The Bungalow Boys Along the Yukon Part 9

"Northerner, under charter, San Francisco to St. Michael," rejoined the captain succinctly. "Are you the pilot?"

"Aye! aye!" was bellowed back through the all-enveloping mist.

"Come aboard then, will you?" admonished the captain, and jerked the whistle cord sharply so as to give the pilot his bearings.

In a few minutes a big, capable-looking dory, manned by two Aleuts appeared alongside. In the stern sat a grizzled, red-faced man in oilskins. This was Bill Rainier, the pilot.

"How about taking her in, pilot?" demanded the captain anxiously.

The man grinned.

"All right, if you've no further use for her, cap," he rejoined. "If you don't mind piling her up on the rocks, we'll go right ahead."

"Mr. Dacre here is anxious to go ash.o.r.e," responded the captain. "He has some goods to give to some friends of his, Mr. Beattie and his brother. How long before this fog is likely to lift?"

"Can't say," was the noncommittal reply; "it may last a week. But tell you what you do. The Beatties are good friends of mine. I'll take your man ash.o.r.e if you like."

But here arose a question about carrying the goods which Mr. Dacre had for his friends, who were storekeepers, and which he had brought up freight free. The question was finally decided in this way: A ship's boat would be used to transport the goods and Bill Rainier and Mr.

Dacre would go ash.o.r.e in her. The boys, who had begged to go ash.o.r.e, too, would follow in the pilot's dory with the two natives as guides.

It did not take long to get out the goods from the hold and lower them overside. Then the boys scrambled down and took their places in the dory, while the natives, with grinning faces, stared at them.

Bill Rainier roared something at the Aleuts in their native tongue and off glided the dory into the fog, bearing three happy, excited boys as cargo.

Mr. Dacre, busy superintending the work of getting the goods transferred, did not notice their departure till some minutes later.

Then he asked sharply:

"Where's that dory gone?"

"That's all right, cap," rejoined Bill easily, "I sent it ahead. Those Aleuts know the way as well as I do."

"Just the same, I wish they had waited for us," said Mr. Dacre with a slight frown.

"Oh, they'll be waiting for us when we get there," declared Bill confidently, and no more was said.

But when the steamer's boat reached the dock, no dory was there. Nor had any of the loungers hanging about seen one.

"Maybe they've got into another channel and gone down Wolf Island way," suggested Bill, looking rather grave. "Don't you worry, sir, they'll be along."

"Well, if an Aleut can do anything pig-headed and plum foolish, that's what he's a-goin' to do," opined the dock superintendent, who knew the facts in the case.

"I'd suggest we get up to the store with these goods," said Bill, "and by the time we're through that dory'll be here."

"But it should have reached here long ago," said Mr. Dacre. "I tell you, Rainier, I don't half like the look of this."

"No harm can come to 'em," Bill a.s.sured him.

But nevertheless, for some time both men stood motionless, with lips compressed, staring out into the blanket of fog without exchanging speech.

In the meantime, the dory was being rowed through the fog by the two stolid natives without the boys suspecting in the least that anything was wrong. As a matter of fact, the two natives, for reasons apparent to those who know the native Aleut, had decided to take a short cut through a pa.s.sage behind Wolf Island. But the fog had shut in thicker now and they were not at all sure of their bearings, skilled boatmen though they were. They rowed stolidly on and on through the dripping mist without speaking.

Tom was the first to notice that, although they had been rowing for an hour or more, the dory was still rolling on the heavy swells of the open sea. Suspecting that something was amiss, he signaled to the men to stop rowing. Without a change of expression, the flat-faced, lank-haired Aleuts rested on their oars.

Everything about the tossing dory was silent except for the swish and sigh of the waves as they swept under her. Listen as they would, they could hear no other sound from any quarter.

"I don't like the appearance of things much," said Tom in reply to a question from Jack; "we ought to have reached the dock by now."

"Looks that way to me," was the response.

"How far did the captain say it was?" inquired Sandy.

"Not more than half an hour's row from the ship. If these fellows know their business, we ought to be there by now."

"That's evident. How silent it all is," said Jack in a rather awestruck voice. "Surely if we were near the town even, we would be able to hear something."

"Just what I was thinking, more particularly as fog exaggerates sound," responded Tom. "What makes it worse, too, is that the steamer has stopped sounding her whistle. We can't even get back to her now."

"I wish we'd stuck to the pilot boat," put in Sandy dismally.

"See if you can get anything out of those Aleuts," suggested Jack.

But although Tom tried to get something understandable from the natives, they only grinned and shook their heads. But at last they fell to their oars again.

"They don't know where they're going, but they're on the way," said Jack with a rather weak attempt at humor.

The sea began to come tumbling up astern of them in long black water rows that broke and whitened with spray now and again. The dory swung skyward and then plunged down as if bound for the bottom of the sea, as the swell nosed under her keel.

The boys exchanged serious glances. Their faces looked several shades paler than when they had left the steamer. The fog lent a ghastly grayish hue to everything. The dismal quality of the weather only added to their perplexity and alarm.

The Aleuts rowed steadily on without a shade of an expression on their greasy, yellow faces.

"Maybe they do know where they are going, after all," said Tom hopefully. "We may be ash.o.r.e in a short time and laughing over our scare."

The others did not reply and the Aleuts rowed stolidly on like two images as lifeless as Sandy's totem. But in spite of Tom's hopeful prophecy, there was no sign that they were approaching land and friends. Instead, the water grew rougher, the white caps more frequent. The boys exchanged looks of dismay. In all their lives they had never been in such wild waters as these.

CHAPTER X.

THE TIDAL "BORE."

"What's the matter, Sandy?"

Tom spoke as the dory swung dizzily between heaven and earth.

"I--I'm scared!" confessed Sandy, turning a white face to his chum.