The Ice Pilot Part 17

The crew glanced at each face before them-Stirling's strong, but uncertain; Eagan's masterful; Marr's openly sneering.

"We get it," a sailor answered back.

"Then, I suggest we all go slow. This Stirling has been cracking too much about whisky and seals. He's liable to see too much and say too many things afterward. You get me, don't you?"

"We get you."

"On the other hand," continued Eagan, "there's the danger of messing the whole voyage up. If we croak this fellow, it'll get out and we'll have to pay. If we maroon him anywhere along this coast, he'll find a way to signal that cruiser that went north, or the _Bear_."

"How about an island?" a boat steerer asked.

"That's it!" declared Eagan, dropping his hand. "We'll put him on an island after we get done with the little trip the captain has planned for us. That island will be in the North Pacific. We can pick out a nice, quiet one."

Stirling, with fist still ready for action, turned toward Eagan and exclaimed: "You're with them, eh?"

"Certainly; all the way! You're one against thirty-more than that, counting the engine-room force and the stokehold bunch. Put down that fist and get into your cabin; stay there and don't come on deck.

Otherwise they're going to mop up the ship with you."

"I'll chance that--" started Stirling, advancing upon the crew, both fists now clenched.

He never hesitated in the charge. It was bull strong and intended to clear the way to the p.o.o.p; men went over as ninepins; blows glanced from his shoulders. He reached the p.o.o.p steps with arms twined about him, threw these off with a savage twist and squirm, and went up as a Kanaka harpooner seized his legs. Dragging slowly, he grasped the rail and bent his body.

It was then that a belaying pin flew across the waist of the ship, glanced from the quarter-deck rail, and struck Stirling in the temple.

He rolled down the steps-the centre of a snarling pack of men-then lay quiet, with blood flowing from the wound in his head.

Eagan pulled off the pack and lifted him like a heavy sack of meal.

"I'll put him in his cabin," he said with a grunt. "I'll watch him.

Leave that part to me."

Marr turned and faced the crew. "Get the anchor up!" he ordered. "We'll drop down the wind and make for our landfall. Remember, we're looking for bowheads until I give other instructions."

Eagan laid Stirling on his bunk and went to work. He found water and a clean towel, bathed the swollen wound, leaned over, and shook Stirling into consciousness.

"Lay low!" he whispered. "Don't you know who I am?"

Stirling rolled, and pressed his hand to his eyes. "I don't know," he said, weakly. "Who are you?"

Eagan reached into his pocket and drew forth a gold badge. He held it before Stirling's swimming eyes.

"I am a Deputy Seal Commissioner," said the seaman.

CHAPTER XVII-INTO FORBIDDEN WATERS

The long Northern day died at last as the _Pole Star_ drove south and west through the ice-flecked waters of the Bering Sea.

Night shaded overhead and the wind sank to a following breeze which flapped the sails on the polished spars. Steam was got up in the boilers, the screw thrashed, and the ship plunged on-her sharp stem cutting through the drift ice like a knife going through thin paper.

Into the upward swing of the Arctic sun the whaler steered. Fog drifted upon them, and when it lifted there was exposed a wide waste of sullen waters upon the surface of which seal and walrus sported. Once a killer whale attracted attention. Some of the green crew called "A blow!"

Marr knew better than this. He urged the ship on as if it were carrying the mail for Southern waters. He stood the watch with Whitehouse, and both seamen had received Eagan's report that Stirling was resting easily and was making no trouble.

They consulted as to the best course to pursue in regard to Stirling.

Marr was for locking him securely in the chain-locker-this was a tiny s.p.a.ce forward the forecastle. Whitehouse, who had taken a liking to Stirling, admiring his prowess with the ice and the conditions met in the Bering, suggested that Eagan should be left in charge of the captive and held responsible. Marr agreed, neither man suspecting that the sailor had any motive in staying near Stirling. Their first suspicion had been forgotten. Eagan had played a difficult part and won his point.

It was on the third day that the _Pole Star_ entered, as dusk crept across the sky, the zone of danger where no ships were allowed at that season of the year, the strictest patrolled patch of water in the world.

Seals of the fur-skin variety, which are so valuable and scarce, sported about.

Marr drove on with all lights shaded and a canvas cone capping the _Pole Star's_ funnel and steam pipe. Orders had been given for each man to stand at position. Guns had been laid in the whaleboats, and great oak capstan bars took the place of the whaling gear.

An air of expectancy filled each sailor's breast; the die was cast, and they were close to the great game. Whaling was for old men and weaklings. Stories had been told in the forecastle and steerage concerning the sudden profits of a seal raid. MacLane was cited as an instance of desperate daring and tremendous enterprise, MacLane who had raided both the Copper Group and the Pribilofs in one season. He had brought his schooner into Seattle with her deck planks bulging from the salted skins beneath.

Eagan moved from Stirling's cabin to the forecastle and back again. He had secured a pair of rusty handcuffs with which he made great show of securing the Ice Pilot, where he lay on his back. Now and then one of the galley crowd peered in through the open porthole and reported to the sailors on deck.

A double lookout was maintained from forepeak and quarter-deck, and the horizon was closely scanned by Marr and Whitehouse. The rookeries lay close to the south and west and the ship had been driven toward the northeast point of St. Paul's Island.

Stirling sensed his position by the slowing of the screw and the direction of the slight wind and he reviewed the entire series of events since coming aboard the ship. His head had now cleared, and the slight swelling at the temple was going down under Eagan's skillful treatment.

The situation was desperate enough. Marr had taken the long chance and reached the waters about the rookeries. But two armed ships were known to be in the Bering Sea or the Arctic. One was the revenue cutter _Bear_; the other, the unknown cruiser which had driven through Bering Strait.

Stirling's anger boiled and simmered as he lay in a handcuffed position and waited for reports from Eagan, who had to be careful. There was scant chance of their ever capturing the ship. Two against forty offered little hope to dwell upon; another method than violence would have to be found.

Eagan came in at one bell before midnight, closed the door, pocketed the keys, then moved over to the porthole and glanced keenly out.

"How're we heading?" whispered Stirling.

"Southwest."

"Dead on St. Paul?"

"She's just been raised from aft. Marr and Whitehouse sent the word forward. The whole tribe of Kanakas, Gay Islanders, dock rats, and cinder-muckers-to say nothing of the two first-cla.s.s engineers, who ought to know better-are itching to get at the seals. It will be as much as our lives are worth to interfere. Marr has them all worked up."

"Where's the _Bear_?"

"Heaven only knows! Seagraves, her captain, told me in Frisco that he had an entire ocean to guard. There's the Russian coast and the Kotzebue and Norton Sound."

"That other cruiser?"

"She's helping him out. Likely there's an expedition cast away in the Arctic. The _Kadik_ was reported crushed. The cruiser may have gone through to pick up the survivors."

"Then Marr will succeed?" Stirling hinged himself upward and stared at Eagan.

"Looks that way." Eagan closed his fists and turned from the porthole.

"Looks bad," he continued with hard eyes. "At that, Stirling, we've three or four hours yet. Much can happen in that time. The _Bear_ may swing around St. Paul."