The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest

Realizing that it was no use attempting to force the portal open, they decided to await Lake’s pleasure in the matter of opening it. In the meantime, they turned once more to the subject of a possible chance for escape.

“One thing is certain,” the professor decided, at the end of the discussion of a dozen or more plans, “we are in no immediate danger. It is equally certain that we can do nothing while we are on board the schooner. The only thing to do is to wait till we reach this island. When we know just what is going to happen to us we can formulate plans better, in the meantime we – ”

He stopped short. There was a trampling of feet in the cabin outside. It sounded as if a struggle were in progress. For an instant a voice broke out in wild pleadings – or so it seemed – but the cries were suddenly hushed as if a hand had been placed over the mouth of whoever was uttering them.

Then the trampling ceased and the sound of footsteps ascending the companion stairway could be heard. All this the prisoners in the cabin had heard in silence. As the sounds died away Tom turned to the others.

“It must have been that Chinaman! They – ”

A sudden piercing scream assailed their ears. Their cheeks whitened as they heard it, so wild and ringing and appealing was the cry.

It was succeeded by deadly silence. What could have occurred? They all had a guess in their minds, but none of them dared to voice it. One thing, though, Tom was certain of, and that was that the cry had come from the deck. In that case —

But at this point of his meditations the cabin door was suddenly flung open and Zeb’s unwieldy form stood framed in the doorway.

“You kin come out now,” he said.

Was it Tom’s imagination, or did the mate’s voice seem less blustery than usual, and his cheeks not quite so red? Suddenly Lake’s voice came hailing down from the head of the companion stairs:

“On deck here, Zeb. We’ll be makin’ a landfall soon.”

It seemed to Tom that Lake’s voice, too, was subdued and quiet. It held almost a quaver. But he had little time for noticing these things, for, as they emerged from the cabin – with Mr. Chillingworth, who was now almost recovered – there came a sudden electrifying hail:

“Land ho!”

“Where away?” came Lake’s roar from above.

“Two points off’n the sta’bo’d bow,” came back the answer from somewhere forward.

As the castaways, excited by the sensation that the end of their strange voyage was in sight, sprang up the companion stairs, Tom noted one thing.

The cabin was empty of life. At the foot of the stanchion, to which the Chinaman had been tied, the ropes which had bound him lay in an untidy tangle. But the man himself was gone, nor did they ever see him again.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE ISLAND

But the sight that greeted Tom’s eyes as he emerged on deck speedily drove all other thoughts from his mind. The wind had died down, and, although a heavy swell was still running, the sea was by no means rough. Across the gray waves, not more than a mile or so from the schooner, was visible the outlines of a rocky island.

Under the pall of gray sky, and surrounded by the leaden, sullen seas, it looked a dismal spot of land. So far as Tom could make out, it was craggy and mountainous in the extreme. On the side by which they were approaching it, the island was wooded down almost to the water’s edge.

Tom found the professor at his elbow. He began to talk to him at once. There was no fear of any one overhearing them. The crew and the leaders of the gang were far too busy scanning the island. In the lee rigging Simon Lake hung by one arm, while, with his free hand, he held a pair of glasses to his eyes.

“What land do you suppose that is?” asked Tom, as the schooner plunged onward toward it.

The professor thought a moment before answering. It was evident he was making some sort of mental calculation. At last he spoke, and by this time Mr. Chillingworth was one of the group about him.

“I should judge it to be one of the group of islets found to the southward of the Queen Charlotte group,” he replied. “They are scattered pretty thickly through these waters, and, as they are seldom visited except by whalers short of water or seal poachers, they would naturally afford an ideal place for men plying the trade that you have informed me Lake is engaged in.”

“I agree with you,” said Mr. Chillingworth, in a low, hopeless sort of tone. “Once on one of those islands and the chance of our ever being heard of again is so remote as to be among the impossibilities. Great heavens, my poor wife – ”

He broke off with a groan. The professor, after a quick glance about him to make sure they were not overheard, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Brace up, sir,” he said. “I have by no means given up hope yet. At all events, once on land we shall have more of a chance to get away than we would have on board this schooner.”

His tone seemed to cheer the despondent rancher considerably. He glanced gratefully at the philosopher and then said:

“You are right, professor. It is foolish to give way like this when we ought to be bending our energies in other directions. I shall complain no more.”

“That’s right,” said the professor heartily. The next instant he turned, as Monday plucked his sleeve.

“What is it, Monday?” he asked.

“Boss, me at dese island once in whaler, Tuesday he here, too. Long time ago,” said the Kanaka, an excited light burning in his eyes. “Boss, we tell you something ’bout dese island. Him very queer island. Back in dem hills, across dem hills, dey – ”

“Hush,” cautioned the professor. “Not another word now, my man. Here comes the head of this rascally collection of law-breakers.”

Monday subsided instantly. A vacant look crept into his eyes, which an instant before had been dancing excitedly. His companion also relapsed into apparent listlessness. In many ways these natives of the South Seas were fully the equal of any white man in their quick perception and keen insight. They were quite as much in possession of the facts concerning Lake and his crew as were the rest.

As the professor’s sharp eye had noted, Lake had clambered down from the rigging a few minutes before. His face bore a satisfied look as he came toward the castaways.

“Waal, thar’s your future home,” he grinned, as he approached the little group.

“Perhaps you can tell us if I am correct in my assumption that the island is one of the Queen Charlotte group off the coast of Canada?” inquired the professor, adjusting his spectacles and turning to Lake.

“I ain’t sayin’,” was the sullen rejoinder. “It’s enough fer yer ter know thet we’re bound fer thet island, and ye’re a mighty lucky lot not to be at the bottom of the sea at this minnit. I tell yer I hed a hard time persuading Zeb Hunt and ther crew not ter finish yer off.”

Tom shuddered at the rascal’s calm tone. He spoke without the slightest concern. As he gazed at the rapacious face of the leader of the Chinese runners, Tom did not doubt that the unfortunate Chinaman at that moment reposed where, according to Lake, Zeb Hunt and the crew would have liked to see them.

As the schooner drew closer to the island, Tom perceived what Lake had noticed through the glasses some time before. This was, that on the beach, flying from a tall, white flagstaff, was a square of red bunting. What this meant he was presently to find out in an odd manner.

Lake and Hunt went below as the schooner approached the island. Their heads were close together in deep consultation as they entered the companionway. Tom wondered what they could be discussing – the fate of the castaways likely.

The island, seen at closer range as the schooner drew nearer, appeared even more uninviting than it had from the distance. Tall, bare hills, rock-ribbed and cloven with deep crevasses, ran back from its shores, piling up to a mass of rugged peaks and inaccessible-looking precipices. At the foot of these hills – or rather mountains in miniature – was a dense growth of dark, melancholy looking trees, of dark green and blackish foliage. These Tom learned later were mostly pine trees and other conifers.

It was the part of the island immediately about the flagstaff, though, that interested him the most. Here quite a clearing seemed to have been made in the dense forest, and a cluster of rough huts could be seen, with several figures moving about. Against the dark background the red flag floated out like a flame.

While the others stood in a group at the rail watching all this, Tom retired to a seat on the edge of the cabin skylight. As it had grown warm with the dropping of the wind, one of the sections of the light was open, and through it the voices of Hunt and Lake drifted up from the cabin as they sat talking.

“We won’t be able to lose much time, cap,” Tom could hear Zeb say; “the red flag is up and that means that the steamer has called with another load of Chinks and gone away again. The sooner we run them through the better, more especially as Chillingworth is out of the way.”

“Why, thar’s no hurry, is thar?” inquired Lake. “I’d like a bit of a run ashore thar to git my head in shape again. Then, too, thar’s thet gold back in ther hills. I mean ter sic’ that professer onter thet, Zeb.”

“You still think thet’s gold-bearing rock, then?”

“I’m sure uv it. Ef only it is, we’ll get rid of this crew uv ours, Zeb, and you and I ’ull chuck this Chink running business and settle down ter mining. It’s not so dangerous, an’ almost as profitable.”

“Well,” came Hunt’s voice, “I’ve only one thing ter say, pervisions is short, an’ ef ther steamer has landed another bunch of Chinks, the less time we keep ’em ashore the better. Then, too, this wife of Chillingworth’s is bound ter kick up a turribul rumpus when she finds her husband is gone. All things considered, I say let’s get the job over and done with, as quick as possible.”