Chapter XVII: Trapped

“It’s no use. We’re in for it.” Five minutes later MacGregor dropped his oars. From some spot close to that dark bulk against the sky had come the throb of a motor.

“Rusty, me child,” the old man’s voice was very gentle. “Be sure those golden locks of yours are well tucked in. Whatever you do, don’t remove that sou’wester. For the present you are a boy. You must not forget.”

“I—I won’t forget.” Rusty’s fingers were busy with her hair.

“I only hope,” the old man added soberly, “that my guess is wrong.”

Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when a smart little motor boat, bright with red and white paint, hove into view. And on the deck, scarcely less smart in brass buttons and braid, stood a small man with slanting eyes.

Those eyes appeared a trifle startled at sight of MacGregor. “A thousand pardons.” The little man’s voice was smooth as oil. “What is that which you wish?”

“Only a few gallons of gasoline,” said MacGregor.

The lightning change on the little man’s face was startling. It was as if a dagger had suddenly flashed from his belt, yet his tone was smooth as before.

“Ah! You are out of gas? Very unfortunate. Your line, please. We shall escort you to our ship.”

“But we don’t want to go to your ship,” MacGregor protested. “All we want is gas.”

“Ah, yes, a thousand apologies. But here there is no gasoline, only at the ship. Your line, please.”

“Say, you—” Johnny’s angry voice was stopped by a heavy pressure on his arm.

“Give him our line, son,” said MacGregor.

Grudgingly Johnny obeyed. A moment later, with the two boats in tow, the bright, little craft went rolling back toward that broad, black bulk.

“It’s no use to quarrel with ’em,” MacGregor said in a sober whisper. “We’ve fallen into their hands. I think that chap recognized me. I’ve been along the Pacific waterfronts for many years. So have these Orientals.”

“But—but what will happen?” Rusty asked.

“Who knows?” was MacGregor’s sober reply. “Let us hope for the best. They’ll not let us go now. When they’re well beyond the three-mile limit they may give us gas and let us go.

“In the meantime, Rusty,” he warned, “don’t forget you’re a boy. It’s a good thing you’ve got on knickers instead of a dress.”

They were brought alongside. A ladder was let down. They climbed aboard. There they were ushered before one more small man who wore even more brass and braid. Johnny thought with a touch of humor that he would make a very fine monkey if only he had a cap, a tin cup and a string.

When MacGregor requested that they be given gasoline and allowed to leave, there were excuses, very profuse and polite, but quite formal. There were reasons, very unfortunate reasons; too much fog, a storm coming up, too few men to spare even one or two, to find the way alone quite impossible. Oh, quite!

The man, who beyond doubt was the captain, talked on and on.

It all ended by the _Krazy Kat’s_ being hoisted on board, by the little party drinking very black and very hot tea with the much adorned captain, and at last by their being escorted, for all the world as if they were embarking on a long voyage, to a pair of staterooms on the second deck.

For a time after the stateroom doors had been closed the surprised trio stood staring first at one another and then at their surroundings.

The two staterooms were joined by a door. There were two berths in each stateroom. There were round portholes, no other windows.

“That will be your stateroom, Rusty,” MacGregor opened the door to the one beyond. “Keep your outside door locked.

“One thing more,” hesitatingly he produced a pair of scissors, “I always carry them,” he explained. “A man doesn’t live everywhere as I have done, not in Alaska, without learning to cut hair. I’m a fair hand at it. Rusty, me child, those rusty red locks of yours have got to come off.”

Without a word the girl dropped to a stool beside the berth.

“Johnny,” said MacGregor, “I suggest that you step outside and stand guard. Don’t leave the door, not more than three steps. If anyone comes near, make some noise on the door.”

“Right,” said Johnny.

“Rusty,” said MacGregor, “do you ever box?”

“Oh yes, often.” The girl’s face flushed. “Often. Daddy and I box by the hour.” She gave Johnny a strange, fleeting look.

“Good!” MacGregor exclaimed low. “Tonight we’ll have an exhibition match, just you and Johnny. Two boys showing these Orientals how to play.

“And now,” he nodded his head toward the door.

Johnny opened it ever so softly, peered through the crack, and was gone.

At the same moment the old man lifted the shabby sou’wester from the mass of lovely hair, blew on his scissors, heaved a heavy sigh, then slashed with apparent ruthlessness at a great handful of perfectly natural, copper-colored curls.

A half hour later the door opened a crack.

Taking the cue, Johnny stepped inside. He stopped short when he looked at Rusty.

It was with the greatest difficulty that he suppressed a smile at what he saw. The sou’wester was no longer needed. Good old MacGregor had done his work well. Rusty’s hair looked like a real boy’s.

“What a grand boy!” Johnny thought. And after that, “What a perfect brick of a girl she is!”

“Mac,” he said a moment later, “there are twenty thousand fine big red salmon up forward. I stepped around a hatchway far enough to see.”

“Twenty thousand,” the old man murmured. “Our boys get fourteen cents apiece just for catchin’ ’em. Twenty-eight hundred dollars. A grand livin’ for two happy families. And that’s the first haul. There’ll be many another unless someone stops ’em.

“And we won’t stop ’em,” he added with a touch of sadness. “Not just yet. But you wait!” he sprang to his feet. “We’ll get a break yet.”