The Bungalow Boys Along the Yukon by John Henry Goldfrap (e reader manga TXT) 📕

He let the weighty mud-hook … come crashing down on the bear's head.—Page 154.

"We'll pull right along the shore," decided Tom after a moment's thought, "we may fall in with some ship, or at any rate a native canoe."

Accordingly the oars were manned and the dory rowed along the coast, while the boys all kept a sharp lookout to seaward for any sign of a vessel.

"There's one good thing," said Tom presently; "the smoke from that fire would attract the attention of anyone who might be in the neighborhood and lead them to make inquiries."

"Yes, but there's not a vessel in sight," objected Jack.

"Never mind. That smoke must be visible at a great distance. I don't doubt that the Northerner is out hunting for us and they would not be likely to neglect such a clue as that smoke column will afford."

"I think you're right there," agreed Jack, "but they may have started the search in another direction."

"That is a chance we shall have to take."

The brief darkness of the Alaskan night fell without a single sign of a ship being detected on the lonely ocean. Thoroughly disheartened, hungry and half crazy from thirst, the boys rowed on till Tom ordered Jack and Sandy to take some sleep. They obeyed and were soon wrapped in deep slumber. Tom allowed the dory to drift. Rowing only increased his thirst, and in any event could not accomplish much good.

They would have rowed ashore long before and searched for water, but the land off to their right was a frowning escarpment of rugged cliff which offered no hope of water. The boy found himself wishing that they had had the foresight to stock up the dory in case of their leaving the cove hurriedly; but it was too late for such regrets now.

Tom caught himself dropping off to sleep. He dozed half awake and half in the land of nod for some time. How long it was he did not know, but he was suddenly awakened by a harsh shout that appeared to come from the air above him.

"Hard over your helm! It's a boat!"

"Where away!"

"Right under our bow! Sheer off! Hard over!"

Tom sprang to his feet, broad awake in an instant. Right above, like an immense black cliff, towered the bow of a steamer. He could see the bright running lights shining like jewels.

"Jack! Sandy!" he bawled out. "Get up! They'll run us down!"

The huge black bulk of the strange craft did, indeed, appear as if it must inevitably cut the drifting dory in two. But the outcry of the bow watch had come in time. Just as Jack and Sandy sprang up and Tom was thinking that everything was over, the great bow swung off. The steamer rushed by so close that Tom could almost have touched her with his hand.

"Ahoy!" roared a voice from the bridge. "What boat is that?"

"It's a native canoe," came another voice.

"Not on your life it isn't," yelled Tom. "This is an unofficial exploring expedition and——"

"Tom Dacre!" bellowed a voice from the bridge.

"Ahoy, uncle!" hailed back Tom, who had caught the word Northerner on the steamer's bow as she was swinging by.

"Tom, is it you? Are you all right?"

There was a ring in Mr. Dacre's tone that showed how he had suffered since the strange disappearance of his nephews and their chum.

"We never were better in our lives," cried Tom, deftly catching a rope that came snaking down as the steamer's speed diminished. "But how in the world did you come to run across us? Talk about a needle in a haystack!"

"Never mind the details now, my boy. Come on board at once. I can hardly wait till I see you."

Not many minutes later, in the comfortable cabin of the Northerner, Tom, Jack and Sandy, ragged and begrimed, were telling, between intervals of eating and drinking, the tale of their strange adventures since they were lost in the fog. When they had concluded the tale, Tom inquired of his uncle how it was that he had so miraculously found them.

"If you hadn't almost run us down we'd never have seen you," Tom continued, "for I was too sleepy to keep my eyes open."

Mr. Dacre's story was soon told. The two Aleuts who had apparently deserted the boys had really come back from the village with food. They were terrified when they found the boys and the dory gone, for they knew that it was time for the daily tide-bore to sweep through the straits. Getting a native canoe, they made their way to Kadiak, sought out Mr. Dacre and told him what had happened. The Northerner was at once put in commission for the hunt, although Mr. Dacre confessed that he had had a dreadful fear, not unshared by Mr. Chillingworth and the captain, that the boys had been caught in the tidal bore and lost.

From the captain's knowledge of the coast, they had been able to make a fairly intelligent search. Just before the brief darkness closed in that night they had made out a column of smoke rising on the horizon, and more as a forlorn hope than anything else, had made toward it, hoping against hope that it had been kindled by the young castaways.

"And so it was," laughed Tom happily, his hand finding his uncle's. "After all, maybe those bears were a blessing in disguise. If it hadn't been for them, we wouldn't have lighted that fire, and if it hadn't been for the fire, you'd like as not never have found us."

THE "YUKON ROVER."

Some weeks later there steamed away from the wharf side at St. Michaels, a small, stern-wheeled craft of light draught. So light was it, in fact, that the loungers on the dock who watched its departure declared that it would be possible to navigate it on a heavy dew.

It bore the name Yukon Rover, and was painted white with a single black smoke-stack. As it drew away from the dock, it blew a salute of three whistles which was answered by a fair-sized steamer lying in the roads.

As our readers will have guessed, the Yukon Rover was the portable steam craft which had been shipped north to the Yukon on the deck of the Northerner, which latter was the vessel that replied to the small craft's farewell. The Northerner was to return to Seattle, carrying down what cargo she could pick up, and come back late in the year with a cargo for the needs of the country during the rigid Alaskan winter, when little can be shipped. In this way Mr. Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth hoped to make their venture additionally profitable.

On the bow of the small light-draught craft was a strange ornament. This figure-head, if such it can be called, was nothing more nor less than the figure of a buck-toothed man roughly carved out of wood and daubed with faded paint. In a word, it was Sandy MacTavish's mascot, now assigned to duty on the small craft which was to carry the adventurers up the turbulent currents of the mighty Yukon.

As to the Yukon Rover's mission, there was much speculation in St. Michaels concerning it. But the consensus of opinion was that the two gentlemen and the boys were going on a scientific expedition of some sort. The "Bug Hunters" was the name bestowed upon them in the far northern town from whence embarkation for the mouth of the Yukon was made.

This suited Mr. Dacre and his partner well enough, as they had no wish for the real object of their expedition to become known. The hunters and trappers of the Far North are a jealous, vindictive lot when they imagine that what they consider their inalienable rights to the fur and feather of the land are being invaded by outsiders.

Both gentlemen knew that if any suspicion of the real object of their voyage leaked out, much trouble might be made for them, although it was still rather early in the year for any trappers to be going "inside," as penetrating into the interior of Alaska is called.

A shed near the waterfront had been rented and ways constructed, and here the Yukon Rover had been rapidly put together by the engineers from the Northerner. But on her trip up the river the boys were to act as machinists and stokers, and as the Yukon Rover's machinery was simple enough, this was a delightful and interesting task to them. Like most healthy, normal boys, our young friends liked to tinker with machinery, and they had had plenty of instruction in their new duties on the trial trips of the stern-wheeler.

Tom, who