"Where in h.e.l.l is this steamer?"

"Out to the westward somewhere."

"Well, she's a mail-boat, ain't she? Then why don't she stop here coming back? Answer me!"

The rotund man shrugged his fat shoulders. "She's got to call at Uyak Bay going east."

Emerson looked up quickly, "Where is Uyak Bay?"

"Over on Kodiak Island," Big George answered; then turned again to vent his spleen on the trader.

"What right have them steamboat people got to cut out this place for an empty cannery? Why, there ain't n.o.body at Uyak. It's more of that d.a.m.ned Company business. They own this whole country, and run it to suit themselves."

"She ain't my boat," said Petellin. "You'd ought to have got here a few days sooner."

"My G.o.d! I'm sorry we waited at the Pa.s.s," said Emerson. "The weather couldn't have been any worse that first day than it was when we came across."

Detecting in this remark a criticism of his caution, Big George turned about and faced the speaker; but as he met Emerson's eye he checked the explosion, and, seizing his cap, bolted out into the cold to walk off his mad rage.

"When is the boat due at Uyak?" Emerson asked.

"'Most any time inside of a week."

"How far is that from here?"

"It ain't so far--only about fifty miles." Then, catching the light that flamed into the miner's eyes, Petellin hastened to observe: "But you can't get there. It's across the Straits--Shelikof Straits."

"What of that! We can hire a sail-boat, and--"

"I ain't got any sail-boat. I lost my sloop last year hunting sea-otter."

"We can hire a small boat of _some_ sort, can't we, and get the natives to put us across? There must be plenty of boats here."

"Nothing but skin boats, kyaks, and bidarkas--you know. Anyhow, you couldn't cross at this time of year--it's too stormy; these Straits is the worst piece of water on the coast. No, you'll have to wait."

Emerson sank back into his chair, and stared hopelessly at the fire.

"Better have some breakfast," the trader continued; but the other only shook his head. And after a farewell squint of curiosity, the fat man rolled out again in pursuit of his duties.

"I've heard tell of these Shelikof Straits," Fraser remarked. "I bunked with a bear-hunter from Kodiak once, and he said they was certainly some h.e.l.l in winter." When Emerson made no reply, the fellow's colorless eyes settled upon him with a trace of solicitude, and he resumed: "I'm doggone sorry you lost out, pal, but mebbe something'll turn up yet." Then, seeing that the young man was deaf to his condolence, he muttered: "So, you've got 'em again, eh? Um!" As usual on such occasions, he fell into his old habit of reading aloud, as it were, an imaginary scene to himself:

"'Yes, I've got 'em again,' says Mr. Emerson, always eager to give entertainment with the English language. 'I am indeed blue this afternoon.

Won't you talk to me? I feel that the sound of a dear friend's voice will drive dull care away.'

"'Gladly,' says I; 'I am a silent man by birth and training, and my thoughts is jewels, but for you, I'll scatter them at large, and you can take your pick. Now, this salmon business ain't what it's cracked up to be, after all. It's a smelly proposition, no matter how you take it, and a fisherman ain't much better than a Reub; ask any wise guy. I'd rather see you in some profesh that don't stink so, like selling scented soap. There was a feller at Dyea who done well at it. What think you?'

"'It's a dark night without,' says Mr. Emerson, 'and I fear some mischief is afoot!'

"'But what of yonder beauteous--'"

Unheeding this chatter, the disheartened man got up at this juncture, as if a sudden thought impelled him, and followed Balt out into the cold. He turned down the bank to the creek, however, and made a careful examination of all the canoes that went with the village. Fifteen minutes later he had searched out the disgruntled fisherman, and cried, excitedly:

"I've got it! We'll catch that boat yet!"

"How?" growled the big man, sourly.

"There's a large open skin-boat, an oomiak, down on the beach. We'll hire a crew of Indians to put us across to Uyak."

"Can't be done," said Big George, still gruffly. "It's the wrong season.

You know the Shelikof Straits is a bad place even for steamships at this time of year. They're like that Pa.s.s up yonder, only worse."

"But it's only fifty miles across."

"Fifty miles of that kind of water in an open canoe may be just as bad as five hundred--unless you're lucky. And I ain't noticed anything so d.a.m.ned lucky about us."

"Well, it's that or nothing. It's our only chance. Are you game?"

"Come on," cried Big George, "let's find Petellin!"

When that worthy heard their desire, he uttered a shriek of denial.

"In summer, yes, but now--you can't do it. It has been tried too often.

The Straits is always rough, and the weather is too cold to sit all day in an oomiak, you'd freeze."

"We'll chance it."

"No, _no_, NO! If it comes on to storm, you'll go to sea. The tides are strong; you can't see your course, and--"

"We'll use a compa.s.s. Now, you get me enough men to handle that oomiak, that's a good fellow. I'll attend to the rest."

"But they won't go," declared the little fat man. "They know what it means. Why--"

"Call them in. I'll do the talking." And accordingly the storekeeper went in search of the village chief, shaking his head and muttering at the madness of these people.

"Fingerless" Fraser, noticing the change in Balt and Emerson when they re- entered the store, questioned them as to what had happened; and in reply to his inquiry, Big George said:

"We're going to tackle the Straits in a small boat."

"What! Not on your life! Why, that's the craziest stunt I ever heard of.

Don't you know--"

"Yes, we know," Emerson shut him up, brusquely. "You don't have to go with us."

"Well, I should say not. Hunh! Do I look like I'd do a thing like that? If I do, it's because I'm sick. I just got this far by a gnat's eyelash, and hereinafter I take the best of it every time."

"You can wait for the mail-boat."

"I certainly can, and, what's more, I will. And I'll register myself, too.