Cushner mopped his face with the back of his sleeve and worked aft to the break of the p.o.o.p on the starboard side where he glanced up at Stirling.

"h.e.l.lo, old man!" he said, out of hearing of the busy crew. "What do you think of the _Pole Star_ by now?"

"Good ship. Some crew, though."

The second mate mopped his brow for a second time, then squinted at a gang working down the deck with squeegees. "Eighteen hands before the mast," he said. "That ain't much for six boats. We'll need them all if we lower for bowheads."

"Where's the sailor who came out with me?"

"He's below!" This was said expressively, with a heavy wink. "I think he'll stay below for a watch or two. Somebody-maybe it was Marr-bounced a belaying pin over his figurehead. It'll heal in time."

"What did you make of the sailor?"

"Maybe a spy. Maybe a good man gone wrong."

"He recognized Marr in the Blubber Room!"

Cushner shook his head. "We'll watch that fellow like a killer whale.

He'll walk straight under me and Whitehouse."

The second mate closed his jaws with a snap and glared forward, then was off with a rolling lurch to where a slight spot showed on the deck.

Grasping a Gay Islander by the neck, he led him to the omission and pointed downward. Stirling heard the racking volley of exclamations as the native fell to work with vigour.

The _Pole Star_ plunged on. She took the long, oily rollers of the North Pacific and parted them like a sharp knife going through frosting. She was logging fourteen knots with reserve steam. The fore, main, and mizzen sails filled and billowed and the foretopmast staysail and jib held the following wind. Whitehouse, casting an eye aloft, ordered the top-sails braced then sprang to the weather braces as the crew hauled manfully under the directions of Cushner.

Marr leaned over the canvas of the p.o.o.p and rested his elbows on the light rail, searching the sea ahead with his gla.s.ses. He turned to the wheelsman. "How you heading?" he asked as the last yard was braced.

"Nor'west by north."

"Hold her northwest by north. Hold her steady!"

The ship drove through the day and into a purple twilight, and the land of California disappeared astern. It left to mark its position a low line of gray clouds upon which the sun gleamed and paled and died to darker hues.

CHAPTER VI-BY THE GREAT-CIRCLE ROUTE

The steady clanking of the triple-expansion engines driving the screw at a racing speed of one hundred and ten revolutions a minute, the glow over the drab funnel, the hiss of sea alongside-these all denoted that they were reaching for the far-off Aleutian and the pa.s.s that marked Dutch Harbor, where whalers and Yukon boats left the Pacific and entered the waters of the Bering Sea.

Stirling shared the mess with Cushner and Whitehouse and the two engineers. Marr had given orders that in no circ.u.mstances should he be disturbed in the after cabin. This order, communicated by the c.o.c.kney mate, caused the conversation to veer from speculation to concrete suspicions.

Cushner rose from his meal with a nod toward Stirling. "Let's go on deck," he said, steadying himself by grasping the racks. "Let's have a smoke and turn about. Mr. Whitehouse has the watch till eight bells."

Stirling crammed a palmful of tobacco into a cord-wrapped pipe, clutched the second mate's arm, and led him to the waist of the ship, where they stood beneath the shadow of the starboard whaleboat.

"We're not wanted on the p.o.o.p!" exclaimed Cushner.

"The wheel's there and the binnacle's there, and the log line's there,"

suggested Stirling, pressing his thumb down upon the glowing coals of his pipe. "We've got to go aft."

"'Only for duty,' that's what the old man said. What do you make of that? He wants the after part of the ship to himself."

"It's his ship, Cushner!"

The Yankee mate counted on his fingers. "There's only two aft," he said.

"Two-the old man and s...o...b..ll, the cabin boy."

Stirling pulled on his pipe. "How about the woman you heard?" he asked, dryly.

"Maybe she's there, Horace. Maybe she is! Maybe that's his reason for wanting the quarter-deck to himself. He had two Gay Islanders rig up a screen between the wheel and the taffrail. All that's aft of the screen is the companion to the cabin and a bucket rack. Thar's just about room to turn about in. A nice little cubby place I'd call it."

Stirling thought the matter over, backing into the gloom and shading his eyes. The tip of the wheel, with one spoke, showed over the low canvas sail. Beside this spoke was the soiled ta.s.sel of the wheelman's cap. Aft rose the mizzenmast with its spotless canvas billowing forward like Carrara marble. The telltale on the top of the mast denoted a freshening south wind. The swing of the ship, the thrust of the screw, the song which sounded from forward where a group of seamen were gathered on the forecastle head-all these spoke of action and a driving force to Northern seas where hearts beat strong and staunch winds cut to the quick.

The Ice Pilot turned to Cushner, pressing the bowl of his pipe with his broad thumb. "We're making good time," he said, thoughtfully. "Five days of this and we'll sight our Aleutian landfall. I guess we'd better not worry about the cubby-hole aft and the woman. I never could understand them, anyhow."

Cushner laughed and clapped Stirling on the back. He withdrew a foot or more, spread his legs wide, and surveyed Stirling with mingled pride and calculation.

Cushner squinted as he drawled: "You're all right, old man! You ain't no clothing-store dummy or one of them smart ducks with spar-deck shoes and a gold lanyard to your watch chain; but you'll pa.s.s where they won't.

You're a man-every inch of you! I've heard thar ain't no better, when it comes to ice work."

Stirling was silent. He dragged on his pipe.

"A woman's man," continued Cushner, "ain't for these seas or the seas we're agoing to. And by saying that I don't mean no disrespect for the skipper. I was with him coming round the Horn. A fighter, he is, and all that-but there's a polish to him I don't like. It ain't natural. He's like a polite boarding-house runner. Them's the sharks to look out for.

They know more than we do!"

"We'll keep our jaw tackle chockablock!" said Stirling, tapping his pipe against the rail and cramming it into his side pocket. "We'll sail ship and tend to our duties. I'll get the crow's-nest up in the morning.

You'll find me ready for anything-short of breaking the law of the three nations. I'll put the _Pole Star_ where the old man says, but I won't raid no rookeries with him. I won't do that!"

The positive set to Stirling's jaw was a relief to Cushner. He nodded.

"Me, too," he said, moving aft. "I'm willin' to whale or trade or go to the Pole with you in charge of th' ship."

Stirling went to his cabin, latched the sliding door which led to the starboard waist, and undressed slowly. He sank into a profound sleep, broken once by a dream of Frisco and the Coast of Barbary.

He awoke as the little marine clock above the bunk was striking seven bells, reached to a shelf and drew toward him a compa.s.s set in a leather binding. It was part of his possessions brought out in the dunnage bag from Antone's cigar store.

Steadying his compa.s.s by a crack at the head of the bunk, he made a shrewd calculation as to the direction the _Pole Star_ was heading.

The course had been changed overnight. It was now northwest by west. The needle vibrated with the throbbing of the engines, but each time it settled back to the first point.

Stirling rose and dressed without haste, clapped his cap on his head, and strode through the doorway to the damp deck. Here he leaned over the starboard rail and glanced downward at the swift-running foam which seethed alongside the ship's planks, then raised his eyes and swept the horizon. It was pale to the eastward with the first rosy flush of dawn.

For a moment he remained in one position, then turned and stared aft with his eyes wide and intent. The gloom which shrouded the p.o.o.p of the ship was lightened by the upward glow of an open companion, and a figure stood to the extreme port side of the quarter-deck. This figure was shrouded and m.u.f.fled but the red reflection from the side light brought out some details.

Stirling gripped the rail and continued staring. It was Marr, no doubt, who had taken the position so near the wheelsman. There was that to the set of the head, however, which caused Stirling concern. Marr generally held his chin high. This head, as seen over the drab canvas, was dropped and thoughtful.

The wheelsman turned and touched his cap. Stirling heard part of a question, which concerned the course, and it was not answered. The figure started, half leaned away, then swung about and disappeared in the gloom of the smudge astern where the funnel smoke drifted and swirled.