiled. For all we know, it might turn out splendidly. "

Paul didn't say anything for some time, and I was thinking he was out ofthe mood, when he spoke up suddenly:

"Just imagine, Bob Kellogg, as we're sailing along now, just as we are, and never mind what for, that a boat should bear down upon us with armedmen in it, what would you do to repel boarders? Think you could rise toit?"

"What would _you_ do?" I asked pointedly. "Remember, we haven'teven a single shotgun aboard. "

"You would surrender, then?" he demanded angrily. "But suppose they weregoing to kill you?"

"I'm not saying what I'd do, " I answered stiffly, beginning to get alittle angry myself. "I'm asking what you'd do, without weapons of anysort?"

"I'd find something, " he replied--rather shortly, I thought. 

I began to chuckle. "Then the adventure wouldn't be spoiled, would it?And you've been talking rubbish. "

Paul struck a match, looked at his watch, and remarked that it wasnearly one o'clock--a way he had when the argument went against him. Besides, this was the nearest we ever came to quarreling now, thoughour share of squabbles had fallen to us in the earlier days of ourfriendship. I had just seen a little white light ahead when Paulspoke again. 

"Anchor-light, " he said. "Funny place for people to drop the hook. Itmay be a scow-schooner with a dinky astern, so you'd better go wide. "

I eased the _Mist_ several points, and, the wind puffing up, wewent plowing along at a pretty fair speed, passing the light so widethat we could not make out what manner of craft it marked. Suddenly the_Mist_ slacked up in a slow and easy way, as though running uponsoft mud. We were both startled. The wind was blowing stronger thanever, and yet we were almost at a standstill. 

"Mud-flat out here? Never heard of such a thing!"

So Paul exclaimed with a snort of unbelief, and, seizing an oar, shovedit down over the side. And straight down it went till the water wethis hand. There was no bottom! Then we were dumbfounded. The wind waswhistling by, and still the _Mist_ was moving ahead at a snail'space. There seemed something dead about her, and it was all I could doat the tiller to keep her from swinging up into the wind. 

"Listen!" I laid my hand on Paul's arm. We could hear the sound ofrowlocks, and saw the little white light bobbing up and down and nowvery close to us. "There's your armed boat, " I whispered in fun. "Beat the crew to quarters and stand by to repel boarders!"

We both laughed, and were still laughing when a wild scream of rage cameout of the darkness, and the approaching boat shot under our stern. By the light of the lantern it carried we could see the two men in itdistinctly. They were foreign-looking fellows with sun-bronzed faces, and with knitted tam-o'-shanters perched seaman fashion on their heads. Bright-colored woolen sashes were around their waists, and longsea-boots covered their legs. I remember yet the cold chill which passedalong my backbone as I noted the tiny gold ear-rings in the ears of one. For all the world they were like pirates stepped out of the pages ofromance. And, to make the picture complete, their faces were distortedwith anger, and each flourished a long knife. They were both shouting, in high-pitched voices, some foreign jargon we could not understand. 

One of them, the smaller of the two, and if anything the morevicious-looking, put his hands on the rail of the _Mist_ andstarted to come aboard. Quick as a flash Paul placed the end of the oaragainst the man's chest and shoved him back into his boat. He fell in aheap, but scrambled to his feet, waving the knife and shrieking:

"You break-a my net-a! You break-a my net-a!"

And he held forth in the jargon again, his companion joining him, andboth preparing to make another dash to come aboard the _Mist_. 

"They're Italian fishermen, " I cried, the facts of the case breaking inupon me. "We've run over their smelt-net, and it's slipped along thekeel and fouled our rudder. We're anchored to it. "

"Yes, and they're murderous chaps, too, " Paul said, sparring at themwith the oar to make them keep their distance. 

"Say, you fellows!" he called to them. "Give us a chance and we'll getit clear for you! We didn't know your net was there. We didn't mean todo it, you know!"

"You won't lose anything!" I added. "We'll pay the damages!"

But they could not understand what we were saying, or did not care tounderstand. 

"You break-a my net-a! You break-a my net-a!" the smaller man, the onewith the earrings, screamed back, making furious gestures. "I fix-a you!You-a see, I fix-a you!"

This time, when Paul thrust him back, he seized the oar in his hands, and his companion jumped aboard. I put my back against the tiller, andno sooner had he landed, and before he had caught his balance, than Imet him with another oar, and he fell heavily backward into the boat. Itwas getting serious, and when he arose and caught my oar, and I realizedhis strength, I confess that I felt a goodly tinge of fear. But thoughhe was stronger than I, instead of dragging me overboard when hewrenched on the oar, he merely pulled his boat in closer; and whenI shoved, the boat was forced away. Besides, the knife, still in hisright hand, made him awkward and somewhat counterbalanced the advantagehis superior strength gave him. Paul and his enemy were in the samesituation--a sort of deadlock, which continued for several seconds, butwhich could not last. Several times I shouted that we would pay forwhatever damage their net had suffered, but my words seemed to bewithout effect. 

Then my man began to tuck the oar under his arm, and to come up alongit, slowly, hand over hand. The small man did the same with Paul. Momentby moment they came closer, and closer, and we knew that the end wasonly a question of time. 

"Hard up, Bob!" Paul called softly to me. 

I gave him a quick glance, and caught an instant's glimpse of what Itook to be a very pale face and a very set jaw. 

"Oh, Bob, " he pleaded, "hard up your helm! Hard up your helm, Bob!"

And his meaning dawned upon me. Still holding to my end of the oar, Ishoved the tiller over with my back, and even bent my body to keep itover. As it was the _Mist_ was nearly dead before the wind, andthis maneuver was bound to force her to jibe her mainsail from one sideto the other. I could tell by the "feel" when the wind spilled out ofthe canvas and the boom tilted up. Paul's man had now gained a footingon the little deck, and my man was just scrambling up. 

"Look out!" I shouted to Paul. "Here she comes!"

Both he and I let go the oars and tumbled into the cockpit. The nextinstant the big boom and the heavy blocks swept over our heads, themain-sheet whipping past like a great coiling snake and the _Mist_heeling over with a violent jar. Both men had jumped for it, but in someway the little man either got his knife-hand jammed or fell upon it, forthe first sight we caught of him, he was standing in his boat, hisbleeding fingers clasped close between his knees and his face alltwisted with pain and helpless rage. 

"Now's our chance!" Paul whispered. "Over with you!"

And on either side of the rudder we lowered ourselves into the water, pressing the net down with our feet, till, with a jerk, it went clear, Then it was up and in, Paul at the main-sheet and I at the tiller, the_Mist_ plunging ahead with freedom in her motion, and the littlewhite light astern growing small and smaller. 

"Now that you've had your adventure, do you feel any better?" I rememberasking when we had changed our clothes and were sitting dry andcomfortable again in the cockpit. 

"Well, if I don't have the nightmare for a week to come"--Paul pausedand puckered his brows in judicial fashion--"it will be because I can'tsleep, that's one thing sure!"

AN ADVENTURE IN THE UPPER SEA

I am a retired captain of the upper sea. That is to say, when I was ayounger man (which is not so long ago) I was an aeronaut and navigatedthat aerial ocean which is all around about us and above us. Naturallyit is a hazardous profession, and naturally I have had many thrillingexperiences, the most thrilling, or at least the most nerve-racking, being the one I am about to relate. 

It happened before I went in for hydrogen gas balloons, all of varnishedsilk, doubled and lined, and all that, and fit for voyages of daysinstead of mere hours. The "Little Nassau" (named after the "GreatNassau" of many years back) was the balloon I was making ascents in atthe time. It was a fair-sized, hot-air affair, of single thickness, goodfor an hour's flight or so and capable of attaining an altitude of amile or more. It answered my purpose, for my act at the time was makinghalf-mile parachute jumps at recreation parks and country fairs. I wasin Oakland, a California town, filling a summer's engagement with astreet railway company. The company owned a large park outside the city, and of course it was to its interest to provide attractions which wouldsend the townspeople over its line when they went out to get a whiff ofcountry air. My contract called for two ascensions weekly, and my actwas an especially taking feature, for it was on my days that the largestcrowds were drawn. 

Before you can understand what happened, I must first explain a bitabout the nature of the hot air balloon which is used for parachutejumping. If you have ever witnessed such a jump, you will remember thatdirectly the parachute was cut loose the balloon turned upside down, emptied itself of its smoke and heated air, flattened out and fellstraight down, beating the parachute to the ground. Thus there is nochasing a big deserted bag for miles and miles across the country, andmuch time, as well as trouble, is thereby saved. This maneuver isaccomplished by attaching a weight, at the end of a long rope, to thetop of the balloon. The aeronaut, with his parachute and trapeze, hangsto the bottom of the balloon, and, weighing more, keeps it right sidedown. But when he lets go, the weight attached to the top immediatelydrags the top down, and the bottom, which is the open mouth, goes up, the heated air pouring out. The weight used for this purpose on the"Little Nassau" was a bag of sand. 

On the particular day I have in mind there was an unusually large crowdin attendance, and the police had their hands full keeping the peopleback. There was much pushing and shoving, and the ropes were bulgingwith the pressure of men, women and children. As I came down from thedressing room I noticed two girls outside the ropes, of about fourteenand sixteen, and inside the rope a youngster of eight or nine. Theywere holding him by the hands, and he was struggling, excitedly andhalf in laughter, to get away from them. I thought nothing of it atthe time--just a bit of childish play, no more; and it was only in thelight of after events that the scene was impressed vividly upon me. 

"Keep them cleared out, George!" I called to my assistant. "We don'twant any accidents. "

"Ay, " he answered, "that I will, Charley. "

George Guppy had helped me in no end of ascents, and because of hiscoolness, judgment and absolute reliability I had come to trust my lifein his hands with the utmost confidence. His business it was to overlookthe inflating of the balloon, and to see that everything about theparachute was in perfect working order. 

The "Little Nassau" was already filled and straining at the guys. Theparachute lay flat along the ground and beyond it the trapeze. I tossedaside my overcoat, took my position, and gave the signal to let go. Asyou know, the first rush upward from the earth is very sudden, and thistime the balloon, when it first caught the wind, heeled violently overand was longer than usual in righting. I looked down at the old familiarsight of the world rushing away from me. And there were the thousands ofpeople, every face silently upturned. And the silence startled me, for, as crowds went, this was the time for them to catch their first breathand send up a roar of applause. But there was no hand-clapping, whistling, cheering--only silence. And instead, clear as a bell anddistinct, without the slightest shake or quaver, came George's voicethrough the megaphone:

"Ride her down, Charley! Ride the balloon down!"

What had happened? I waved my hand to show that I had heard, and beganto think. Had something gone wrong with the parachute? Why should I ridethe balloon down instead of making the jump which thousands were waitingto see? What was the matter? And as I puzzled, I received another start. The earth was a thousand feet beneath, and yet I heard a child cryingsoftly, and seemingly very close to hand. And though the "Little Nassau"was shooting skyward like a rocket, the crying did not grow fainter andfainter and die away. I confess I was almost on the edge of a funk, when, unconsciously following up the noise with my eyes, I looked aboveme and saw a boy astride the sandbag which was to bring the "LittleNassau" to earth. And it was the same little boy I had seen strugglingwith the two girls--his sisters, as I afterward learned. 

There he was, astride the sandbag and holding on to the rope fordear life. A puff of wind heeled the balloon slightly, and he swung outinto space for ten or a dozen feet, and back again, fetching up againstthe tight canvas with a thud which even shook me, thirty feet or morebeneath. I thought to see him dashed loose, but he clung on andwhimpered. They told me afterward, how, at the moment they were castingoff the balloon, the little fellow had torn away from his sisters, ducked under the rope, and deliberately jumped astride the sandbag. Ithas always been a wonder to me that he was not jerked off in the firstrush. 

Well, I felt sick all over as I looked at him there, and I understoodwhy the balloon had taken longer to right itself, and why George hadcalled after me to ride her down. Should I cut loose with the parachute, the bag would at once turn upside down, empty itself, and begin itsswift descent. The only hope lay in my riding her down and in the boyholding on. There was no possible way for me to reach him. No man couldclimb the slim, closed parachute; and even if a man could, and made themouth of the balloon, what could he do? Straight out, and fifteen feetaway, trailed the boy on his ticklish perch, and those fifteen feet wereempty space. 

I thought far more quickly than it takes to tell all this, and realizedon the instant that the boy's attention must be called away from histerrible danger. Exercising all the self-control I possessed, andstriving to make myself very calm, I said cheerily:

"Hello, up there, who are you!"

He looked down at me, choking back his tears and brightening up, butjust then the balloon ran into a cross-current, turned half around andlay over. This set him swinging back and forth, and he fetched thecanvas another bump. Then he began to cry again. 

"Isn't it great?" I asked heartily, as though it was the most enjoyablething in the world; and, without waiting for him to answer: "What's yourname?"

"Tommy Dermott, " he answered. 

"Glad to make your acquaintance, Tommy Dermott, " I went on. "But I'dlike to know who said you could ride up with me?"

He laughed and said he just thought he'd ride up for the fun of it. Andso we went on, I sick with fear for him, and cudgeling my brains to keepup the conversation. I knew that it was all I could do, and that hislife depended upon my ability to keep his mind off his danger. I pointedout to him the great panorama spreading away to the horizon and fourthousand feet beneath us. There lay San Francisco Bay like a greatplacid lake, the haze of smoke over the city, the Golden Gate, the oceanfog-rim beyond, and Mount Tamalpais over all, clear-cut and sharpagainst the sky. Directly below us I could see a buggy, apparentlycrawling, but I knew from experience that the men in it were lashing thehorses on our trail. 

But he grew tired of looking around, and I could see he was beginning toget frightened. 

"How would you like to go in for the business?" I asked. 

He cheered up at once and asked "Do you get good pay?"

But the "Little Nassau, " beginning to cool, had started on its longdescent, and ran into counter currents which bobbed it roughly about. This swung the boy around pretty lively, smashing him into the bag oncequite severely. His lip began to tremble at this, and he was cryingagain. I tried to joke and laugh, but it was no use. His pluck wasoozing out, and at any moment I was prepared to see him go shootingpast me. 

I was in despair. Then, suddenly, I remembered how one fright coulddestroy another fright, and I frowned up at him and shouted sternly:

"You just hold on to that rope! If you don't I'll thrash you within aninch of your life when I get you down on the ground! Understand?"

"Ye-ye-yes, sir, " he whimpered, and I saw that the thing had worked. Iwas nearer to him than the earth, and he was more afraid of me than offalling. 

"'Why, you've got a snap up there on that soft bag, " I rattled on. 

"Yes, " I assured him, "this bar down here is hard and narrow, and ithurts to sit on it. "

Then a thought struck him, and he forgot all about his aching fingers. 

"When are you going to jump?" he asked. "That's what I came up to see. "

I was sorry to disappoint him, but I wasn't going to make any jump. 

But he objected to that. "It said so in the papers, " he said. 

"I don't care, " I answered. "I'm feeling sort of lazy today, and I'mjust going to ride down the balloon. It's my balloon and I guess I cando as I please about it. And, anyway, we're almost down now. "

And we were, too, and sinking fast. And right there and then thatyoungster began to argue with me as to whether it was right for me todisappoint the people, and to urge their claims upon me. And it waswith a happy heart that I held up my end of it, justifying myself in athousand different ways, till we shot over a grove of eucalyptus treesand dipped to meet the earth. 

"Hold on tight!" I shouted, swinging down from the trapeze by my handsin order to make a landing on my feet. 

We skimmed past a barn, missed a mesh of clothesline, frightenedthe barnyard chickens into a panic, and rose up again clear over ahaystack--all this almost quicker than it takes to tell. Then we camedown in an orchard, and when my feet had touched the ground I fetched upthe balloon by a couple of turns of the trapeze around an apple tree. 

I have had my balloon catch fire in mid air, I have hung on the corniceof a ten-story house, I have dropped like a bullet for six hundred feetwhen a parachute was slow in opening; but never have I felt so weak andfaint and sick as when I staggered toward the unscratched boy andgripped him by the arm. 

"Tommy Dermott, " I said, when I had got my nerves back somewhat. "TommyDermott, I'm going to lay you across my knee and give you the greatestthrashing a boy ever got in the world's history. "

"No, you don't, " he answered, squirming around. "You said you wouldn'tif I held on tight. "

"That's all right, " I said, "but I'm going to, just the same. Thefellows who go up in balloons are bad, unprincipled men, and I'm goingto give you a lesson right now to make you stay away from them, and fromballoons, too. "

And then I gave it to him, and if it wasn't the greatest thrashing inthe world, it was the greatest he ever got. 

But it took all the grit out of me, left me nerve-broken, thatexperience. I canceled the engagement with the street railway company, and later on went in for gas. Gas is much the safer, anyway. 

BALD-FACE

"Talkin' of bear----"

The Klondike King paused meditatively, and the group on the hotel porchhitched their chairs up closer. 

"Talkin' of bear, " he went on, "now up in the Northern Country there arevarious kinds. On the Little Pelly, for instance, they come down thatthick in the summer to feed on the salmon that you can't get an Indianor white man to go nigher than a day's journey to the place. And upin the Rampart Mountains there's a curious kind of bear called the'side-hill grizzly. ' That's because he's traveled on the side-hills eversince the Flood, and the two legs on the down-hill side are twice aslong as the two on the up-hill. And he can out-run a jack rabbit when hegets steam up. Dangerous? Catch you! Bless you, no. All a man has to dois to circle down the hill and run the other way. You see, that throwsmister bear's long legs up the hill and the short ones down. Yes, he's amighty peculiar creature, but that wasn't what I started in to tellabout. 

"They've got another kind of bear up on the Yukon, and his legs are allright, too. He's called the bald-face grizzly, and he's jest as big ashe is bad. It's only the fool white men that think of hunting him. Indians got too much sense. But there's one thing about the bald-facethat a man has to learn: he never gives the trail to mortal creature. If you see him comin', and you value your skin, you get out of his path. If you don't, there's bound to be trouble. If the bald-face met JehovahHimself on the trail, he'd not give him an inch. O, he's a selfishbeggar, take my word for it. But I had to learn all this. Didn't knowanything about bear when I went into the country, exceptin' when I was ayoungster I'd seen a heap of cinnamons and that little black kind. Andthey was nothin' to be scared at. 

"Well, after we'd got settled down on our claim, I went up on the hilllookin' for a likely piece of birch to make an ax-handle out of. Butit was pretty hard to find the right kind, and I kept a-goin' and kepta-goin' for nigh on two hours. Wasn't in no hurry to make my choice, yousee, for I was headin' down to the Forks, where I was goin' to borrow alog-bit from Old Joe Gee. When I started, I'd put a couple of sour-doughbiscuits and some sowbelly in my pocket in case I might get hungry. And I'm tellin' you that lunch came in right handy before I was donewith it. 

"Bime-by I hit upon the likeliest little birch saplin', right in themiddle of a clump of jack pine. Jest as I raised my hand-ax I happenedto cast my eyes down the hill. There was a big bear comin' up, swingin'along on all fours, right in my direction. It was a bald-face, butlittle I knew then about such kind. 

"'Jest watch me scare him, ' I says to myself, and I stayed out of sightin the trees. 

"Well, I waited till he was about a hundred feet off, then out I runsinto the open. 

"'Oof! oof!' I hollered at him, expectin' to see him turn tail likechain lightning. 

"Turn tail? He jest throwed up his head for one good look and came acomin'. 

"'Oof! oof!' I hollered, louder'n ever. But he jest came a comin'. 

"'Consarn you!' I says to myself, gettin' mad. 'I'll make you jump thetrail. '

"So I grabs my hat, and wavin' and hollerin' starts down the trail tomeet him. A big sugar pine had gone down in a windfall and lay aboutbreast high. I stops jest behind it, old bald-face comin' all the time. It was jest then that fear came to me. I yelled like a Comanche Indianas he raised up to come over the log, and fired my hat full in his face. Then I lit out. 

"Say! I rounded the end of that log and put down the hill at atwo-twenty clip, old bald-face reachin' for me at every jump. At thebottom was a broad, open flat, quarter of a mile to timber and full ofniggerheads. I knew if ever I slipped I was a goner, but I hit only thehigh places till you couldn't a-seen my trail for smoke. And the olddevil snortin' along hot after me. Midway across, he reached for me, jest strikin' the heel of my moccasin with his claw. Tell you I wasdoin' some tall thinkin' jest then. I knew he had the wind of me and Icould never make the brush, so I pulled my little lunch out of my pocketand dropped it on the fly. 

"Never looked back till I hit the timber, and then he was mouthing thebiscuits in a way which wasn't nice to see, considerin' how close he'dbeen to me. I never slacked up. No, sir! Jest kept hittin' the trail forall there was in me. But jest as I came around a bend, heelin' it rightlively I tell you, what'd I see in middle of the trail before me, andcomin' my way, but another bald-face!

"'Whoof!' he says when he spotted me, and he came a-runnin. '

"Instanter I was about and hittin' the back trail twice as fast as I'dcome. The way this one was puffin' after me, I'd clean forgot all aboutthe other bald-face. First thing I knew I seen him mosying along kind ofeasy, wonderin' most likely what had become of me, and if I tasted asgood as my lunch. Say! when he seen me he looked real pleased. And thenhe came a-jumpin' for me. 

"'Whoof!' he says. 

"'Whoof!' says the one behind me. 

"Bang I goes, slap off the trail sideways, a-plungin' and a-clawin'through the brush like a wild man. By this time I was clean crazed;thought the whole country was full of bald-faces. Next thing Iknows--whop, I comes up against something in a tangle of wild blackberrybushes. Then that something hits me a slap and closes in on me. Anotherbald-face! And then and there I knew I was gone for sure. But I made upto die game, and of all the rampin' and roarin' and rippin' and tearin'you ever see, that was the worst. 

"'My God! O my wife!' it says. And I looked and it was a man I washammering into kingdom come. 

"'Thought you was a bear, ' says I. 

"He kind of caught his breath and looked at me. Then he says, 'Samehere. '

"Seemed as though he'd been chased by a bald-face, too, and had hid inthe blackberries. So that's how we mistook each other. 

"But by that time the racket on the trail was something terrible, and wedidn't wait to explain matters. That afternoon we got Joe Gee and somerifles and came back loaded for bear. Mebbe you won't believe me, butwhen we got to the spot, there was the two bald-faces lyin' dead. Yousee, when I jumped out, they came together, and each refused to givetrail to the other. So they fought it out. Talkin' of bear. As I wassayin'----"

IN YEDDO BAY

Somewhere along Theater Street he had lost it. He remembered beinghustled somewhat roughly on the bridge over one of the canals thatcross that busy thoroughfare. Possibly some slant-eyed, light-fingeredpickpocket was even then enjoying the fifty-odd yen his purse hadcontained. And then again, he thought, he might have lost it himself, just lost it carelessly. 

Hopelessly, and for the twentieth time, he searched in all his pocketsfor the missing purse. It was not there. His hand lingered in hisempty hip-pocket, and he woefully regarded the voluble and vociferousrestaurant-keeper, who insanely clamored: "Twenty-five sen! You pay now!Twenty-five sen!"

"But my purse!" the boy said. "I tell you I've lost it somewhere. "

Whereupon the restaurant-keeper lifted his arms indignantly andshrieked: "Twenty-five sen! Twenty-five sen! You pay now!"

Quite a crowd had collected, and it was growing embarrassing for AlfDavis. 

It was so ridiculous and petty, Alf thought. Such a disturbance aboutnothing! And, decidedly, he must be doing something. Thoughts of divingwildly through that forest of legs, and of striking out at whomsoeveropposed him, flashed through his mind; but, as though divining hispurpose, one of the waiters, a short and chunky chap with anevil-looking cast in one eye, seized him by the arm. 

"You pay now! You pay now! Twenty-five sen!" yelled the proprietor, hoarse with rage. 

Alf was red in the face, too, from mortification; but he resolutely setout on another exploration. He had given up the purse, pinning his lasthope on stray coins. In the little change-pocket of his coat he founda ten-sen piece and five-copper sen; and remembering having recentlymissed a ten-sen piece, he cut the seam of the pocket and resurrectedthe coin from the depths of the lining. Twenty-five sen he held in hishand, the sum required to pay for the supper he had eaten. He turnedthem over to the proprietor, who counted them, grew suddenly calm, andbowed obsequiously--in fact, the whole crowd bowed obsequiously andmelted away. 

Alf Davis was a young sailor, just turned sixteen, on board the _AnnieMine_, an American sailing-schooner, which had run into Yokohama toship its season's catch of skins to London. And in this, his second tripashore, he was beginning to snatch his first puzzling glimpses of theOriental mind. He laughed when the bowing and kotowing was over, andturned on his heel to confront another problem. How was he to get aboardship? It was eleven o'clock at night, and there would be no ship's boatsashore, while the outlook for hiring a native boatman, with nothing butempty pockets to draw upon, was not particularly inviting. 

Keeping a sharp lookout for shipmates, he went down to the pier. AtYokohama there are no long lines of wharves. The shipping lies out atanchor, enabling a few hundred of the short-legged people to make alivelihood by carrying passengers to and from the shore. 

A dozen sampan men and boys hailed Alf and offered their services. Heselected the most favorable-looking one, an old and beneficent-appearingman with a withered leg. Alf stepped into his sampan and sat down. It was quite dark and he could not see what the old fellow was doing, though he evidently was doing nothing about shoving off and gettingunder way. At last he limped over and peered into Alf's face. 

"Ten sen, " he said. 

"Yes, I know, ten sen, " Alf answered carelessly. "But hurry up. Americanschooner. "

"Ten sen. You pay now, " the old fellow insisted. 

Alf felt himself grow hot all over at the hateful words "pay now. " "Youtake me to American schooner; then I pay, " he said. 

But the man stood up patiently before him, held out his hand, and said, "Ten sen. You pay now. "

Alf tried to explain. He had no money. He had lost his purse. But hewould pay. As soon as he got aboard the American schooner, then he wouldpay. No; he would not even go aboard the American schooner. He wouldcall to his shipmates, and they would give the sampan man the ten senfirst. After that he would go aboard. So it was all right, of course. 

To all of which the beneficent-appearing old man replied: "You pay now. Ten sen. " And, to make matters worse, the other sampan men squatted onthe pier steps, listening. 

Alf, chagrined and angry, stood up to step ashore. But the old fellowlaid a detaining hand on his sleeve. "You give shirt now. I take you'Merican schooner, " he proposed. 

Then it was that all of Alf's American independence flamed up in hisbreast. The Anglo-Saxon has a born dislike of being imposed upon, andto Alf this was sheer robbery! Ten sen was equivalent to six Americancents, while his shirt, which was of good quality and was new, had costhim two dollars. 

He turned his back on the man without a word, and went out to the end ofthe pier, the crowd, laughing with great gusto, following at his heels. The majority of them were heavy-set, muscular fellows, and the Julynight being one of sweltering heat, they were clad in the least possibleraiment. The water-people of any race are rough and turbulent, and itstruck Alf that to be out at midnight on a pier-end with such a crowd ofwharfmen, in a big Japanese city, was not as safe as it might be. 

One burly fellow, with a shock of black hair and ferocious eyes, cameup. The rest shoved in after him to take part in the discussion. 

"Give me shoes, " the man said. "Give me shoes now. I take you 'Mericanschooner. "

Alf shook his head, whereat the crowd clamored that he accept theproposal. Now the Anglo-Saxon is so constituted that to browbeat orbully him is the last way under the sun of getting him to do any certainthing. He will dare willingly, but he will not permit himself to bedriven. So this attempt of the boatmen to force Alf only aroused all thedogged stubbornness of his race. The same qualities were in him that arein men who lead forlorn hopes; and there, under the stars, on the lonelypier, encircled by the jostling and shouldering gang, he resolved thathe would die rather than submit to the indignity of being robbed of asingle stitch of clothing. Not value, but principle, was at stake. 

Then somebody thrust roughly against him from behind. He whirled aboutwith flashing eyes, and the circle involuntarily gave ground. But thecrowd was growing more boisterous. Each and every article of clothing hehad on was demanded by one or another, and these demands were shoutedsimultaneously at the tops of very healthy lungs. 

Alf had long since ceased to say anything, but he knew that thesituation was getting dangerous, and that the only thing left to himwas to get away. His face was set doggedly, his eyes glinted like pointsof steel, and his body was firmly and confidently poised. This air ofdetermination sufficiently impressed the boatmen to make them give waybefore him when he started to walk toward the shore-end of the pier. Butthey trooped along beside him and behind him, shouting and laughing morenoisily than ever. One of the youngsters, about Alf's size and build, impudently snatched his cap from his head; but before he could put it onhis own head, Alf struck out from the shoulder, and sent the fellowrolling on the stones. 

The cap flew out of his hand and disappeared among the many legs. Alfdid some quick thinking; his sailor pride would not permit him to leavethe cap in their hands. He followed in the direction it had sped, andsoon found it under the bare foot of a stalwart fellow, who kept hisweight stolidly upon it. Alf tried to get the cap out by a sudden jerk, but failed. He shoved against the man's leg, but the man only grunted. It was challenge direct, and Alf accepted it. Like a flash one leg wasbehind the man and Alf had thrust strongly with his shoulder against thefellow's chest. Nothing could save the man from the fierce vigorousnessof the trick, and he was hurled over and backward. 

Next, the cap was on Alf's head and his fists were up before him. Thenhe whirled about to prevent attack from behind, and all those in thatquarter fled precipitately. This was what he wanted. None remainedbetween him and the shore end. The pier was narrow. Facing them andthreatening with his fist those who attempted to pass him on eitherside, he continued his retreat. It was exciting work, walking backwardand at the same time checking that surging mass of men. But thedark-skinned peoples, the world over, have learned to respect the whiteman's fist; and it was the battles fought by many sailors, more than hisown warlike front, that gave Alf the victory. 

Where the pier adjoins the shore was the station of the harbor police, and Alf backed into the electric-lighted office, very much to theamusement of the dapper lieutenant in charge. The sampan men, grownquiet and orderly, clustered like flies by the open door, through whichthey could see and hear what passed. 

Alf explained his difficulty in few words, and demanded, as theprivilege of a stranger in a strange land, that the lieutenant put himaboard in the police-boat. The lieutenant, in turn, who knew all the"rules and regulations" by heart, explained that the harbor police werenot ferrymen, and that the police-boats had other functions to performthan that of transporting belated and penniless sailor-men to theirships. He also said he knew the sampan men to be natural-born robbers, but that so long as they robbed within the law he was powerless. Itwas their right to collect fares in advance, and who was he to commandthem to take a passenger and collect fare at the journey's end? Alfacknowledged the justice of his remarks, but suggested that while hecould not command he might persuade. The lieutenant was willing tooblige, and went to the door, from where he delivered a speech to thecrowd. But they, too, knew their rights, and, when the officer hadfinished, shouted in chorus their abominable "Ten sen! You pay now!You pay now!"

"You see, I can do nothing, " said the lieutenant, who, by the way, spokeperfect English. "But I have warned them not to harm or molest you, soyou will be safe, at least. The night is warm and half over. Lie downsomewhere and go to sleep. I would permit you to sleep here in theoffice, were it not against the rules and regulations. "

Alf thanked him for his kindness and courtesy; but the sampan men hadaroused all his pride of race and doggedness, and the problem could notbe solved that way. To sleep out the night on the stones was anacknowledgment of defeat. 

"The sampan men refuse to take me out?"

The lieutenant nodded. 

"And you refuse to take me out?"

Again the lieutenant nodded. 

"Well, then, it's not in the rules and regulations that you can preventmy taking myself out?"

The lieutenant was perplexed. "There is no boat, " he said. 

"That's not the question, " Alf proclaimed hotly. "If I take myself out, everybody's satisfied and no harm done?"

"Yes; what you say is true, " persisted the puzzled lieutenant. "But youcannot take yourself out. "

"You just watch me, " was the retort. 

Down went Alf's cap on the office floor. Right and left he kicked offhis low-cut shoes. Trousers and shirt followed. 

"Remember, " he said in ringing tones, "I, as a citizen of the UnitedStates, shall hold you, the city of Yokohama, and the government ofJapan responsible for those clothes. Good night. "

He plunged through the doorway, scattering the astounded boatmen toeither side, and ran out on the pier. But they quickly recovered and ranafter him, shouting with glee at the new phase the situation had takenon. It was a night long remembered among the water-folk of Yokohamatown. Straight to the end Alf ran, and, without pause, dived off cleanlyand neatly into the water. He struck out with a lusty, single-overhandstroke till curiosity prompted him to halt for a moment. Out of thedarkness, from where the pier should be, voices were calling to him. 

He turned on his back, floated, and listened. 

"All right! All right!" he could distinguish from the babel. "No paynow; pay bime by! Come back! Come back now; pay bime by!"

"No, thank you, " he called back. "No pay at all. Good night. "

Then he faced about in order to locate the _Annie Mine_. She wasfully a mile away, and in the darkness it was no easy task to get herbearings. First, he settled upon a blaze of lights which he knew nothingbut a man-of-war could make. That must be the United States war-ship_Lancaster_. Somewhere to the left and beyond should be the_Annie Mine. _ But to the left he made out three lights closetogether. That could not be the schooner. For the moment he wasconfused. He rolled over on his back and shut his eyes, striving toconstruct a mental picture of the harbor as he had seen it in daytime. With a snort of satisfaction he rolled back again. The three lightsevidently belonged to the big English tramp steamer. Therefore theschooner must lie somewhere between the three lights and the_Lancaster_. He gazed long and steadily, and there, very dim andlow, but at the point he expected, burned a single light--theanchor-light of the _Annie Mine_. 

And it was a fine swim under the starshine. The air was warm as thewater, and the water as warm as tepid milk. The good salt taste of itwas in his mouth, the tingling of it along his limbs; and the steadybeat of his heart, heavy and strong, made him glad for living. 

But beyond being glorious the swim was uneventful. On the right hand hepassed the many-lighted _Lancaster_, on the left hand the Englishtramp, and ere long the _Annie Mine_ loomed large above him. Hegrasped the hanging rope-ladder and drew himself noiselessly on deck. There was no one in sight. He saw a light in the galley, and knew thatthe captain's son, who kept the lonely anchor-watch, was making coffee. Alf went forward to the forecastle. The men were snoring in their bunks, and in that confined space the heat seemed to him insufferable. So heput on a thin cotton shirt and a pair of dungaree trousers, tuckedblanket and pillow under his arm, and went up on deck and out on thefore-castle-head. 

Hardly had he begun to doze when he was roused by a boat comingalongside and hailing the anchor-watch. It was the police-boat, and toAlf it was given to enjoy the excited conversation that ensued. Yes, thecaptain's son recognized the clothes. They belonged to Alf Davis, one ofthe seamen. What had happened? No; Alf Davis had not come aboard. Hewas ashore. He was not ashore? Then he must be drowned. Here both thelieutenant and the captain's son talked at the same time, and Alf couldmake out nothing. Then he heard them come forward and rouse out thecrew. The crew grumbled sleepily and said that Alf Davis was not in theforecastle; whereupon the captain's son waxed indignant at the Yokohamapolice and their ways, and the lieutenant quoted rules and regulationsin despairing accents. 

Alf rose up from the forecastle-head and extended his hand, saying:

"I guess I'll take those clothes. Thank you for bringing them aboard sopromptly. "

"I don't see why he couldn't have brought you aboard inside of them, "said the captain's son. 

And the police lieutenant said nothing, though he turned the clothesover somewhat sheepishly to their rightful owner. 

The next day, when Alf started to go ashore, he found himself surroundedby shouting and gesticulating, though very respectful, sampan men, allextraordinarily anxious to have him for a passenger. Nor did the onehe selected say, "You pay now, " when he entered his boat. "When Alfprepared to step out on to the pier, he offered the man the customaryten sen. But the man drew himself up and shook his head. 

"You all right, " he said. "You no pay. You never no pay. You bully boyand all right. "

And for the rest of the _Annie Mine's_ stay in port, the sampan menrefused money at Alf Davis's hand. Out of admiration for his pluck andindependence, they had given him the freedom of the harbor. 

WHOSE BUSINESS IS TO LIVE

Stanton Davies and Jim Wemple ceased from their talk to listen to anincrease of uproar in the street. A volley of stones thrummed and boomedthe wire mosquito nettings that protected the windows. It was a hotnight, and the sweat of the heat stood on their faces as they listened. Arose the incoherent clamor of the mob, punctuated by individual criesin Mexican-Spanish. Least terrible among the obscene threats were:"Death to the Gringos!" "Kill the American pigs!" "Drown the Americandogs in the sea!"

Stanton Davies and Jim Wemple shrugged their shoulders patiently to eachother, and resumed their conversation, talking louder in order to makethemselves heard above the uproar. 

"The question is _how_, " Wemple said. "It's forty-seven miles toPanuco, by river----"

"And the land's impossible, with Zaragoza's and Villa's men on the lootand maybe fraternizing, " Davies agreed. 

Wemple nodded and continued: "And she's at the East Coast Magnolia, twomiles beyond, if she isn't back at the hunting camp. We've got to gether----"

"We've played pretty square in this matter, Wemple, " Davies said. "Andwe might as well speak up and acknowledge what each of us knows theother knows. You want her. I want her. "

Wemple lighted a cigarette and nodded. 

"And now's the time when it's up to us to make a show as if we didn'twant her and that all we want is just to save her and get her downhere. "

"And a truce until we do save her--I get you, " Wempel affirmed. 

"A truce until we get her safe and sound back here in Tampico, or aboarda battleship. After that? . .. "

Both men shrugged shoulders and beamed on each other as their hands metin ratification. 

Fresh volleys of stones thrummed against the wire-screened windows; aboy's voice rose shrilly above the clamor, proclaiming death to theGringos; and the house reverberated to the heavy crash of some batteringram against the street-door downstairs. Both men, snatching up automaticrifles, ran down to where their fire could command the threatened door. 

"If they break in we've got to let them have it, " Wemple said. 

Davies nodded quiet agreement, then inconsistently burst out with alurid string of oaths. 

"To think of it!" he explained his wrath. "One out of three of thosecurs outside has worked for you or me--lean-bellied, barefooted, poverty-stricken, glad for ten centavos a day if they could only getwork. And we've given them steady jobs and a hundred and fifty centavosa a day, and here they are yelling for our blood. "

"Only the half breeds, " Davies corrected. 

"You know what I mean, " Wemple replied. "The only peons we've lost arethose that have been run off or shot. "

The attack on the door ceasing, they returned upstairs. Half a dozenscattered shots from farther along the street seemed to draw away themob, for the neighborhood became comparatively quiet. 

A whistle came to them through the open windows, and a man's voicecalling:

"Wemple! Open the door! It's Habert! Want to talk to you!"

Wemple went down, returning in several minutes with a tidily-paunched, well-built, gray-haired American of fifty. He shook hands with Daviesand flung himself into a chair, breathing heavily. He did not relinquishhis clutch on the Colt's 44 automatic pistol, although he immediatelyaddressed himself to the task of fishing a filled clip of cartridgesfrom the pocket of his linen coat. He had arrived hatless andbreathless, and the blood from a stone-cut on the cheek oozed down hisface. He, too, in a fit of anger, springing to his feet when he hadchanged clips in his pistol, burst out with mouth-filling profanity. 

"They had an American flag in the dirt, stamping and spitting on it. Andthey told me to spit on it. "

Wemple and Davies regarded him with silent interrogation. 

"Oh, I know what you're wondering!" he flared out. "Would I a-spit on itin the pinch? That's what's eating you. I'll answer. Straight out, brasstacks, I WOULD. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. "

He paused to help himself to a cigar from the box on the table and tolight it with a steady and defiant hand. 

"Hell!--I guess this neck of the woods knows Anthony Habert, and you canbank on it that it's never located his yellow streak. Sure, in thepinch, I'd spit on Old Glory. What the hell d'ye think I'm going on thestreets for a night like this? Didn't I skin out of the Southern Hotelhalf an hour ago, where there are forty buck Americans, not countingtheir women, and all armed? That was safety. What d'ye think I came herefor?--to rescue you?"

His indignation lumped his throat into silence, and he seemed shaken aswith an apoplexy. 

"Spit it out, " Davies commanded dryly. 

"I'll tell you, " Habert exploded. "It's Billy Boy. Fifty miles upcountry and twenty-thousand throat-cutting federals and rebels betweenhim and me. D'ye know what that boy'd do, if he was here in Tampico andI was fifty miles up the Panuco? Well, I know. And I'm going to do thesame--go and get him. "

"We're figuring on going up, " Wemple assured him. 

"And that's why I headed here--Miss Drexel, of course?"

Both men acquiesced and smiled. It was a time when men dared speak ofmatters which at other times tabooed speech. 

"Then the thing's to get started, " Habert exclaimed, looking at hiswatch. "It's midnight now. We've got to get to the river and get aboat--"

But the clamor of the returning mob came through the windows in answer. 

Davies was about to speak, when the telephone rang, and Wemple sprang tothe instrument. 

"It's Carson, " he interjected, as he listened. "They haven't cut thewires across the river yet. --Hello, Carson. Was it a break or a cut? . .. Bully for you. .. . Yes, move the mules across to the potrero beyondTamcochin. .. . Who's at the water station? . .. Can you still 'phonehim? . .. Tell him to keep the tanks full, and to shut off the main toArico. Also, to hang on till the last minute, and keep a horse saddledto cut and run for it. Last thing before he runs, he must jerk out the'phone. .. . Yes, yes, yes. Sure. No breeds. Leave full-blooded Indians incharge. Gabriel is a good _hombre_. Heaven knows, once we're chasedout, when we'll get back. .. . You can't pinch down Jaramillo undertwenty-five hundred barrels. We've got storage for ten days. Gabriel'llhave to handle it. Keep it moving, if we have to run it into theriver----"

"Ask him if he has a launch, " Habert broke in. 

"He hasn't, " was Wemple's answer. "The federals commandeered the lastone at noon. "

"Say, Carson, how are you going to make your get-away?" Wemple queried. 

The man to whom he talked was across the Panuco, on the south side, atthe tank farm. 

"Says there isn't any get-away, " Wemple vouchsafed to the other two. "The federals are all over the shop, and he can't understand why theyhaven't raided him hours ago. "

". .. Who? Campos? That skunk! . .. All right. .. . Don't be worried if youdon't hear from me. I'm going up river with Davies and Habert. .. . Useyour judgment, and if you get a safe chance at Campos, pot him. .. . Oh, a hot time over here. They're battering our doors now. Yes, by allmeans . .. Good-by, old man. "

Wemple lighted a cigarette and wiped his forehead. 

"You know Campos, José H. Campos, " hevolunteered. "The dirty cur's stuck Carson upfor twenty thousand pesos. We had to pay, or he'd have compelled half our peons to enlistor set the wells on fire. And you know, Davies, what we've done for him in past years. Gratitude? Simple decency? Great Scott!"

 * * * * *

It was the night of April twenty-first. On the morning of thetwenty-first the American marines and bluejackets had landed at VeraCruz and seized the custom house and the city. Immediately the news wastelegraphed, the vengeful Mexican mob had taken possession of thestreets of Tampico and expressed its disapproval of the action of theUnited States by tearing down American flags and crying death to theAmericans. 

There was nothing save its own spinelessness to deter the mob fromcarrying out its threat. Had it battered down the doors of the SouthernHotel, or of other hotels, or of residences such as Wemple's, a fightwould have started in which the thousands of federal soldiers in Tampicowould have joined their civilian compatriots in the laudable task ofdecreasing the Gringo population of that particular portion of Mexico. There should have been American warships to act as deterrents; butthrough some inexplicable excess of delicacy, or strategy, or heavenknows what, the United States, when it gave its orders to take VeraCruz, had very carefully withdrawn its warships from Tampico to the openGulf a dozen miles away. This order had come to Admiral Mayo by wirelessfrom Washington, and thrice he had demanded the order to be repeated, ere, with tears in his eyes, he had turned his back on his countrymenand countrywomen and steamed to sea. 

 * * * * *

"Of all asinine things, to leave us in the lurch this way!" Habert wasdenouncing the powers that be of his country. "Mayo'd never have doneit. Mark my words, he had to take program from Washington. And here weare, and our dear ones scattered for fifty miles back up country. .. . Say, if I lose Billy Boy I'll never dare go home to face the wife. --Comeon. Let the three of us make a start. We can throw the fear of God intoany gang on the streets. "

"Come on over and take a squint, " Davies invited from where he stood, somewhat back from the window, looking down into the street. 

It was gorged with rioters, all haranguing, cursing, crying out death, and urging one another to smash the doors, but each hanging back fromthe death he knew waited behind those doors for the first of the rush. 

"We can't break through a bunch like that, Habert, " was Davies' comment. 

"And if we die under their feet we'll be of little use to Billy Boy oranybody else up the Panuco, " Wemple added. "And if----"

A new movement of the mob caused him to break off. It was splittingbefore a slow and silent advance of a file of white-clad men. 

"Bluejackets--Mayo's come back for us after all, " Habert muttered. 

"Then we can get a navy launch, " Davies said. 

The bedlam of the mob died away, and, in silence, the sailors reachedthe street door and knocked for admittance. All three went down to openit, and to discover that the callers were not Americans but two Germanlieutenants and half a dozen German marines. At sight of the Americans, the rage of the mob rose again, and was quelled by the grounding of therifle butts of the marines. 

"No, thank you, " the senior lieutenant, in passable English, declinedthe invitation to enter. He unconcernedly kept his cigar alive at suchtimes that the mob drowned his voice. "We are on the way back to ourship. Our commander conferred with the English and Dutch commanders; butthey declined to cooperate, so our commander has undertaken the entireresponsibility. We have been the round of the hotels. They are to holdtheir own until daybreak, when we'll take them off. We have given themrockets such as these. --Take them. If your house is entered, hold yourown and send up a rocket from the roof. We can be here in force, inforty-five minutes. Steam is up in all our launches, launch crews andmarines for shore duty are in the launches, and at the first rocket weshall start. "

"Since you are going aboard now, we should like to go with you, " Daviessaid, after having rendered due thanks. 

The surprise and distaste on both lieutenants' faces was patent. 

"Oh, no, " Davies laughed. "We don't want refuge. We have friends fiftymiles up river, and we want to get to the river in order to go up afterthem. "

The pleasure on the officers' faces was immediate as they looked asilent conference at each other. 

"Since our commander has undertaken grave responsibility on a night likethis, may we do less than take minor responsibility?" queried the elder. 

To this the younger heartily agreed. In a trice, upstairs and downagain, equipped with extra ammunition, extra pistols, and apocket-bulging supply of cigars, cigarettes and matches, the threeAmericans were ready. Wemple called last instructions up the stairway toimaginary occupants being left behind, ascertained that the spring lockwas on, and slammed the door. 

The officers led, followed by the Americans, the rear brought up by thesix marines; and the spitting, howling mob, not daring to cast a stone, gave way before them. 

 * * * * *

As they came alongside the gangway of the cruiser, they saw launches andbarges lying in strings to the boat-booms, filled with men, waiting forthe rocket signal from the beleaguered hotels. A gun thundered fromclose at hand, up river, followed by the thunder of numerous guns andthe reports of many rifles fired very rapidly. 

"Now what's the _Topila_ whanging away at?" Habert complained, thenjoined the others in gazing at the picture. 

A searchlight, evidently emanating from the Mexican gunboat, wasstabbing the darkness to the middle of the river, where it played uponthe water. And across the water, the center of the moving circle oflight, flashed a long, lean speedboat. A shell burst in the air ahundred feet astern of it. Somewhere, outside the light, other shellswere bursting in the water; for they saw the boat rocked by the wavesfrom the explosions. They could guess the whizzing of the rifle bullets. 

But for only several minutes the spectacle lasted. Such was the speed ofthe boat that it gained shelter behind the German, when the Mexicangunboat was compelled to cease fire. The speedboat slowed down, turnedin a wide and heeling circle, and ranged up alongside the launch at thegangway. 

The lights from the gangway showed but one occupant, a tow-headed, greasy-faced, blond youth of twenty, very lean, very calm, very muchsatisfied with himself. 

"If it ain't Peter Tonsburg!" Habert ejaculated, reaching out a hand toshake. "Howdy, Peter, howdy. And where in hell are you hellbent for, surging by the _Topila_ in such scandalous fashion!"

Peter, a Texas-born Swede of immigrant parents, filled with the oldTexas traditions, greasily shook hands with Wemple and Davies as well, saying "Howdy, " as only the Texan born can say it. 

"Me, " he answered Habert. "I ain't hellbent nowhere exceptin' to getaway from the shell-fire. She's a caution, that _Topila_. Huh! butI limbered 'em up some. I was goin' every inch of twenty-five. They waslike amateurs blazin' away at canvasback. "

"Which _Chill_ is it?" Wemple asked. 

"_Chill II_, " Peter answered. "It's all that's left. _Chill I_a Greaser--you know 'm--Campos--commandeered this noon. I was runnin'_Chill III_ when they caught me at sundown. Made me come in undertheir guns at the East Coast outfit, and fired me out on my neck. 

"Now the boss'd gone over in this one to Tampico in the early evening, and just about ten minutes ago I spots it landin' with a sousy bunch ofFederals at the East Coast, and swipes it back according. Where's theboss? He ain't hurt, is he? Because I'm going after him. "

"No, you're not, Peter, " Davies said. "Mr. Frisbie is safe at theSouthern Hotel, all except a five-inch scalp wound from a brick that'sgot him down with a splitting headache. He's safe, so you're going withus, going to take us, I mean, up beyond Panuco town. "

"Huh?--I can see myself, " Peter retorted, wiping his greasy nose on awad of greasy cotton waste. "I got some cold. Besides, thisnight-drivin' ain't good for my complexion. "

"My boy's up there, " Habert said. 

"Well, he's bigger'n I am, and I reckon he can take care of himself. "

"And there's a woman there--Miss Drexel, " Davies said quietly. 

"Who? Miss Drexel? Why didn't you say so at first!" Peter demandedgrievedly. He sighed and added, "Well, climb in an' make a start. Betterget your Dutch friends to donate me about twenty gallons of gasoline ifyou want to get anywhere. "

 * * * * *

"Won't do you no good to lay low, " Peter Tonsburg remarked, as, at fullspeed, headed up river, the _Topila's_ searchlight stabbed them. "High or low, if one of them shells hits in the vicinity--_goodnight_!"

Immediately thereafter the _Topila_ erupted. The roar of the_Chill's_ exhaust nearly drowned the roar of the guns, but thefragile hull of the craft was shaken and rocked by the bursting shells. An occasional bullet thudded into or pinged off the _Chill_, and, despite Peter's warning that, high or low, they were bound to get it ifit came to them, every man on board, including Peter, crouched, withchest contracted by drawn-in shoulders, in an instinctive and purelyunconscious effort to lessen the area of body he presented as a targetor receptacle for flying fragments of steel. 

The _Topila_ was a federal gunboat. To complicate the affair, theconstitutionalists, gathered on the north shore in the siege of Tampico, opened up on the speedboat with many rifles and a machine gun. 

"Lord, I'm glad they're Mexicans, and not Americans, " Habert observed, after five mad minutes in which no damage had been received. "Mexicansare born with guns in their hands, and they never learn to use them. "

Nor was the _Chill_ or any man aboard damaged when at last sherounded the bend of river that shielded her from the searchlight. 

"I'll have you in Panuco town in less'n three hours, . .. If we don't hita log, " Peter leaned back and shouted in Wemple's ear. "And if we do hitdriftwood, I'll have you in the swim quicker than that. "

_Chill II_ tore her way through the darkness, steered by thetow-headed youth who knew every foot of the river and who guided hiscourse by the loom of the banks in the dim starlight. A smart breeze, kicking up spiteful wavelets on the wider reaches, splashed them withsheeted water as well as fine-flung spray. And, in the face of thewarmth of the tropic night, the wind, added to the speed of the boat, chilled them through their wet clothes. 

"Now I know why she was named the _Chill_, " Habert observed betwixtchattering teeth. 

But conversation languished during the nearly three hours of drivethrough the darkness. Once, by the exhaust, they knew that they passedan unlighted launch bound down stream. And once, a glare of light, nearthe south bank, as they passed through the Toreno field, aroused briefdebate as to whether it was the Toreno wells, or the bungalow onMerrick's banana plantation that flared so fiercely. 

At the end of an hour, Peter slowed down and ran in to the bank. 

"I got a cache of gasoline here--ten gallons, " he explained, "and it'sjust as well to know it's here for the back trip. " Without leaving theboat, fishing arm-deep into the brush, he announced, "All hunky-dory. "He proceeded to oil the engine. "Huh!" he soliloquized for theirbenefit. "I was just readin' a magazine yarn last night. 'Whose BusinessIs to Die, ' was its title. An' all I got to say is, 'The hell it is. ' Aman's business is to live. Maybe you thought it was our business to diewhen the _Topila_ was pepper-in' us. But you was wrong. We'realive, ain't we? We beat her to it. That's the game. Nobody's got anybusiness to die. I ain't never goin' to die, if I've got any say aboutit. "

He turned over the crank, and the roar and rush of the _Chill_ putan end to speech. 

There was no need for Wemple or Davies to speak further in the affairclosest to their hearts. Their truce to love-making had been made asbinding as it was brief, and each rival honored the other with a firmbelief that he would commit no infraction of the truce. Afterward wasanother matter. In the meantime they were one in the effort to get BethDrexel back to the safety of riotous Tampico or of a war vessel. 

It was four o'clock when they passed by Panuco Town. Shouts and songstold them that the federal detachment holding the place was celebratingits indignation at the landing of American bluejackets in Vera Cruz. Sentinels challenged the _Chill_ from the shore and shot at randomat the noise of her in the darkness. 

A mile beyond, where a lighted river steamer with steam up lay at thenorth bank, they ran in at the Apshodel wells. The steamer was small, and the nearly two hundred Americans--men, women, and children--crowdedher capacity. Blasphemous greetings of pure joy and geniality wereexchanged between the men, and Habert learned that the steamboat waswaiting for his Billy Boy, who, astride a horse, was rounding upisolated drilling gangs who had not yet learned that the United Stateshad seized Vera Cruz and that all Mexico was boiling. 

Habert climbed out to wait and to go down on the steamer, while thethree that remained on the _Chill_, having learned that Miss Drexelwas not with the refugees, headed for the Dutch Company on the southshore. This was the big gusher, pinched down from one hundred andeighty-five thousand daily barrels to the quantity the companywas able to handle. Mexico had no quarrel with Holland, so that thesuperintendent, while up, with night guards out to prevent drunkensoldiers from firing his vast lakes of oil, was quite unemotional. Yes, the last he had heard was that Miss Drexel and her brother were back atthe hunting lodge. No; he had not sent any warnings, and he doubted thatanybody else had. Not till ten o'clock the previous evening had helearned of the landing at Vera Cruz. The Mexicans had turned nasty assoon as they heard of it, and they had killed Miles Forman at the EmpireWells, run off his labor, and looted the camp. Horses? No; he didn'thave horse or mule on the place. The federals had commandeered the lastanimal weeks back. It was his belief, however, that there were a coupleof plugs at the lodge, too worthless even for the Mexicans to take. 

"It's a hike, " Davies said cheerfully. 

"Six miles of it, " Wemple agreed, equally cheerfully. "Let's beat it. "

A shot from the river, where they had left Peter in the boat, startedthem on the run for the bank. A scattering of shots, as from two rifles, followed. And while the Dutch superintendent, in execrable Spanish, shouted affirmations of Dutch neutrality into the menacing dark, acrossthe gunwale of _Chill II_ they found the body of the tow-headedyouth whose business it had been not to die. 

 * * * * *

For the first hour, talking little, Davies and Wemple stumbled along theapology for a road that led through the jungle to the lodge. They diddiscuss the glares of several fires to the east along the south bank ofPanuco River, and hoped fervently that they were dwellings and notwells. 

"Two billion dollars worth of oil right here in the Ebaño field alone, "Davies grumbled. 

"And a drunken Mexican, whose whole carcass and immortal soul aren'tworth ten pesos including hair, hide, and tallow, can start the bonfirewith a lighted wad of cotton waste, " was Wemple's contribution. "And ifever she starts, she'll gut the field of its last barrel. "

Dawn, at five, enabled them to accelerate their pace; and six o'clockfound them routing out the occupants of the lodge. 

"Dress for rough travel, and don't stop for any frills, " Wemple calledaround the corner of Miss Drexel's screened sleeping porch. 

"Not a wash, nothing, " Davies supplemented grimly, as he shook handswith Charley Drexel, who yawned and slippered up to them in pajamas. "Where are those horses, Charley? Still alive?"

Wemple finished giving orders to the sleepy peons to remain and care forthe place, occupying their spare time with hiding the more valuablethings, and was calling around the corner to Miss Drexel the news of thecapture of Vera Cruz, when Davies returned with the information that thehorses consisted of a pair of moth-eaten skates that could be dependedupon to lie down and die in the first half mile. 

Beth Drexel emerged, first protesting that under no circumstances wouldshe be guilty of riding the creatures, and, next, her brunette skin anddark eyes still flushed warm with sleep, greeting the two rescuers. 

"It would be just as well if you washed your face, Stanton, " she toldDavies; and, to Wemple: "You're just as bad, Jim. You are a pair ofdirty boys. "

"And so will you be, " Wemple assured her, "before you get back toTampico. Are you ready?"

"As soon as Juanita packs my hand bag. "

"Heavens, Beth, don't waste time!" exclaimed Wemple. "Jump in and grabup what you want. "

"Make a start--make a start, " chanted Davies. "Hustle! Hustle!--Charley, get the rifle you like best and take it along. Get a couple for us. "

"Is it as serious as that?" Miss Drexel queried. 

Both men nodded. 

"The Mexicans are tearing loose, " Davies explained. "How they missedthis place I don't know. " A movement in the adjoining room startled him. "Who's that?" he cried. 

"Why, Mrs. Morgan, " Miss Drexel answered. 

"Good heavens, Wemple, I'd forgotten _her_, " groaned Davies. "Howwill we ever get her anywhere?"

"Let Beth walk, and relay the lady on the nags. "

"She weighs a hundred and eighty, " Miss Drexel laughed. "Oh, hurry, Martha! We're waiting on you to start!"

Muffled speech came through the partition, and then emerged a veryshort, stout, much-flustered woman of middle age. 

"I simply can't walk, and you boys needn't demand it of me, " was herplaint. "It's no use. I couldn't walk half a mile to save my life, andit's six of the worst miles to the river. "

They regarded her in despair. 

"Then you'll ride, " said Davies. "Come on, Charley. We'll get a saddleon each of the nags. "

Along the road through the tropic jungle, Miss Drexel and Juanita, her Indian maid, led the way. Her brother, carrying the three rifles, brought up the rear, while in the middle Davies and Wemple struggledwith Mrs. Morgan and the two decrepit steeds. One, a flea-bitten roan, groaned continually from the moment Mrs. Morgan's burden was put uponhim till she was shifted to the other horse. And this other, a mangysorrel, invariably lay down at the end of a quarter of a mile of Mrs. Morgan. 

Miss Drexel laughed and joked and encouraged; and Wemple, in brutalfashion, compelled Mrs. Morgan to walk every third quarter of a mile. At the end of an hour the sorrel refused positively to get up, and, so, was abandoned. Thereafter, Mrs. Morgan rode the roan alternate quartersof miles, and between times walked--if _walk_ may describe herstumbling progress on two preposterously tiny feet with a man supportingher on either side. 

A mile from the river, the road became more civilized, running along theside of a thousand acres of banana plantation. 

"Parslow's, " young Drexel said. "He'll lose a year's crop now on accountof this mix-up. "

"Oh, look what I've found!" Miss Drexel called from the lead. 

"First machine that ever tackled this road, " was young Drexel'sjudgment, as they halted to stare at the tire-tracks. 

"But look at the tracks, " his sister urged. "The machine must have comeright out of the bananas and climbed the bank. "

"Some machine to climb a bank like that, " was Davies' comment. "What itdid do was to go down the bank--take a scout after it, Charley, whileWemple and I get Mrs. Morgan off her fractious mount. No machine everbuilt could travel far through those bananas. "

The flea-bitten roan, on its four legs upstanding, continued bravely tostand until the lady was removed, whereupon, with a long sigh, it sankdown on the ground. Mrs. Morgan likewise sighed, sat down, and regardedher tiny feet mournfully. 

"Go on, boys, " she said. "Maybe you can find something at the river andsend back for me. "

But their indignant rejection of the plan never attained speech, for, atthat instant, from the green sea of banana trees beneath them, came thesudden purr of an engine. A minute later the splutter of an exhaust toldthem the silencer had been taken off. The huge-fronded banana trees wereviolently agitated as by the threshing of a hidden Titan. They couldidentify the changing of gears and the reversing and going ahead, until, at the end of five minutes, a long low, black car burst from the wall ofgreenery and charged the soft earth bank, but the earth was too soft, and when, two-thirds of the way up, beaten, Charley Drexel braked thecar to a standstill, the earth crumbled from under the tires, and he ranit down and back, the way he had come, until half-buried in the bananas. 

"'A Merry Oldsmobile!'" Miss Drexel quoted from the popular song, clapping her hands. "Now, Martha, your troubles are over. "

"Six-cylinder, and sounds as if it hadn't been out of the shop a week, or may I never ride in a machine again, " Wemple remarked, looking toDavies for confirmation. 

Davies nodded. 

"It's Allison's, " he said. "Campos tried to shake him down for a privateloan, and--well, you know Allison. He told Campos to go to. And Campos, in revenge, commandeered his new car. That was two days ago, before welifted a hand at Vera Cruz. Allison told me yesterday the last he'dheard of the car it was on a steamboat bound up river. And here's wherethey ditched it--but let's get a hustle on and get her into therunning. "

Three attempts they made, with young Drexel at the wheel; but the softearth and the pitch of the grade baffled. 

"She's got the power all right, " young Drexel protested. "But she can'tbite into that mush. "

So far, they had spread on the ground the robes found in the car. The men now added their coats, and Wemple, for additional traction, unsaddled the roan, and spread the cinches, stirrup leathers, saddleblanket, and bridle in the way of the wheels. The car took thetreacherous slope in a rush, with churning wheels biting into the wovenfabrics; and, with no more than a hint of hesitation, it cleared thecrest and swung into the road. 

"Isn't she the spunky devil!" Drexel exulted. "Say, she could climb theside of a house if she could get traction. "

"Better put on that silencer again, if you don't want to play tag withevery soldier in the district, " Wemple ordered, as they helped Mrs. Morgan in. 

The road to the Dutch gusher compelled them to go through the outskirtsof Panuco town. Indian and half breed women gazed stolidly at thestrange vehicle, while the children and barking dogs clamorouslyadvertised its progress. Once, passing long lines of tethered federalhorses, they were challenged by a sentry; but at Wemple's "Throw on thejuice!" the car took the rutted road at fifty miles an hour. A shotwhistled after them. But it was not the shot that made Mrs. Morganscream. The cause was a series of hog-wallows masked with mud, whichnearly tore the steering wheel from Drexel's hands before he couldreduce speed. 

"Wonder it didn't break an axle, " Davies growled. "Go on and take iteasy, Charley. We're past any interference. "

They swung into the Dutch camp and into the beginning of their realtroubles. The refugee steamboat had departed down river from theAsphodel camp; _Chill II_ had disappeared, the superintendent knewnot how, along with the body of Peter Tonsburg; and the superintendentwas dubious of their remaining. 

"I've got to consider the owners, " he told them. "This is the biggestwell in Mexico, and you know it--a hundred and eighty-five thousandbarrels daily flow. I've no right to risk it. We have no trouble withthe Mexicans. It's you Americans. If you stay here, I'll have to protectyou. And I can't protect you, anyway. We'll all lose our lives andthey'll destroy the well in the bargain. And if they fire it, it meansthe entire Ebaño oil field. The strata's too broken. We're flowingtwenty thousand barrels now, and we can't pinch down any further. As itis, the oil's coming up outside the pipe. And we can't have a fight. We've got to keep the oil moving. "

The men nodded. It was cold-blooded logic; but there was no fault to it. 

The harassed expression eased on the superintendent's face, and healmost beamed on them for agreeing with him. 

"You've got a good machine there, " he continued. "The ferry's at thebank at Panuco, and once you're across, the rebels aren't so thick onthe north shore. Why, you can beat the steamboat back to Tampico byhours. And it hasn't rained for days. The road won't be at all bad. "

 * * * * *

"Which is all very good, " Davies observed to Wemple as they approachedPanuco, "except for the fact that the road on the other side was neverbuilt for automobiles, much less for a long-bodied one like this. I wishit were the Four instead of the Six. "

"And it would bother you with a Four to negotiate that hill at Alisowhere the road switchbacks above the river. "

"And we're going to do it with a Six or lose a perfectly good Six intrying, " Beth Drexel laughed to them. 

Avoiding the cavalry camp, they entered Panuco with all the speed theruts permitted, swinging dizzy corners to the squawking of chickens andbarking of dogs. To gain the ferry, they had to pass down one side ofthe great plaza which was the heart of the city. Peon soldiers, drowsingin the sun or clustering around the _cantinas_, stared stupidly atthem as they flashed past. Then a drunken major shouted a challenge fromthe doorway of a _cantina_ and began vociferating orders, and asthey left the plaza behind they could hear rising the familiar mob-cry"_Kill the Gringoes!_"

"If any shooting begins, you women get down in the bottom of the car, "Davies commanded. "And there's the ferry all right. Be careful, Charley. "

The machine plunged directly down the bank through a cut so deep that itwas more like a chute, struck the gangplank with a terrific bump, andseemed fairly to leap on board. The ferry was scarcely longer than themachine, and Drexel, visibly shaken by the closeness of the shave, managed to stop only when six inches remained between the front wheelsand overboard. 

It was a cable ferry, operated by gasoline, and, while Wemple cast offthe mooring lines, Davies was making swift acquaintance with the engine. The third turn-over started it, and he threw it into gear with thewindlass that began winding up the cable from the river's bottom. 

By the time they were in midstream a score of horsemen rode out on thebank they had just left and opened a scattering fire. The party crowdedin the shelter of the car and listened to the occasional richochet of abullet. Once, only, the car was struck. 

"Here!--what are you up to!" Wemple demanded suddenly of Drexel, who hadexposed himself to fish a rifle out of the car. 

"Going to show the skunks what shooting is, " was his answer. 

"No, you don't, " Wemple said. "We're not here to fight, but to getthis party to Tampico. " He remembered Peter Tonsburg's remark. "Whosebusiness is to live, Charley--that's our business. Anybody can getkilled. It's too easy these days. "

Still under fire, they moored at the north shore, and when Davies hadtossed overboard the igniter from the ferry engine and commandeered tengallons of its surplus gasoline, they took the steep, soft road up thebank in a rush. 

"Look at her climb, " Drexel uttered gleefully. "That Aliso hill won'tbother us at all. She'll put a crimp in it, that's what she'll do. "

"It isn't the hill, it's the sharp turn of the zig-zag that's liable toput a crimp in her, " Davies answered. "That road was never laid out forautos, and no auto has ever been over it. They steamboated this one up. "

But trouble came before Aliso was reached. Where the road dippedabruptly into a small jag of hollow that was almost V-shaped, it aroseout and became a hundred yards of deep sand. In order to have speed leftfor the sand after he cleared the stiff up-grade of the V, Drexel wascompelled to hit the trough of the V with speed. Wemple clutched MissDrexel as she was on the verge of being bounced out. Mrs. Morgan, toosolid for such airiness, screamed from the pain of the bump; and eventhe imperturbable Juanita fell to crossing herself and uttering prayerswith exceeding rapidity. 

The car cleared the crest and encountered the sand, going slower frommoment to moment, slewing and writhing and squirming from side to side. The men leaped out and began shoving. Miss Drexel urged Juanita out andfollowed. But the car came to a standstill, and Drexel, looking back andpointing, showed the first sign of being beaten. Two things he pointedto: a constitutional soldier on horseback a quarter of a mile in therear; and a portion of the narrow road that had fallen out bodily on thefar slope of the V. 

"Can't get at this sand unless we go back and try over, and we ditch thecar if we try to back up that. "

The ditch was a huge natural sump-hole, the stagnant surface of whichwas a-crawl with slime twenty feet beneath. 

Davies and Wemple sprang to take the boy's place. 

"You can't do it, " he urged. "You can get the back wheels past, butright there you hit that little curve, and if you make it your frontwheel will be off the bank. If you don't make it, your back wheel'll beoff. "

Both men studied it carefully, then looked at each other. 

"We've got to, " said Davies. 

"And we're going to, " Wemple said, shoving his rival aside in comradelyfashion and taking the post of danger at the wheel. "You're just as goodas I at the wheel, Davies, " he explained. "But you're a better shot. Your job's cut out to go back and hold off any Greasers that show up. "

Davies took a rifle and strolled back with so ominous an air that thelone cavalryman put spurs to his horse and fled. Mrs. Morgan was helpedout and sent plodding and tottering unaided on her way to the end of thesand stretch. Miss Drexel and Juanita joined Charley in spreading thecoats and robes on the sand and in gathering and spreading smallbranches, brush, and armfuls of a dry, brittle shrub. But all threeceased from their exertions to watch Wemple as he shot the car backwarddown the V and up. The car seemed first to stand on one end, then on theother, and to reel drunkenly and to threaten to turn over into thesump-hole when its right front wheel fell into the air where the roadhad ceased to be. But the hind wheels bit and climbed the grade and out. 

Without pause, gathering speed down the perilous slope, Wemple cameahead and up, gaining fifty feet of sand over the previous failure. Moreof the alluvial soil of the road had dropped out at the bad place; buthe took the V in reverse, overhung the front wheel as before, and fromthe top came ahead again. Four times he did this, gaining each time, buteach time knocking a bigger hole where the road fell out, until MissDrexel begged him not to try again. 

He pointed to a squad of horsemen coming at a gallop along the road amile in the rear, and took the V once again in reverse. 

"If only we had more stuff, " Drexel groaned to his sister, as he threwdown a meager, hard-gathered armful of the dry and brittle shrub, and asWemple once more, with rush and roar, shot down the V. 

For an instant it seemed that the great car would turn over into thesump, but the next instant it was past. It struck the bottom of thehollow a mighty wallop, and bounced and upended to the steep pitch ofthe climb. Miss Drexel, seized by inspiration or desperation, with aquick movement stripped off her short, corduroy tramping-skirt, and, looking very lithe and boyish in slender-cut pongee bloomers, ran alongthe sand and dropped the skirt for a foothold for the slowly revolvingwheels. Almost, but not quite, did the car stop, then, gathering way, with the others running alongside and shoving, it emerged on the hardroad. 

While they tossed the robes and coats and Miss Drexel's skirt into thebottom of the car and got Mrs. Morgan on board, Davies overtook them. 

"Down on the bottom!--all of you!" he shouted, as he gained the runningboard and the machine sprang away. A scattering of shots came from therear. 

"Whose business is to live!--hunch down!" Davies yelled in Wemple's ear, accompanying the instruction with an open-handed blow on the shoulder. 

"Live yourself, " Wemple grumbled as he obediently hunched. "Get yourhead down. You're exposing yourself. "

The pursuit lasted but a little while, and died away in an occasionaldistant shot. 

"They've quit, " Davies announced. "It never entered their stupid headsthat they could have caught us on Aliso Hill. "

 * * * * *

"It can't be done, " was Charley Drexel's quick judgment of youth, as themachine stopped and they surveyed the acute-angled turn on the stiffup-grade of Aliso. Beneath was the swift-running river. 

"Get out everybody!" Wemple commanded. "Up-side, all of you, if youdon't want the car to turn over on you. Spread traction wherever sheneeds it. "

"Shoot her ahead, or back--she can't stop, " Davies said quietly, fromthe outer edge of the road, where he had taken position. "The earth'scrumbling away from under the tires every second she stands still. "

"Get out from under, or she'll be on top of you, " Wemple ordered, as hewent ahead several yards. 

But again, after the car rested a minute, the light, dry earth began tocrack and crumble away from under the tires, rolling in a miniatureavalanche down the steep declivity into the water. And not until Wemplehad backed fifty yards down the narrow road did he find solid restingfor the car. He came ahead on foot and examined the acute angle formedby the two zig-zags. Together with Davies he planned what was to bedone. 

"When you come you've got to come a-humping, " Davies advised. "If youstop anywhere for more than seconds, it's good night, and the walkingwon't be fine. "

"She's full of fight, and she can do it. See that hard formation rightthere on the inside wall. It couldn't have come at a better spot. If Idon't make her hind wheels climb half way up it, we'll start walkingabout a second thereafter. "

"She's a two-fisted piece of machinery, " Davies encouraged. "I know herkind. If she can't do it, no machine can that was ever made. Am I right, Beth?"

"She's a regular, spunky she-devil, " Miss Drexel laughed agreement. "Andso are the pair of you--er--of the male persuasion, I mean. "

Miss Drexel had never seemed so fascinating to either of them as she wasthen, in the excitement quite unconscious of her abbreviated costume, her brown hair flying, her eyes sparkling, her lips smiling. Each mancaught the other in that moment's pause to look, and each man sighed tothe other and looked frankly into each other's eyes ere he turned to thework at hand. 

Wemple came up with his usual rush, but it was a gauged rush; and Daviestook the post of danger, the outside running board, where his weightwould help the broad tires to bite a little deeper into the treacheroussurface. If the road-edge crumbled away it was inevitable that he wouldbe caught under the car as it rolled over and down to the river. 

It was ahead and reverse, ahead and reverse, with only the briefest ofpauses in which to shift the gears. Wemple backed up the hard formationon the inside bank till the car seemed standing on end, rushed aheadtill the earth of the outer edge broke under the front tires andsplashed in the water. Davies, now off, and again on the running boardwhen needed, accompanied the car in its jerky and erratic progress, tossing robes and coats under the tires, calling instructions to Drexelsimilarly occupied on the other side, and warning Miss Drexel out of theway. 

"Oh, you Merry Olds, you Merry Olds, you Merry Olds, " Wemple mutteredaloud, as if in prayer, as he wrestled the car about the narrow area, gaining sometimes inches in pivoting it, sometimes fetching back up theinner wall precisely at the spot previously attained, and, once, havingthe car, with the surface of the roadbed under it, slide bodily andsidewise, two feet down the road. 

The clapping of Miss Drexel's hands was the first warning Daviesreceived that the feat was accomplished, and, swinging on to the runningboard, he found the car backing in the straight-away up the next zig-zagand Wemple still chanting ecstatically, "Oh, you Merry Olds, you MerryOlds!"

There were no more grades nor zigzags between them and Tampico, but, sonarrow was the primitive road, two miles farther were backed beforespace was found in which to turn around. One thing of importancedid lie between them and Tampico--namely the investing lines of theconstitutionalists. But here, at noon, fortune favored in the form ofthree American soldiers of fortune, operators of machine guns, who hadfought the entire campaign with Villa from the beginning of the advancefrom the Texan border. Under a white flag, Wemple drove the car acrossthe zone of debate into the federal lines, where good fortune, in theguise of an ubiquitous German naval officer, again received them. 

"I think you are nearly the only Americans left in Tampico, " he toldthem. "About all the rest are lying out in the Gulf on the differentwarships. But at the Southern Hotel there are several, and the situationseems quieter. "

As they got out at the Southern, Davies laid his hand on the car andmurmured, "Good old girl!" Wemple followed suit. And Miss Drexel, engaging both men's eyes and about to say something, was guilty of asudden moisture in her own eyes that made her turn to the car with acaressing hand and repeat, "Good old girl!"