Chapter XIX: Ordered Below

Back in the trapper’s cabin Blackie was in a rage. He stormed at the Orientals, at MacGregor, then at himself. From time to time he rushed out on the small dock in a vain attempt to pierce the thick fog and to listen with all his ears.

“The robbers have got them,” he muttered. “I should have known. That shadow! It’s done for them and for the _Stormy Petrel_.”

As night came on he settled down to sober thinking. “There’s a fishing skiff out there by the dock,” he said to Lawrence. “We’ll have to put it in the water and make a try for the mainland. This cabin is on an island. Mainland must be thirty miles away. We’ll make it. We’ll find some sort of power boat. And then, by thunder! Things will get to popping!”

Lawrence, too, was disturbed in his own quiet way. He knew a great deal about Johnny. Many a time Johnny had been in a tight spot. Always, somehow, he had come out safely. MacGregor was old and wise. And, after all, this was not a time of war. Why need one worry too much?

There were a number of tattered books on the shelf in the corner. Evidently this trapper was something of a naturalist, for five of these were about animals and birds. In browsing through these, the boy made a real find, a picture of a glacier bear, a brief description, and the history of the animal as far as known.

It was with the feelings of a real discoverer that he read those words over and over. When he had finished he said to himself, “If ever I see one of those bears I’ll know him.”

But would he? At the present moment those bears seemed as far away as the moon. And yet, who could tell?

At dawn next morning the three of them, George, the cook, Blackie and Lawrence, carried their few supplies down to the dock, tacked a note on the door, climbed into the broad, clumsy skiff and rowed into the fog.

“We’ll follow the shore as far as we can,” said Blackie. “We’ll have to cross a broad stretch of open water, but I think I can manage that with my pocket compass.”

When at last Lawrence saw even the small island disappear from sight, he regretted the circumstances that appeared to make it necessary to leave that comfortable retreat.

When Johnny and his friends came on board that same morning, they found the fog still with them, but it was thinner. There was a suggestion of a breeze in the air.

“Going to clear,” was MacGregor’s prophecy. This, they were soon to discover, did not concern them too much, at least not in the immediate future.

When they had eaten a strange mixture of rice and meat and had gulped down some very bitter coffee, a little man with neither gold nor braid on his uniform came up to them, saluted in a careless manner and said simply, “Come.”

They followed him from one deck to another until they found themselves in a vast place of steam and evil smells.

When their eyes had become accustomed to the light and steam, they saw long rows of men toiling and sweating over apparently endless tables. Before the tables, on a conveyor, thousands of large salmon moved slowly forward.

“No iron coolie here,” Johnny chuckled. “Everything is done by hand. Heads off, tails, fins, all with big knives.”

“Please,” said the little man. He was holding out a long, thin, oilskin coat. Understanding his wish, Johnny put it on. Still wondering, he watched MacGregor and the girl follow his example.

“Please,” said the little man again. “A thousand apologies.” He was holding out three long, sharp knives, at the same time pointing with his other hand at a break in the solid line of salmon workers.

“Why, the dirty little shrimp!” Johnny exploded. “He wants us to go to work.”

“Steady, son,” MacGregor warned. “They understand English. I fancy there are worse places than this on the ship. We have no choice but to obey.”

Johnny muttered, but dropped into place to slash off a large salmon’s head.

He had worked in a rebellious humor for a quarter of an hour when, on looking up, he discovered that Rusty was performing the most disagreeable task in the salmon line. She was cleaning the fish. Shoving past MacGregor, he turned her half about as he muttered low, “You take my place.”

To his great astonishment, he felt the girl whirl back to her place, give him a hard push, then saw her resume her work.

For a space of seconds he stood there stunned. Then he laughed low. The girl was wise, much wiser than he had known. She was supposed to be a boy. Boys were not gallant to one another. She would play the part to the bitter end. Johnny returned to his task.

“Mac,” he was able to whisper at last, “why would they do this to us?”

“You answer,” was the old man’s reply. “Sh-sh—” he warned. “Here comes a big shot, one of the monkeys with gold buttons.”

As he passed the “big shot” smiled suavely at them, but said never a word.