He let the weighty mud-hook … come crashing down on the bear's head.—Page 154.
"We'll pull right along the shore," decided Tom after a moment's thought, "we may fall in with some ship, or at any rate a native canoe."
Accordingly the oars were manned and the dory rowed along the coast, while the boys all kept a sharp lookout to seaward for any sign of a vessel.
"There's one good thing," said Tom presently; "the smoke from that fire would attract the attention of anyone who might be in the neighborhood and lead them to make inquiries."
"Yes, but there's not a vessel in sight," objected Jack.
"Never mind. That smoke must be visible at a great distance. I don't doubt that the Northerner is out hunting for us and they would not be likely to neglect such a clue as that smoke column will afford."
"I think you're right there," agreed Jack, "but they may have started the search in another direction."
"That is a chance we shall have to take."
The brief darkness of the Alaskan night fell without a single sign of a ship being detected on the lonely ocean. Thoroughly disheartened, hungry and half crazy from thirst, the boys rowed on till Tom ordered Jack and Sandy to take some sleep. They obeyed and were soon wrapped in deep slumber. Tom allowed the dory to drift. Rowing only increased his thirst, and in any event could not accomplish much good.
They would have rowed ashore long before and searched for water, but the land off to their right was a frowning escarpment of rugged cliff which offered no hope of water. The boy found himself wishing that they had had the foresight to stock up the dory in case of their leaving the cove hurriedly; but it was too late for such regrets now.
Tom caught himself dropping off to sleep. He dozed half awake and half in the land of nod for some time. How long it was he did not know, but he was suddenly awakened by a harsh shout that appeared to come from the air above him.
"Hard over your helm! It's a boat!"
"Where away!"
"Right under our bow! Sheer off! Hard over!"
Tom sprang to his feet, broad awake in an instant. Right above, like an immense black cliff, towered the bow of a steamer. He could see the bright running lights shining like jewels.
"Jack! Sandy!" he bawled out. "Get up! They'll run us down!"
The huge black bulk of the strange craft did, indeed, appear as if it must inevitably cut the drifting dory in two. But the outcry of the bow watch had come in time. Just as Jack and Sandy sprang up and Tom was thinking that everything was over, the great bow swung off. The steamer rushed by so close that Tom could almost have touched her with his hand.
"Ahoy!" roared a voice from the bridge. "What boat is that?"
"It's a native canoe," came another voice.
"Not on your life it isn't," yelled Tom. "This is an unofficial exploring expedition and——"
"Tom Dacre!" bellowed a voice from the bridge.
"Ahoy, uncle!" hailed back Tom, who had caught the word Northerner on the steamer's bow as she was swinging by.
"Tom, is it you? Are you all right?"
There was a ring in Mr. Dacre's tone that showed how he had suffered since the strange disappearance of his nephews and their chum.
"We never were better in our lives," cried Tom, deftly catching a rope that came snaking down as the steamer's speed diminished. "But how in the world did you come to run across us? Talk about a needle in a haystack!"
"Never mind the details now, my boy. Come on board at once. I can hardly wait till I see you."
Not many minutes later, in the comfortable cabin of the Northerner, Tom, Jack and Sandy, ragged and begrimed, were telling, between intervals of eating and drinking, the tale of their strange adventures since they were lost in the fog. When they had concluded the tale, Tom inquired of his uncle how it was that he had so miraculously found them.
"If you hadn't almost run us down we'd never have seen you," Tom continued, "for I was too sleepy to keep my eyes open."
Mr. Dacre's story was soon told. The two Aleuts who had apparently deserted the boys had really come back from the village with food. They were terrified when they found the boys and the dory gone, for they knew that it was time for the daily tide-bore to sweep through the straits. Getting a native canoe, they made their way to Kadiak, sought out Mr. Dacre and told him what had happened. The Northerner was at once put in commission for the hunt, although Mr. Dacre confessed that he had had a dreadful fear, not unshared by Mr. Chillingworth and the captain, that the boys had been caught in the tidal bore and lost.
From the captain's knowledge of the coast, they had been able to make a fairly intelligent search. Just before the brief darkness closed in that night they had made out a column of smoke rising on the horizon, and more as a forlorn hope than anything else, had made toward it, hoping against hope that it had been kindled by the young castaways.
"And so it was," laughed Tom happily, his hand finding his uncle's. "After all, maybe those bears were a blessing in disguise. If it hadn't been for them, we wouldn't have lighted that fire, and if it hadn't been for the fire, you'd like as not never have found us."
THE "YUKON ROVER."
Some weeks later there steamed away from the wharf side at St. Michaels, a small, stern-wheeled craft of light draught. So light was it, in fact, that the loungers on the dock who watched its departure declared that it would be possible to navigate it on a heavy dew.
It bore the name Yukon Rover, and was painted white with a single black smoke-stack. As it drew away from the dock, it blew a salute of three whistles which was answered by a fair-sized steamer lying in the roads.
As our readers will have guessed, the Yukon Rover was the portable steam craft which had been shipped north to the Yukon on the deck of the Northerner, which latter was the vessel that replied to the small craft's farewell. The Northerner was to return to Seattle, carrying down what cargo she could pick up, and come back late in the year with a cargo for the needs of the country during the rigid Alaskan winter, when little can be shipped. In this way Mr. Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth hoped to make their venture additionally profitable.
On the bow of the small light-draught craft was a strange ornament. This figure-head, if such it can be called, was nothing more nor less than the figure of a buck-toothed man roughly carved out of wood and daubed with faded paint. In a word, it was Sandy MacTavish's mascot, now assigned to duty on the small craft which was to carry the adventurers up the turbulent currents of the mighty Yukon.
As to the Yukon Rover's mission, there was much speculation in St. Michaels concerning it. But the consensus of opinion was that the two gentlemen and the boys were going on a scientific expedition of some sort. The "Bug Hunters" was the name bestowed upon them in the far northern town from whence embarkation for the mouth of the Yukon was made.
This suited Mr. Dacre and his partner well enough, as they had no wish for the real object of their expedition to become known. The hunters and trappers of the Far North are a jealous, vindictive lot when they imagine that what they consider their inalienable rights to the fur and feather of the land are being invaded by outsiders.
Both gentlemen knew that if any suspicion of the real object of their voyage leaked out, much trouble might be made for them, although it was still rather early in the year for any trappers to be going "inside," as penetrating into the interior of Alaska is called.
A shed near the waterfront had been rented and ways constructed, and here the Yukon Rover had been rapidly put together by the engineers from the Northerner. But on her trip up the river the boys were to act as machinists and stokers, and as the Yukon Rover's machinery was simple enough, this was a delightful and interesting task to them. Like most healthy, normal boys, our young friends liked to tinker with machinery, and they had had plenty of instruction in their new duties on the trial trips of the stern-wheeler.
Tom, who 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."
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, and he intended to give you a good scare."
"Well, he succeeded all right," declared Jack, with conviction, "but I guess I managed to give him as good as he gave me. The way those bidarkas shot around that bend was a caution."
"Do you think there is any chance of their coming back again?" asked Tom. "Because if there is, we might give them a warm reception."
"I hardly think they'll return," said Mr. Dacre. "They were probably on their way to St. Michaels. That raid on our store-room must have been a wind-fall for them."
"Hoot! I'd take a wind-fall oot of them if I had my way," grunted Sandy. "Can't we take the dinghy" (for the Rover carried a small boat), "and get after them?"
"They are probably miles away by this time," said Mr. Chillingworth. "I guess the shot that Jack fired after them gave them considerable to think about. I doubt if they'll be in a hurry to attack another boat."
Supper, cooked on a gasolene stove in a small galley by Tom and Jack, who were quite expert as cooks, was served in the large cabin which did duty as both living and dining room.
Jack announced that his engines were once more in A1 shape, but it was decided that as they were all tired it would be better to remain where they were for the night. By this time the boys had become quite used to going to bed by daylight, although at first it had been a very odd sensation. They were soon asleep, and their elders, after discussing the prospects of the trip for some little time longer, followed the lads' example and sought their cabins. Before long the Yukon Rover was wrapped in slumber and silence, only the swift ripple of the current, as it ran by, breaking the stillness.
It was Tom who first opened his eyes with the indefinable but distinct idea that something was wrong. It was almost dark, so he knew that it must be after midnight. What the trouble he vaguely guessed at could be, he was at an utter loss to determine, but the feeling was so strong that he slipped on some clothes and emerged on deck.
He looked about him for a minute and almost decided that he had been the victim of one of those transient impressions that often come to those abruptly awakened from sleep.
But almost simultaneously with this idea the truth broke sharply upon him like a thunderclap.
"Uncle!" he shouted. "Boys! Wake up! We are drifting down stream!"
The others were awake in an instant, and in all sorts of costumes they crowded out on deck. Jack carried a rifle under the impression that they had been attacked.
"What's the matter?"
"Is it the natives again?"
"Are we attacked?"
These and half a dozen other questions assailed Tom's ears before he was enabled to point out the true state of affairs.
"We are drifting rapidly down the stream," he said. "We must be far from where we tied up."
This was unquestionably the truth. The Yukon Rover was not only drifting on the swift current, but was near the middle of the stream where the tide was more rapid than at the sides. In the deep twilight, which is the far northern night, they could see the low-lying banks slipping by like a moving panorama.
The profound stillness rendered the scene still more impressive as the alarmed party stood thunderstruck on the deck of the castaway steamer.
"What can have happened?" demanded Jack.
"Perhaps the mooring rope broke," suggested Sandy.
"Not likely. It was a brand new one of the best manilla," declared Mr. Dacre. "There is more in this than appears."
"The first thing to do is to get out an anchor before we drift down on a sand-bar," said Mr. Chillingworth.
"Yes, it's a miracle we haven't struck one already," agreed Mr. Dacre.
The boys hustled off to get overboard the heavy spare anchor that the drifting steamer carried on her bow. But as the splash that announced that it was in the stream came to their ears and the rope began to tauten, there was a heavy shock that almost threw them all off their feet.
"Let out more rope!" cried Tom, thinking that the sudden tautening of the anchor rope had caused the shock.
"No need to do that," said Mr. Dacre, "we are anchored hard and fast."
"Where?"
"On a sand-bar."
HARD ASHORE.
It was at this juncture that Tom came aft with a rope trailing in his hand. It was the original rope. He had drawn it aboard when he discovered it dangling from the mooring bitts into the water.
"Look at this rope," he cried excitedly. "It was no accident that we went adrift."
"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Dacre.
"That it was cut."
"Cut?"
"Yes."
"How do you know that?"
"All the rope is not here. If it had slipped from the anchor we cast ashore among the rushes, or if the anchor had slipped, it would be."
"Perhaps some animal chewed it."
"We'll soon see that. Who's got a match?"
Tom struck a lucifer. As it flared up, Mr. Dacre took the end of the rope in his hand. A single glance sufficed. The rope had been severed so cleanly that there was no question that it had been done by a sharp knife. No animal's teeth could have made that neat, clean incision.
"Well, what do you think of that?" demanded Tom.
"Who could hae done it?" wondered Sandy.
"I know." Jack interjected the remark with confidence.
"Who?"
"Those natives. That bunch that raided our pantry."
"By Jove, boy, I believe you are right," declared Mr. Chillingworth. "It would be just like one of their tricks."
"Well, here we are, stuck hard and fast," said Mr. Dacre. "I suppose those natives would feel highly gratified if they could see our predicament."
"I guess we ought to be glad that they didn't set the boat on fire," commented Jack indignantly. "I'd like to have a brief interview with them."
As an examination showed that the Yukon Rover was in no particular danger, it was decided to wait till daylight before trying to get her off the bar. In the meantime, Sandy went below and began getting up steam, for he had banked his fires during the sleeping period. The others discussed the situation.
It was plain that they had drifted some distance, though how far they had, of course, no means of estimating. Although no actual harm had been done, they naturally felt incensed against the natives, who they were certain had played the scurvy trick on them. Had the wily old chief and his followers happened along just then, they would have met with a warm reception. Perhaps it was just as well that they did not.
After hot coffee had been served out, all hands went to work with a will to release the steamer from her sandy bed. But this proved to be no easy task. It had been hoped that she could be got off under her own power by dint of utilizing the stern wheel. But the blades of the wheel were stuck in the sand, and to have tried to work them might have crippled the ship permanently.
Another plan, therefore, was adopted. The boys got out the small boat and taking the anchor on board carried it some distance up the stream. Then they returned to the ship and began heaving with might and main on the cable, using the small capstan to do this. A cheer went up when, after about half an hour of back-breaking work, they felt the Yukon Rover give a quiver and move about an inch.
"Hurrah, boys! Keep it up! We'll soon be afloat!" cried Tom cheerfully.
Sure enough, as they worked they got the vessel further and further off the sand-bank and at last had the satisfaction of feeling her floating free. As soon as this happened, the engine was started and the steamer began bucking the current once more. The anchor was hoisted as the Yukon Rover came "up on it" and the voyage, which had been so mischievously interrupted, was resumed with great cheerfulness. About ten miles up the river they came to the spot where they had anchored the night before. The steamer was stopped and the boys went ashore to investigate. On the banks were the tell-tale marks of the keels of the bidarkas and numerous footmarks around them. The anchor was found undisturbed, with about ten feet of rope attached to it, and was brought back on board.
The resumption of the journey found them still traversing much the same kind of country as that they had hitherto steamed through. Low banks, thickly grown with alders and other water-loving trees, islands covered with willows, sand-bars and sluggish, outbranching sloughs innumerable.
These willow islands formed troublesome obstructions to navigation. But the outcropping willows at least served one useful purpose. They indicated the presence of sand-bars which, in some instances, lay several feet beneath the surface of water at the high stage of the river. It was not till some days later, during which time they had steadily bucked the current, only tying up for sleep, that the character of the scenery began to change and the boys felt that they were really getting into a wild country at last.
The flat banks and occasional small towns with remnants of Russian forts and occupancy about them, had been left behind. Now the banks shot up steeply above the swift current, and the Yukon Rover was called upon to test her power against the full strength of the stream.
One night,—of course, it was not dark, but "rest time,"—the travelers tied up on the north bank of the stream under a particularly precipitous mass of cliff. It towered above them like the side wall of a skyscraper. Mr. Dacre, who examined it, declared that it had once been a glacier, and there were still traces of glacial action visible upon it. The ground thereabouts was also rich in fossils and the boys obtained permission to go ashore and collect a few of these last.
They set off in high spirits, landing by the long gangplank which the Yukon Rover carried for such purposes. Shouting and laughing they made their way up through the woods till they had clambered to quite a height. All their pockets were bulging with specimens of rock formation, many of them very curious.
"Let's go over to the edge of that glacier," said Sandy, "and hae a look doon on the river. It must be a grand sight."
Nothing loath, they struck off over the rough ground under the larch and pine trees, and soon found themselves at the edge of the sharp acclivity, which had been ground almost to the smoothness of a board by a mighty glacier centuries before. They had not climbed so far above the river as they had imagined from the laboriousness of the ascent. In fact, they were surprised to find that far from being at the top of the glacier, hundreds of feet of its extent still towered above them.
Below lay the Yukon Rover tied to the bank, with the smoke wisping lazily from her funnel. Mr. Dacre and his partner sat out on deck reading. It was a peaceful scene, the silence broken only by the voice of the river as its mighty current hastened down to the sea. All at once though, the calm of the scene was rudely scattered by a loud yell from Sandy.
The Scotch lad had been amusing himself by throwing rocks down the smooth incline of the glacier, which sloped right down into the river, and watching them vanish in the current.
In the course of this amusement he had climbed up on the edge of the treacherously smooth rock chute, which was practically what it was.
"Look out there, Sandy!" warned Tom, knowing the boy's remarkable faculty for getting into trouble.
"Hoot toot! Dinna fash yersel' aboot me," returned Sandy easily, and set another rock rolling and bounding down the glacier.
As if in bravado, he clambered right up on the smooth cliff before his companions could check him. But at that instant his foot caught on a rock and he stumbled and fell.
Tom jumped forward to save him, but the lad's clothes tore from his grasp, as Sandy shot downward at a terrific speed, at the same time emitting a wild shriek of terror.
At the same instant his cry was echoed by Jack, for Tom, who had in vain sought to save his chum, now shared Sandy's misfortune and went chuting downward to the river on the smooth rock chute at lightning speed.
"Help!" cried Jack, as if human aid could accomplish anything, "help! They'll both be killed."
"Ki-i-i-i-i-l-l-e-d!" flung back the mocking echoes from the cliffs.
DOWN THE GLACIER.
Sandy's wild shout of alarm caused the gentlemen on the deck of the Yukon Rover to start up in affright.
They looked above them and what they saw was sufficiently alarming. Two boys, rolling and tumbling down the smooth rock slope, bound straight for the river! So swiftly did it all happen that they had hardly time to realize the catastrophe that had overtaken the boys, before the two victims of this double disaster struck the water with a splash and vanished from view.
"Quick, Chillingworth! The life preservers!" cried Mr. Dacre running to where they were kept. He flung all he could lay his hands on far out toward the spot where the glacier dipped into the water. In another instant, to the unspeakable relief of both men, they saw two heads come to the surface.
But on Sandy's head was a broad cut, and though he struck out toward the nearest life preserver, his efforts were feeble. It was evident that he had been injured in his fall, but how badly, of course, they could not tell. Tom was striking out with strong, swift movements. He had seized one of the life preservers, when he perceived Sandy's plight. Instantly dropping the ring, he struck out for the Scotch lad.
Just as he reached his chum's side, the rushing current caught both boys in its grip and hurtled them out toward the middle of the stream. So swiftly did it run that, despite Tom's strong strokes, he could not gain an inch on the body of his chum, which was being borne like something inanimate down the stream.
The gentlemen on the deck of the Yukon Rover watched this scene with fascinated horror. Powerless to aid, all they could do was to watch the outcome of this drama.
In the meantime, Jack, pale with fright, was coming down the steep cliffside in leaps and bounds. He had not seen his brother and his comrade rise and did not know but that they had not reappeared at all.
Tom felt the current grip him like a giant's embrace. He had been partially stunned by the swiftness of his flight down the steep, precipitous glacier, but the plunge into the cold waters of the river had revived him. When he had risen to the surface after his plunge, he was in full possession of all his faculties. To his delight he was not injured, and almost the first thing he saw near him was Sandy's head.
As we know, he struck out for it, only to have his chum snatched almost out of his very arms by the mighty sweep of the current.
Like those on the steamboat, he had seen the cut over Sandy's eye and knew that he was injured. This made Tom all the more feverishly anxious to catch up with him, for although Sandy was a strong and good swimmer and had plenty of presence of mind in the water, if he was seriously hurt it was not probable he could stay long above the surface.
But Tom speedily found that, try as he would, he could make no gain on his chum. He heard Sandy cry out despairingly as the current swept him round a bend. The next instant Tom realized that not far below them lay some cruel rapids which the Yukon Rover had bucked that afternoon with the greatest difficulty. He knew that if something didn't happen before they got into the grip of that boiling, seething mass of water, their doom was sealed.
He almost fancied as he drifted along, allowing the current to carry him and saving his strength for the struggle he knew must come, that he could already hear the roaring voice of the rapids and see the white water whipping among the jagged black rocks, contact with which would mean death.
It was at this instant that he spied something that gave him a gleam of hope. Right ahead of them there loomed up a possible chance that he had forgotten. It was one of those willowy islets that have been mentioned as dotting the Yukon for almost its entire length. If he could but gain that, if some lucky sweep of the current would but carry Sandy in among the trees, both their lives might be saved.
And now the river played one of those freaks that rapidly running streams containing a great volume of water frequently do. Sandy's body was swept off into a sort of side eddy, while Tom felt himself seized by an irresistible force and rushed forward in the grip of the tide as it roared down to the rapids.
Horror at his utter incapacity to stem it or to do aught but yield to the rush of the stream, rendered him almost senseless for an instant. In his imagination his body was already being battered in the rapids and flung hither and thither in the boiling whirlpools.
But suddenly an abrupt collision that almost knocked the breath out of his body gave him something else to think of. Twigs brushed and scratched his face and he was held fast by branches. With a swift throb of thankfulness he realized the next instant that the impossible had happened.
A vagary of the current had swung him into the midst of the willow island and he was anchored safely in the branches of one of the trees. But he gave himself little time to think over this. His thoughts were of Sandy. Where was the Scotch boy?
Had he been swept on down the river to the rapids or had he sunk? Hardly had these questions time to flash through his mind, when he gave a gasp and felt his heart leap.
Coming toward him, and not more than a few feet away, was a dark object that he knew to be Sandy's head. The next instant he saw the boy's appealing eyes.
Sandy had seen him, too, as the same current that had caught Tom in its embrace hurtled his chum down the river.
"Tom!" he cried. "Tom!"
Tom made no reply.
It was no time for words. He quickly judged with his eye the spot where Sandy must be borne by him, and clambered out upon a branch overhanging the water. His object was to save his chum, but it must be confessed that his chances of doing so looked precarious.
The limb upon which he had climbed was, in the first place, not a branch in which much confidence could be consistently placed. It was to all appearances rotten, although it bore his weight. But it was no time to weigh chances. The stream was bearing Sandy down upon the willow island, and Tom realized that, unless the boy was carried into the midst of the clump as he had been, he would hardly have strength enough left to grab a projecting branch and thus save himself from the grip of the river.
He had hardly made up his mind to the plan he would pursue when Sandy was right upon him. But he was further out than Tom had calculated. However, Tom had anticipated this possibility and throwing himself flat on the limb, he twisted his legs around it and reached out, with an inward prayer that he might be successful in the struggle that was to ensue between himself and the mighty Yukon.
As Sandy shot by, Tom's arms enveloped him. The pull of the current was stronger than he thought, but he held on for dear life, his face almost touching the rushing waters. He was drawing Sandy in toward him and in another instant both would have been safe, when there was an ominous "crack!"