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

had been relieved at the engines by Jack, while Sandy attended to stoking the small boiler, adapted to either wood or coal burning, came on deck and surveyed the scene they were leaving behind them.

Astern was St. Michael, lying on the island which bears its name and which is separated from the mainland by a shallow strip of water known as St. Michael's Slough. The town was uninteresting and he was not sorry to leave it, a feeling that his two chums fully shared.

The white houses, the spire of the old Russian Church and the odd-looking fort, half ruinous, which stood near the Alaska Trading Company's hotel, were the most conspicuous features of the dull, drab town. There was hardly a tree on the island, and fuel was in the main supplied by the timber which in flood time drifted down the Yukon from the interior in great quantities and was washed up on the beach or secured in boats.

"Good-by, St. Michael, and ho, for the Yukon!" thought Tom, as turning his face in the other direction, he gazed forward.

The Yukon Rover was ploughing along at about eight knots an hour. Black smoke pouring from her stack showed that Sandy was keeping up his furnace faithfully. Forward of the bow-like structure which contained sleeping and eating accommodations, was a miniature pilot house. In this was Mr. Dacre at the wheel, while beside him Mr. Chillingworth was poring over charts of the treacherous sandy delta that marks the junction of the Yukon and the sea. The course was southwest, along a flat, dreary-looking coast that afforded nothing much worthy of notice.

Since their memorable adventures at Kadiak, life had moved dully for the excitement-loving Bungalow Boys. Tom found himself hoping that now that their voyage for the Yukon had fairly begun, they would find some lively times. How near at hand these were and how lively they were to be, he did not dream as the Yukon Rover, rolling slightly in the swell, made her way toward the "Golden River."

Jack joined his brother on deck.

"Everything running smoothly?" asked Tom.

"Smooth as silk," declared Jack. "Say, isn't it fine to be under way again after sticking around St. Michael like bumps on a log?"

"I should say so. I have a notion that we are going to have some fun, too, before we get through."

"Same here. Well, I'm ready for whatever happens, short of another tidal bore. One was quite enough for me."

That afternoon they came in sight of the northern mouth of the Yukon, by which they were to enter the stream. It required skillful steering to guide the Yukon Rover through the maze of sand bars and shoals that encompassed her, and they had not gone far between the low, marshy shores when Mr. Dacre gave a hail from the pilot house through the speaking tube that connected the steering compartment with the engine-room.

"Leave your engines a while to Sandy's care," he ordered Jack, who answered the hail, "and come on deck."

Tom and Jack lost no time in obeying the summons, and found that they were required to manipulate the big poles, with which it was necessary to help guide the small steamer against the stiff current. It was hard work, even with the aid of Mr. Chillingworth, to keep the Yukon Rover on her course, but from time to time the stream widened out and became deeper and they got a short respite.

Toward dusk they passed a native canoe or bidarka, a narrow-beamed, cranky craft of walrus skins stretched over frames. In it sat two high-cheek-boned natives with slanting eyes, bearing remarkable resemblances to the inhabitants of Japan. The small, cranky craft shot swiftly past and was followed, round a bend in the river, by three more. The natives appeared not to pay much attention to the steamer, although the boys shouted and hulloed in salute as they passed.

A short time after passing the natives, Jack announced that the engine, a new one, was heating up badly and that it would be necessary to stop and make a thorough inspection of the machinery. Accordingly, the Yukon Rover was tied to the bank and preparations made for a somewhat lengthy stop.

Flocks of wild geese and other birds could be seen settling down above the flat country surrounding them, and the boys begged permission to go out with their guns. That is, Tom and Sandy did. Jack was too busy on his engines to spare the time. The notion of a hunting trip to kill time till supper was voted a good one, and Mr. Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth decided to accompany the boys.

Full of high spirits, the party struck off across the tundra, leaving Jack hard at work on the machinery. They had been gone perhaps an hour when the boy was surprised to hear a step in the engine-room. He looked up quickly, thinking that possibly it was his friends returning, but instead, facing him, he saw the yellow face and skin-clad figure of one of the natives who had passed them in the canoes. Jack possessed a mind that worked quickly. A notion shot into his head that the fellow was there on mischief bent, and certainly the startled way in which he regarded the boy supported that suspicion.

It was plain that the native had not expected to find anyone on board the Yukon Rover, and that he and his companions, some of whom now swarmed into the engine-room, had imagined, from the fact that they had seen the hunting party, that the craft was deserted by all hands. This being the case, they had returned to see what they could find in the way of small plunder. Jack recalled having heard at St. Michaels that the natives of the Yukon are notorious small thieves and he at once decided that knavery was the purpose of their visit.

He stood up, monkey-wrench in hand, and facing the first arrival, who seemed to be the leader, he demanded of him what he wanted. The man appeared not to understand him. It was at this instant that Jack noticed that under the arms of the other natives were cans of provisions and other small articles plainly pilfered from the store-room of the steamer.

The boy was in a quandary for a moment. There were six of the natives and he was alone on the boat. Doubtless, too, the hunting party was out of ear-shot. It was an anxious moment for the boy as he stood there facing the pilfering natives and undecided how to act.

But the next moment there came to him that indignation which everyone feels when marauders intrude upon his possessions.

"Hey, you! What do you mean by stealing those things?" demanded Jack, indicating the cans and other articles which the natives had tucked under their arms.

The chief broke silence with what was meant for a friendly grin.

"Me good mans! All good mans!" he said.

"Humph! Well, that being the case, it's funny you should come aboard here when you thought no one was about and steal our food."

"You give us. We good mens," said the chief, with unruffled amiability.

"We might have been willing to do that if you hadn't helped yourselves," said Jack indignantly, "but under the circumstances you'll have to put those things back and get off this boat."

Unquestionably the chief did not understand all of this speech, but part of it was within his comprehension for he said:

"No, no; you give us."

"Not on your life," declared Jack, coming forward wrench in hand.

Now, whether the chief interpreted this move into a hostile signal or not cannot be decided, but it is certain that he uttered some quick, guttural words to his followers and instantly all sorts of weapons appeared as if by magic—rifles, harpoons and nogocks, or whale-killing weapons. Things began to look grave. But Jack held his ground.

He looked the chief right between the eyes and then spoke slowly, giving every word due emphasis.

"You give back all you take. We, Uncle Sam's men. Understand?"

This remark appeared to give the chief ground for reflection, for he hesitated an instant before replying. But when he did, it was in an irritated voice.

"You no give 'um,—we take."

So saying, the natives backed slowly out of the engine-room, which was flush with the deck. Jack, completely taken aback, hesitated for a moment, which gave the men time to clamber over the low sides of the Yukon Rover and into their bidarkas. As Jack emerged on deck, they started paddling swiftly off.

Jack bounded into his cabin and came back with a rifle. He had no intention of shooting the men, but he wanted to give them a good scare. He had hardly raised the weapon to his shoulder before he saw the chief rise up in his wabbly skin boat and whirl his nogock. From the weapon there flew, much as a stone is projected from a sling, a sharp-barbed dart of steel.

The boy by some instinct dodged swiftly, and the barbed dart whistled by his ear and sank into the woodwork of the deck-house.

In his indignation, he discharged the rifle. The bullet must have gone uncomfortably close to the natives, although he did not aim it at them, for they fell to their paddles with feverish energy and vanished around a bend in the stream, working furiously to get out of range.

"Well," remarked Jack to himself, "our adventures are surely beginning without losing any time over it."

CHAPTER XVIII.

AN ENCOUNTER WITH THE NATIVES.

Jack hastened to the store-room and found that the wily natives in their soft-soled skin shoes had wrought great havoc there, while he, all unconsciously in the engine-room, was working without dreaming that there were unwelcome visitors on board. The Yukon Rover was well stocked with food and there were settlements up the river where the raided stock could be replenished, but it annoyed the boy to think that the plundering rascals had had such an easy time in absconding with what they had abstracted from the steamer's larder.

"It's a lesson to keep a sharp lookout," thought the boy to himself. "In future we'll keep all bidarkas at long range unless they can give an account of themselves."

The boy went back to his work, but this time with a rifle beside him. He was still at his task when he heard voices.

"Cracky! It's those rascals coming back, I'll bet a doughnut," he exclaimed to himself excitedly.

With hands that shook a little, he picked up the rifle and prepared to give them a warm reception. As he was stepping out on deck, he collided with a figure just entering the engine-room door.

"Stop right where you are or I'll fire!" he cried out in a loud tone.

"What's the matter with you, Jack, are you crazy?" cried a voice that he instantly recognized as Tom's.

His relief was great, and as the hunting party, laden with three geese, some ducks and shore birds, came into the deck-house, explanations ensued. It appeared that the hunting party had been almost as much alarmed as Jack, for they had heard the report of his rifle and had hastened back at once without lingering at their sport.

Naturally Jack's tale of the occurrences during their absence aroused a good deal of indignation. Mr. Chillingworth, however, said he was not surprised. The Yukon Indians are great thieves, and it is necessary to be on constant watch against them. He was astonished, though, at Jack's story of the dart from the nogock.

"These Indians don't usually resort to anything like that," he said. "That old chief must be what the police in the Yukon country call a 'bad one.' I suppose he saw that only a boy opposed him and his men,