← catalogue

Bobby of the Labrador

by Dillon Wallace · English · Gutenberg #14882 · 342,056 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bobby of the Labrador
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Bobby of the Labrador

Author: Dillon Wallace


        
Release date: February 2, 2005 [eBook #14882]
                Most recently updated: December 19, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14882

Credits: Produced by Wallace McLean, Edna Badalian and the Online Distributed
        Proofreading Team.


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOBBY OF THE LABRADOR ***




Produced by Wallace McLean, Edna Badalian and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.






BOBBY OF THE LABRADOR

[Illustration: It was plain that retreat was hopelessly cut off]

Bobby of the Labrador

BY DILLON WALLACE

AUTHOR OF "THE FUR TRAIL ADVENTURERS," "THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD,"
"THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS," ETC.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRANK E. SCHOONOVER

[Illustration: A.C. McCLURG (Publishers Stamp)]


DEDICATED

TO

L.G.H.

WHO KNOWS WHY

If I may call you friend, I wish you this--
  No gentle destiny throughout the years;
No soft content, or ease, or unearned bliss
  Bereft of heart-ache where no sorrow nears,
But rather rugged trouble for a mate
  To mold your soul against the coming blight,
To train you for the ruthless whip of fate
  And build your heart up for the bitter fight.

If I may call you friend, I wish you more--
  A rare philosophy no man may fake,
To put the game itself beyond the score
  And take the tide of life as it may break;
To know the struggle that a man should know
  Before he comes through with the winning hit,
And, though you slip before the charging foe,
  To love the game too well to ever quit.

                               GRANTLAND RICE.




CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I The Boat That Came Down from the Sea

II The Mystery and Bobby

III Skipper Ed and His Partner

IV Over a Cliff

V The Rescue

VI With Passing Years

VII The Wolf Pack

VIII The Battle

IX The Fishing Places

X A Foolhardy Shot

XI When the Iceberg Turned

XII Adrift on the Open Sea

XIII How the _Good and Sure_ Brought Trouble

XIV Visions in Delirium

XV Marooned in an Arctic Blizzard

XVI A Snug Refuge

XVII Prisoner on a Barren Island

XVIII The Winter of Famine

XIX Off to the _Sena_

XX Jimmy's Sacrifice

XXI Who Was the Hero?

XXII A Storm and a Catastrophe

XXIII It Was God's Will

XXIV Under the Drifting Snow

XXV A Lonely Journey

XXVI Cast Away on the Ice

XXVII A Struggle for Existence

XXVIII The Ships That Came Down to the Ice

XXIX In Strange Lands

XXX The Mystery Cleared






ILLUSTRATIONS


It was plain that retreat was hopelessly cut off _Frontispiece_

"Hurry, Jimmy. I can't hang here much longer. I'm getting all numb"

Quick as a flash Bobby raised his gun to his shoulder

They ran by the side of the _komatik_ to keep warm

"I was hunting," explained Bobby. "The ice broke loose and cut Jimmy,
and me off from Skipper Ed"





Bobby of the Labrador




CHAPTER I

THE BOAT THAT CAME DOWN FROM THE SEA


Abel Zachariah was jigging cod. Cod were plentiful, and Abel Zachariah
was happy. It still lacked two hours of mid-day, and already he had
caught a skiffload of fish and had landed them on Itigailit Island,
where his tent was pitched.

Now, as he jigged a little off shore, he could see Mrs. Abel Zachariah,
the yellow sunshine spread all about her, splitting his morning catch on
a rude table at the foot of the sloping rocks. Above her stood the
little tent that was their summer home, and here and there the big
sledge dogs, now idle and lazy and fat, sprawled blissfully upon the
rocks enjoying the August morning, for this was their season of rest and
plenty.

With a feeling of deep content Abel drew in his line, unhooked a
flapping cod, returned the jigger to the water, and, as he resumed the
monotonous tightening and slackening of line, turned his eyes again to
the peaceful scene ashore.

Mrs. Abel in this brief interval had left the splitting table and had
ascended the sloping rock a little way, where she now stood, shading her
eyes with her right hand and gazing intently seaward. Suddenly she began
gesticulating wildly, and shouting, and over the water to Abel came the
words:

"_Umiak! Umiak!_" (A boat! A boat!)

Abel arose deliberately in his skiff, and looking in the direction in
which Mrs. Abel pointed discovered, coming out of the horizon, a boat,
rising and falling upon the swell. It carried no sail, and after careful
scrutiny Abel's sharp eyes could discern no man at the oars. This, then,
was the cause of Mrs. Abel's excitement. The boat was unmanned--a
derelict upon the broad Atlantic.

A drifting boat is fair booty on the Labrador coast. It is the
recognized property of the man who sees it and boards it first. And
should it be a trap boat he is indeed a fortunate man, for the value of
a trap boat is often greater than a whole season's catch of fish.

So Abel lost no time in hauling in and coiling his jigger line, in
adjusting his oars, and in pulling away toward the derelict with all the
strength his strong arms and sinewy body could muster.

Abel had wished for a good sea boat all his life. When the fishing
schooners now and again of a foggy night anchored behind Itigailit
Island he never failed to examine the fine big trap boats which they
carried. Sometimes he had ventured to inquire how much salt fish they
would accept in exchange for one. But he had never had enough fish, and
his desire to possess a boat seemed little less likely of fulfilment
than that of a boy with a dime in his pocket, covetously contemplating a
gold watch in the shop window.

But here, at last, drifting directly toward him, as though Old Ocean
meant it as a gift, propelled by a gentle breeze and an incoming tide,
came a boat that would cost him nothing but the getting. Fortune was
smiling upon Abel Zachariah this fine August morning.

Now and again as he approached the derelict, Abel rested upon his oars,
that he might turn about for a moment and feast his eyes upon his
prospective prize, and revel in the pleasure of anticipation about to be
realized.

And so, presently, he discovered that the boat was not a trap boat after
all, but a much finer craft than any trap boat he had ever seen. Its
lines were much more graceful, it had recently been painted, and, as it
rose and fell with the swell, a varnished gunwale glistened in the
sunlight. It was fully four fathoms and a half in length, and was
undoubtedly a ship's boat; and, being a ship's boat, was probably built
of hard wood, and therefore vastly superior to the spruce boats of the
fishermen.

Abel had fully satisfied himself upon these points before, keenly
expectant, he at length rowed alongside the derelict. Grasping its
gunwale to steady himself, he was about to step aboard when, with an
exclamation of astonishment and horror, he released his hold upon the
gunwale and resumed his seat in the skiff.

Stretched in the boat lay the body of a man. In the man's side was a
great gaping wound, and his clothing and the boat were spattered and
smeared with blood. The man was dead. In the fixed, cold stare of his
wide-open eyes was a look of hopeless appeal, and the ghastly terror of
one who had beheld some awful vision.




CHAPTER II

THE MYSTERY AND BOBBY


Abel had often seen death before. He had seen men drowned, men who had
frozen to death, men accidentally shot to death, and men who had died
naturally and comfortably in their beds. It was, therefore, not the
sight of death that startled him, but the horror and tragic appeal in
the dead man's staring eyes. It was uncanny and supernatural.

This, at least, was Abel's first intuitive impression. Though he could
not have defined this impression or put his thoughts into words, he
felt much as one would feel who had heard a dead man speak.

He pushed his skiff a few yards away and, resting upon his oars, viewed
the derelict from a respectful distance. His impulse was to row back to
Itigailit Island at once and leave the boat and its ghastly, silent
skipper to the mercies of the sea. But the mystery fascinated him. The
beseeching gaze that had met his had roused his imagination. And so for
a long time he sat in silent contemplation of the boat, wondering from
whence it and the thing it contained had come, and how the man had met
his death.

Abel Zachariah was a Christian, but he was also an Eskimo, and he had
inherited the superstitions of untold generations of heathen
ancestors--superstitions that to him were truths above contradiction. He
held it as a fact beyond dispute that all unnatural or accidental deaths
were brought about by the evil spirits with which his forefathers had
peopled the sea and the desolate land in which he lived. It was his firm
belief that evil spirits remained to haunt the place where a victim had
been lured to violent death, as in the present instance had plainly been
the case. He had no doubt that the boat was haunted, and therefore he
kept his distance, for unless by some subtle and certain charm the
spirits could be driven off, none but a foolhardy man would ever venture
to board the derelict, and Abel was not a foolhardy man.

These superstitions seem very foolish to us, no doubt; but, after all,
were they one whit more foolish or groundless than the countless
superstitions to which many educated and seemingly intelligent Christian
people of civilization are bound? As, for instance, the superstition
that where thirteen sit together at table one will die within the year.

And so Abel Zachariah, being a man of caution, held aloof from the boat
which he had so eagerly set out to salvage; and sitting engrossed in
contemplation, he in his skiff and the dead man in the derelict drifted
for a while side by side toward Itigailit Island. And thus he was
sitting silent and inactive when suddenly he was startled by the cry of
a child in distress.

Abel for a moment was not at all certain that this was not some wicked
plot of the spirits, intended to lure him within their reach, and he
seized his oars, determined to increase the distance between himself and
possible danger. But when the cry was repeated, and presently became a
frightened wail, Abel hesitated. If it was a spirit that emitted the
succeeding wails it was surely a very corporeal spirit, with well
developed lungs and also a very much frightened spirit; and a frightened
spirit could not be dangerous.

Abel had never heard of a spirit that cried like this one, or of a
spirit that was frightened, and he rose to his feet that he might look
over the gunwale and into the derelict. From this vantage he beheld the
head of a little child, and he could see, also, that this very real
child, and not the much feared spirits, was the source of the loud and
piteous wails.

The spirit of evil, then, had not tarried after striking down the man.
Doubtless God had interposed to save the child, else it, too, would have
been destroyed, and no spirit of evil could remain where God exerted His
power. Here was a subtle and potent charm in which Abel Zachariah had
unwavering faith, for, after all, his faith in God was greater than his
faith in the religion of his fathers. And so, vastly relieved and no
longer afraid, he rowed his skiff alongside the boat, made his painter
fast and stepped aboard.

Standing in the forward part of the boat was a little boy, perhaps three
years of age. He was fair haired and fair skinned and handsome, but as a
result of privations he had suffered he was evidently ill and his cheeks
were flushed with fever.

Abel's great, generous heart went out to the child in boundless
sympathy. He forgot the dead man aft. He forgot even the boat. The
coveted prize of his ambition an hour before, had small importance to
Abel now. His one thought was for this distressed little one that God
had so unexpectedly sent down to him upon the bosom of the sea.

The child ceased crying, and with big blue tear-wet eyes looked with
wonder upon his dusky faced deliverer.

"_Oksunae_" (be strong), said Abel with a reassuring smile, as he
stooped and took the little one's hand into his big rough palm.

The child did not understand the word of greeting, but he did
understand, with the intuition and instinct of little children and dumb
creatures, that Abel was his friend.

Beneath the deck, forward, were blankets, in which the boy had doubtless
been sleeping when Abel first looked into the boat and discovered the
dead man. Beneath the deck Abel also found among other things, a jug
partly filled with tepid water, a tin cup, and a bag containing a few
broken fragments of sea biscuits. He gave the child a sip of the water
and selected for it one of the larger fragments of biscuit. Then,
patting it affectionately upon the cheek he tenderly tucked it among the
blankets, beneath the deck, that it might be sheltered from the breeze.
And the little one, content with the ministrations and attentions of his
new guardian, quietly acquiesced.

Abel was greatly excited by his wonderful discovery, and he was eager to
surprise Mrs. Abel Zachariah and to present to her the fair-skinned boy,
and therefore he lost no time in further exploration of the boat.
Unafraid now of evil spirits, and disregarding the dead man lying aft,
he undid the painter of his skiff and secured it astern, where the skiff
would tow easily. And so, with the mysterious child under the deck at
his back, and the mysterious dead man lying in the boat at his feet,
and his own skiff trailing behind, Abel, with a strong arm and a stout
heart and a head filled with perplexing questions, rowed the mysterious
boat to the low ledge of rocks that served as a landing place on
Itigailit Island.

Of course Mrs. Abel Zachariah, keenly interested in his quest of the
prize, was there to meet him, and looking into the boat she saw the
ghastly passenger and was duly shocked.

"The man has been killed!" she exclaimed, stepping backward as though
afraid the thing would injure her. "It is a boat of evil! Come away from
it! Why did you bring it in from the sea?"

For answer Abel reached beneath the deck, lifted out the child, and
stepping ashore placed it in Mrs. Abel's arms.

"A boy," said he. "God sent him to us and he is ours."

Mrs. Abel was taken completely by surprise. For a long moment she
looked into the child's flushed and feverish face, and it looked into
her round and eager face, and smiled its confidence, and from that
instant she took it to her heart as her own. She pressed it to her bosom
with all the mother love of a good woman, for Mrs. Abel Zachariah,
primitive Eskimo though she was, was a good woman, and her heart was
soft and affectionate.

The child was ill and neglected. It was evidently suffering from
exposure and lack of nourishment. Mrs. Abel's instincts told her this at
a glance and forgetful of all else, she hurried away with it to the
tent. It drank eagerly from the cup of clear cold water which she held
to its lips, and ate as much fresh-caught cod, boiled in sea water, and
of her own coarse bread, as she thought well for it.

All the time she fondled the boy and talked to him soothingly in strange
Eskimo words which he had never heard before, but which nevertheless he
understood, for she spoke in the universal accent of the mother to her
little one. And when he had eaten he nestled snugly in her arms, as he
would have nestled in his own mother's arms, and with his head upon her
bosom closed his eyes and sighed in deep content.

Abel when his wife had gone with the child into the tent, anchored the
boat of tragedy a little way from shore, that the big wolf dogs prowling
about might not interfere with the peaceful repose of its silent
occupant. Then rowing ashore in his skiff, he selected a secluded spot
upon the island, and dug a grave.

In the rocky soil the grave was necessarily a shallow one, and he had
finished his task when Mrs. Abel reappeared from the tent to announce
that the boy was sleeping and seemed much better after eating. Then
while they sat upon the rocks and ate their own belated dinner of boiled
cod and tea, Abel told the story of his discovery.

"What do you suppose killed the man?" Mrs. Abel asked.

"I do not know," said Abel. "It looks like a gunshot wound but I have
not searched for a gun yet. It is a fine boat, and did not belong to a
schooner. I never saw a boat like it and I never saw so fine a boat
before. The man was not a fisherman, either."

"The boy's clothing is finer than any I ever saw," declared Mrs. Abel.
"It is not like any I ever saw and is finer and prettier than the
missionaries' children wear and on one of his fingers there is a
beautiful ring."

"I cannot get it through my head where the boat came from," said Abel.

"It was God's messenger, and His way of sending us the boy," asserted
Mrs. Abel. "He sent the boat with the boy out of the farthest mists of
the sea, from the place where storms are born, and He sent the boat on a
clear day, when we could see it, and He kept you near the boat when you
would have gone away, until the boy cried. God meant that we should have
a child."

"Yes," agreed Abel. "It was God's way of giving us a child for our own.
But why did He send a man with the boy and a dead man, at that?"

"I do not know," said Mrs. Abel, "but there was some reason, I suppose.
The child has a skin so white and its clothes are so fine, I am sure it
must have come from Heaven. We know it came from the Far Beyond, for you
say the man was not a fisherman, and the boat is not a fisherman's
boat."

This was an awe-inspiring solution of the mystery, and Abel and his
wife accepted it with due solemnity. A suggestion of the miraculous
appealed to them, for they did not in the least believe that the days of
miracles were past, as indeed they are not. They had already, with big,
hospitable hearts, accepted the child as their own. Now, believing that
it was a gift from Heaven, sent directly to them by God, as a token of
particular favor, they would not have parted from it for all the riches
in the world.

The afternoon was far spent when, at last, Abel, in his skiff, rowed out
to the anchored derelict and brought it in again to the landing place.
Here a search of the boat discovered, in addition to the blankets which
had formed the boy's bed, the water jug, the tin cup, and biscuit bag, a
quantity of loaded shotgun shells and a double-barreled shotgun. The
shotgun, which had been hidden in the bottom of the boat by the folds of
a sail, called forth an exclamation of delight from Abel. It was a
marvel of workmanship, and its stock and lock were beautifully engraved.
And with the sail, which would prove useful, was a tarpaulin and a
quantity of rope.

In the pockets of the dead man were a jackknife, a small notebook, a
piece of pencil, and an empty wallet. Nothing which seemed important,
but all of which Abel preserved carefully as a future heritage for the
boy.

There were no boards from which to fashion a coffin, so they wrapped the
unknown in an old sail, and that evening, when the western sky was aglow
with color buried him in the grave Abel had made. And over the grave
Abel read in Eskimo a chapter from the Testament, and said a prayer, and
to the doleful accompaniment of lapping waves upon the shore he and Mrs.
Abel sang, in Eskimo, one of the old hymns for, as Christians, they must
needs give the stranger a Christian burial, the only service they could
render him.

Abel and his wife looked upon the advent of the little boy as a Divine
blessing. They firmly believed that God had sent him to them to increase
their happiness, and they lavished upon him all the love and affection
of their simple hospitable natures. They were deeply solicitous for his
health, and responding to gentle care the fever quickly left him, for he
was, naturally, a strong and well-developed child.

They understood few words of English, but they soon discovered that the
boy called himself "Bobby," and Bobby was accepted as his name. Bobby,
on his part, spoke English indifferently, and of all other tongues and
especially the Eskimo tongue, he was wholly ignorant. At that period of
his life it was quite immaterial to him, indeed, what language he spoke
so long as the language served to make his wants known; and he began to
acquire an Eskimo vocabulary sufficient for his immediate needs, and his
efforts in this direction afforded his foster parents a vast deal of
pleasure.

Mrs. Abel Zachariah, considering the clothing Bobby wore quite too fine
for ordinary use, and unsuited to the climate and the conditions of his
new surroundings and life, fashioned for him a suit of coarse but warmer
fabric. When this was finished to her liking she dressed him in it, and
washed and folded and laid away in a chest the things he had worn, as a
precious souvenir of his coming.

From the skins of Arctic hares, which Abel killed with the wonderful
shotgun, she made him a warm little jacket with a hood; for his feet
she made sealskin moccasins, with legs that reached to his knees, and
sewed them with sinew to render them waterproof, that his feet might be
kept quite dry when the rocks were wet with rains, or when the first
moist snows of autumn fell, as they did with the coming of September.
And when the great flocks of wild ducks and geese came flying out of the
North, the feathers of all that Abel shot were carefully hoarded in bags
for Bobby's winter bed.

And so the weeks passed until early October. The land was now white with
snow, and steadily increasing cold warned them that winter was at hand
and that presently the bays and sea would be frozen. It was time now for
Abel to set his fox traps, and time for them to move to their winter
cabin on the mainland.

This cabin was situated at the head of a deep bay which the Eskimos call
"Tissiuhaksoak," but which English-speaking folk called "Abel's Bay,"
because Abel was the first to build a cabin there; and we, being
English-speaking people, shall also call it Abel's Bay.

The bloody record of the tragedy had long since been washed from the
boat. From two of the six long oars with which the boat was fitted, Abel
improvised two masts. The tarpaulin was remodeled into a second sail,
and, one blustery morning, with their tent and all their belongings
stowed into the boat, and the dogs in the skiff, which was in tow, they
set sail for Abel's Bay, and left Itigailit Island and the lonely grave
to the Arctic blasts that would presently sweep down upon it from the
icy seas; and late on the following afternoon they reached the cabin
which for many years was to be Bobby's home.

Thus it was that Bobby, amid adventure and mystery, made his advent upon
The Labrador and found a home among strange people. And in such a land
it was quite plain that as the years passed he should have other
adventures.




CHAPTER III

SKIPPER ED AND HIS PARTNER


On that part of the Labrador coast where Abel Zachariah lived the
cabins, with small variation, are fashioned upon one general model. The
model is well adapted to the needs of the people and the exigencies of
the climate. At one end of the cabin is an enclosed porch which serves
as a woodshed and general storage room. Here the dog harness, traps, and
other tools and equipment necessary to the hunter's life are kept.

A door opens from the enclosed porch into the cabin proper, which
usually consists of a single room which serves as living room, dining
room, kitchen and bedroom. This room commonly has two windows, one on
either side.

The floor of the cabin is of uncovered planks. In the center stands a
stove shaped like a large box. In the lower half of this stove is the
fire space, adapted to receive huge blocks of wood. The upper half is an
oven.

Against the wall, and not far from the stove, the table stands, and
built against the wall at one side of the door, the kitchen closet. In
the farther end of the room are the family beds, usually built into the
cabin after the fashion of ships' bunks. In Abel's cabin there was but
one bed, and this of ample breadth to accommodate two. Now there was to
be another for Bobby.

Home-made chests, which answer the double purpose of storage places for
clothing and whatnot and seats, take the place of chairs, though
sometimes there are rude home-made chairs and Abel's cabin contained
two. Guns always loaded and within reach for instant use, rest upon low
overhead beams, or upon pegs against the wall. On a shelf, at some
convenient place, and specially built for their accommodation, the Bible
and hymnal are kept. Abel's Bible and hymnal, as in all Christianized
Eskimo houses, were printed in the Eskimo language.

This, then, was the kind of home that Bobby entered, and which, as the
years passed, he was to love, for it was a haven of affection.

The cabin was cold and damp and stuffy now, and filled with unpleasant
odors, for it had been unoccupied since early in July. But soon Abel had
a roaring fire in the stove, and the things in from the boat, and Mrs.
Abel had the room aired, and before the candle was lighted the room had
taken on the cozy comfort of occupancy.

Then there was supper of stewed duck and hot dough-bread and tea. When
Bobby had eaten heartily and his eyes grew heavy with sleep he was
undressed and tucked away into bed, with Mrs. Abel lying by his side for
a little, crooning an Eskimo lullaby before she washed her dishes. And
at length, when the dishes were washed, and all was made snug for the
night, Abel took down, as was his custom, the Bible, and read by the
flickering light, and he and Mrs. Abel sang a hymn, and knelt in family
devotion, before they joined the sleeping Bobby in their bed.

Abel Zachariah's nearest neighbor was Edward Norman, commonly known as
Skipper Ed, a sailor-man who had come to the coast many years before in
a fishing vessel, and when his vessel sailed away Skipper Ed had
remained behind to cast his lot with the Eskimos. At the head of Abel's
bay and a mile from Abel's home, he took up the life of hunter and
fisherman, and in due time learned to speak the Eskimo language. Here
Skipper Ed lived with his little partner, as he called him--Jimmy
Sanderson, a husky lad of seven years.

Jimmy was an orphan. His mother died when he was so young that he could
scarcely remember her at all. His father, a Newfoundland sailor and
fisherman, was one of the crew of a fishing schooner that sailed
regularly each summer to this part of the Labrador coast, and because
there was no one at home to care for him after his mother's death, Jimmy
always accompanied his father on these voyages. And thus it came about
that when Seaman Sanderson fell overboard while reefing the jib, one
stormy day, Jimmy was left alone in the world.

It so happened that on the day Jimmy's father was lost, the schooner,
with the forlorn little boy on board, took refuge under the lee of the
island upon which Skipper Ed had his fishing camp. Skipper Ed, after the
manner of the Coast, rowed his boat alongside and climbed aboard, to
hear such scraps of news from the outside world as the sailors might
bring, and to enjoy their company for an hour. Here he met Jimmy,
heartbroken and weeping at the loss of his father. Skipper Ed's
sympathies went out to the wretched little boy, and placing his big hand
on Jimmy's small shoulder, he comforted him.

"There, there, now, lad, don't cry," said he. "You're a wee bit of a lad
to be left alone in the world I know, but by the mercy of God you'll
forget your trouble, for Time's a wonderful healer. And there's better
luck coming, lad, better luck coming."

Thereupon he sought out the Captain of the schooner and inquired into
Jimmy's worldly prospects.

"There's none to care for him," said the Captain, "and the best
prospects he have be the poor house."

"Will you leave him with me, then?" asked Skipper Ed. "I'll give the lad
a good home, and teach him a bit, and he'll be fine company for me."

"O' course I'll leave he with you, Skipper, and wonderful glad I'll be
too that the lad's found a good home," said the Captain.

Then Skipper Ed returned to Jimmy.

"Lad," said he, "I'm looking for a partner, and it strikes me _you'll_
do. How'd you like to be _my_ partner? Look me over now, and see what
you think of _me_. How'd you like _me_ for a partner?"

Jimmy looked him over critically, through tear-stained eyes, but said
nothing.

"Come now," urged Skipper Ed, getting down on his haunches that Jimmy
might look straight into his face, "here we are, you and I, both alone
in the world and both wanting partners. Can't we splice up a
partnership? Share and share alike, you know--you have as much as I, and
I have as much as you, and we'll take the fair winds and the contrary
winds together, and make port together, and sell our cargoes together,
and use the same slop chest. What do you say, lad? Shall we sign on as
partners?"

"Yes, sir," agreed Jimmy.

"Good! Good!" exclaimed Skipper Ed. "Here, shake hands on it, partner.
Now we're friends to each other, whatever falls, good voyages and poor
ones, and there's better luck coming for us both, lad, better luck."

And so Skipper Ed and Jimmy Sanderson formed their partnership, and
Jimmy, with his own and his father's kits, went ashore with Skipper Ed
in Skipper Ed's boat, which he insisted was half Jimmy's, under their
partnership agreement, and the next day the schooner sailed away and
left them. And with the passing weeks, Time, as Skipper Ed had
predicted, and as he always does, healed Jimmy's sorrow, and he came to
look upon Skipper Ed as the finest man and the finest partner in the
world, and they two loved each other very much.

Abel and his wife and Skipper Ed and his partner lived upon terms of
intimacy and good comradeship, as neighbors should. And because they had
no nearer neighbors than Abraham Moses, an Eskimo ten miles to the
southward, and the people of the Moravian Mission and Eskimo settlement
at Nain, twenty miles to the northward, the two families were dependent
upon one another for human companionship, and therefore the bond of
friendship that drew them together was the stronger.

And so it happened that early on the morning following the return of
Abel and Mrs. Abel with Bobby, Skipper Ed and Jimmy walked over to
welcome their neighbors home, and to discuss with them the fishing
season just closed, and the seal hunting and the trapping seasons which
were at hand.

Abel was engaged in cutting and shaping the sticks from which he was to
build Bobby's little bunk, when he heard Skipper Ed's cheery:

"_Oksunae!_"[A]

"_Oksutingal!_"[A] exclaimed Abel, delightedly, grasping Skipper Ed's
hand and then Jimmy's hand and laughing with pleasure. "_Oksutingai_! I
am glad to see you, and how have you been?"

[Footnote A: "_Oksunae_" is the Eskimo greeting when one is addressed, and,
literally translated, means "You be strong." "_Oksutingai"_ is addressed
to two--"You two be strong." "_Okiusee"_ to more than two--"You all be
strong."]

Abel spoke his native language, for his tongue was awkward with the few
English words he had learned. He and Skipper Ed, indeed, always
conversed in Eskimo, and Jimmy, though he usually spoke his native
English at home when he and Skipper Ed were alone, also understood the
Eskimo tongue perfectly.

"We're very well," said Skipper Ed, "and glad to know you are back. We
were lonely without you. How is Mrs. Abel?"

"Well. Very well. And we have something to surprise you," and Abel,
laughing heartily, could hardly contain himself.

"I know what it is!" broke in Jimmy. "You've got a new boat. I saw it as
we came up! It's a fine big boat, too!"

"It's a greater surprise than that," laughed Abel. "It's in the house.
Come in and see him."

"A baby!" guessed the delighted Jimmy. "It's a baby!"

"Come in and see for yourselves," Abel invited, and pushing the door
open he led them into the cabin, where Mrs. Abel overwhelmed them with
greeting, and brought Bobby forth for introduction.

"A boy, and a white one!" exclaimed Skipper Ed in English. "Now
wherever did they get him?" He took Bobby by the hand, and asked: "Can
you talk, little lad?"

"Yeth, thir," Bobby admitted, respectfully, "I like to talk."

"I'll wager you do, now! Where did you live before you came here?"

"With Papa and Mamma."

"What, now, may your name be?"

"Bobby, thir."

"What is your papa's name?"

"What is my papa's name?"

"Yes, what is your papa's name?"

"Why, 'Papa,'" in great surprise that all the world did not know that.

Further solicitation brought from the child the statement that "Uncle
Robert took me for a nice ride in a boat, but Uncle Robert got hurted,
and I came here."

And this was the sum total of the information concerning Bobby's past
that Skipper Ed succeeded in drawing from the child, though he
questioned and cross-questioned him at length, after Abel and Mrs. Abel
had told how they found him that August morning. But Abel and Mrs. Abel,
considering these things of small importance, did not mention to or
show Skipper Ed the packet containing the notebook found in the dead
man's pocket, and which they had carefully put away.

Skipper Ed did not altogether accept the theory of Abel and Mrs. Abel
that God had in a miraculous manner sent Bobby to them from heaven,
directing his course from the Far Beyond, through the place where mists
and storms were born. Skipper Ed in his own mind could not dismiss the
subject in this casual manner. He scented some dark mystery, though he
doubted if the mystery would ever be cleared.

Abel must needs exhibit to Skipper Ed and Jimmy the boat, and when
Skipper Ed saw it his practiced eye told him that the finish and
workmanship were far too fine and expensive for any ordinary ship's
boat, and that it was the long boat of a luxuriously appointed private
yacht. Of this he was well assured when he read, in gold letters on
either side of its prow, the name _Wanderer_.

And then they must each try their hand with the beautifully engraved
shotgun. Such a gun, Abel declared, had never before been seen on the
coast, and was in itself a fortune. And Skipper Ed examined it
critically, and agreed with Abel that it was a gun of marvelous
workmanship, and had cost much money.

"None but God could have fashioned it," said Abel, reverently. "It is
His gift to the boy, and it will always be the boy's. He sent it with
the boy from the Great Beyond, from the place where mists and storms are
born. Do you think He would mind if I used it sometimes?"

"No," answered Skipper Ed, "I think He meant you to use it to hunt food
for the boy, so that the boy should never be in want. God never forgets.
He always provides. Destiny is the Almighty's will, and He provides."

"The lad has come from rich people," said Skipper Ed, as he and Jimmy
walked home that evening. "He's not been used to this sort of life. But
Time's a great healer. He's young enough to forget the fine things he's
been used to, and he'll grow up a hunter and a fisherman like the rest
of us. There's better luck coming for him. Better luck. He'll be happy
and contented, for people are always happy with simple living, so long
as they don't know about any other kind of living."

"I thinks Abel lives fine now, and we lives fine," ventured Jimmy.
"Abel's house is fine and warm, and so is ours."

"Aye," said Skipper Ed, "'tis that. 'Tis that; and enough's a-plenty.
Enough's a-plenty."

They walked along in silence for a little while.

"We must always talk to the little chap in English," said Skipper Ed,
presently. "We must not let him forget to speak the tongue his mother
taught him."

"Yes, sir," agreed Jimmy.

"And we must teach him to read and write in English, the way I teach
you," continued Skipper Ed. "Somewhere in the world his mother and
father are grieving their life out for the loss of him. It's very like
they'll never see him again, but we must teach him as much as we know
how of what they would have taught him."

"Yes, sir."

"Destiny is just the working out of the Almighty's will. And it was a
part of the lad's destiny to be cast upon this bleak coast and to find a
home with the Eskimos."

And so, walking home along the rocky shore, they talked to the
accompaniment of lapping waves upon the shore and soughing spruce trees
in the forest.

Skipper Ed, giving voice to thoughts with which he was deeply engrossed,
told of the kindlier, sunnier land from which Bobby had been sent
adrift--from a home of luxury, perhaps--to live upon bounty, and in the
crude, primitive cabin of an Eskimo. And he thrilled his little partner
with vivid descriptions of great cities where people were so numerous
they jostled one another, and did not know each other's names; of
rushing, shrieking locomotives; of beautiful houses which seemed to
Jimmy no less than fairy palaces; of great green fields; and yellow
fields of waving grain from which the flour was made which they ate; of
glorious flowers; and forests of strange trees.

They reached their cabin at last, which stood in the shelter of the
trees at the edge of the great wilderness, and looked out over the bay;
and at the porch door Skipper Ed paused, and, gazing for a moment at the
stretch of heaving water, stretched his arms before him and said:

"It's out there, Partner--the land I've told you about--out there beyond
the sea--the land I came from and the land Bobby came from--and the land
you came from, too, for that matter. Some time you may sail away to see
it."

In outward appearance Skipper Ed's cabin was almost the counterpart of
Abel's, but within it was fitted much more completely and tastefully. On
the well-scrubbed floor were rugs of dog and wolf skins, and there were
three big armchairs--one for Skipper Ed, one for his partner, and one
for Abel when he came to see them--and a rocker for Mrs. Abel when she
called; all home-made and upholstered in buckskin. And there were four
straight-backed dining chairs, and against the wall some shelves well
filled with books, as well as many other conveniences and comforts and
refinements not usual in the cabins of the coast. There was lacking,
also, the heavy, fishy odor of seal oil, never absent from the Eskimo
home, for Skipper Ed had provided a log outhouse, a little apart from
his cabin, as a storehouse for seal oil and fish and pelts.

Dusk was settling. Skipper Ed lighted candles and kindled a fire in the
stove, and he and Jimmy together set about preparing supper. The wind
was rising and soon snow began to beat against the window pane, and when
supper was eaten and the table cleared, and the two drew their armchairs
up before the fire, it was very cozy sitting there and listening to the
howling storm outside and the roaring fire in the stove. Jimmy, snugly
curled in his chair, was so still that Skipper Ed, silently smoking his
pipe, believed his little partner asleep, when he was startled out of
his musings by the request:

"Partner, tell me a story."

"A story, Partner? What kind of a story? One about the sea?"

"A story about people that live out there in the country Bobby came
from, and you came from."

"Oh, out there! Yes, to be sure!" Skipper Ed sat silent for a few
moments, gazing at the flickering light through a crack in the stove
door, while Jimmy sat expectant, gazing into Skipper Ed's face. At last
he began:

"Once there were two boys who lived in a fine big house, for their
father was rich. The house was in a town, and it had a great many rooms.
In front of it was a beautiful green lawn, over which were scattered
trees and bushes that bore flowers, and behind the house was a large
garden where delicious fruits and vegetables grew, and where there were
beautiful beds of bright flowers. Under the shady trees of this garden
was a favorite playground of the boys."

"What were the names of the boys?" interrupted Jimmy.

"We'll call them Tom and Bill, though these may not have been their real
names," explained Skipper Ed. "Tom and Bill are easy names to remember,
though, don't you think so?"

"Yes, Partner, they're fine names, and easy to remember."

"Tom was two years older than Bill, and they were great chums. They not
only played together but they got into mischief together, and went to
school together, until Tom went to college. When they got into mischief
together Tom, somehow, usually managed to escape punishment, for he was
a much keener lad than Bill, and Bill, on his part, seldom failed to
receive his full share of punishment."

"That weren't fair!" broke in Jimmy. "'Tweren't honest for Tom to let
Bill get all the punishment!"

"He didn't mean to be dishonest, I'm sure," said Skipper Ed.

"But 'tweren't honest," insisted Jimmy.

"As I was saying," continued Skipper Ed, "Tom went to college and made
new friends, and when Bill followed him to college two years later the
lads saw little of each other. Tom was a brilliant fellow, and everyone
liked him. He had a host of friends among the students. Bill, on the
other hand, was not in the least brilliant, and he had to work hard to
get his lessons, and they went with different crowds of fellows.

"Their father, as I told you, was rich, and he was also indulgent. He
gave the boys a larger allowance of spending money than was good for
them. There was never a month, however, that Tom did not go to Bill and
borrow some of his, and even then Tom was always in debt. Bill knew it
was the gay company Tom kept, and warned him against it, but Tom would
laugh it off and say that a fellow in the upper classes had to keep up
his end, as Bill would learn later.

"What Bill did learn later was that Tom had become an inveterate
gambler, and had lost his money at cards, and went away from college
leaving many debts unpaid.

"The father of the boys was a manufacturer, and was also president of
the bank in the little city where they lived. A bank is a place where
other people's money is kept for them, and whenever the people who keep
money there need any, they come and get what they need. When Tom left
college he was taken into the bank, and before Bill's graduation had
been advanced to the position of cashier, and had married a very fine
young woman. The cashier is the man that has charge of the money in the
bank.

"It was thought best also for Bill to enter the bank, which he did a few
months after his return from college, as assistant to his brother.

"Things went on very well until, one day, a man came to examine the bank
and to see if all the money was safely there, and the examiner, as the
man was called, discovered a shortage. That is, there was not as much
money in the bank as there should have been. The shortage lay between
the two brothers. Tom, in terrible distress, admitted to Bill that he
had 'just borrowed' the money to invest in stocks--which is a way
people speak of one kind of gambling--but that the investment had
failed, and he had lost it.

"You do not know, Partner, what stocks are, but I'll tell you some other
time.

"When this happened Tom had a little baby boy at home, about two months
old. Bill loved his brother, and he loved his brother's baby very much.

"'Tom,' said Bill, 'I've always stood by you since we were little boys
and played in the garden together, and I'm going to stand by you now. If
the loss is laid to you it will ruin not only your life but the lives of
your wife and your baby. I'll say that I took the money and you must not
say I did not.'

"'No,' said Tom, 'I can't let you do that! It's too much! It's too big a
sacrifice!'

"'Yes, you will,' said Bill. 'It will likely ruin my life, I know, but
I'm only one. If it's laid on you, three lives will be ruined. Just
promise me you'll live straight after this, and never gamble again.'

"Tom promised, and Bill was sure he meant it, and when their father, who
had been sent for by the examiner, arrived at the bank, Bill, as agreed,
told his father he had taken the money.

"Of course there was a terrible scene. Bill was not arrested for his
father did not wish the family disgraced, but he was driven from home,
with very little money in his pocket, and told never to return again.
His mother and little sister--I forgot to tell you the boys had a little
sister, who was ten years old at that time--nearly broke their hearts at
his going. But his father was very harsh, and told him if he ever came
back he would have him arrested and put into prison. It was not the loss
of the money which angered him. That was a comparatively small amount,
which he paid back to the bank and did not miss very much. It was the
thought that one of his boys had taken it."

"What was the little sister's name?" asked Jimmy.

"Well, let me see," said Skipper Ed. "We'll call her Mary."

"Did Bill ever go back?"

"No, he never went back."

"Where did he go?"

"Why, he went to a seaport town and shipped as a sailor, and after
knocking about the seas for a time he settled in a country much like
this where we live. He liked the wild country, where he could hunt and
fish, and where the people he met were true and honest, and helped each
other, instead of always trying to take advantage of one another."

"I'm glad he did that," declared Jimmy. "I wish he lived near us. I
don't think I'd like to live in a place like he came from, and I'm glad
Bobby came away from it."

"And the fishing and hunting are better here than where he came from,
too, Partner."

"I don't want to live where the fishin' and huntin' isn't fine, and it's
fine here."

"Aye, 'tis fine here, and many things are fine here. Destiny is the
Lord's will, and our destiny, Partner, is to live here and be as happy
as we can; and now Bobby has come, it seems to be his destiny too."

And so Jimmy had his story, and bedtime had arrived, and the two
partners went to bed to be lulled to sleep by the storm raging about
their cabin.




CHAPTER IV

OVER A CLIFF


The storm that lulled Skipper Ed and his little partner to sleep also
lulled Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel and Bobby to sleep. Bobby's new bed
was finished. It was half the width of Abel's and Mrs. Abel's bed, but
it was quite as long, for Bobby was to grow tall, and to become a big
and brave hunter. And, too, for present needs it must be of ample length
to permit Mrs. Abel to lie down by Bobby's side of nights while she
crooned him to sleep with her quaint Eskimo lullabies.

Abel had expended great care in his handicraft, and derived a vast deal
of satisfaction from the result. And when Mrs. Abel fitted the bunk with
a fine feather bed which she made from the duck and goose feathers
which she had saved, and spread it with warm blankets and tucked Bobby
away in it, he, too, seemed to find it entirely to his liking, for he
went to sleep at once, and slept as soundly as he could have slept in a
bed of carved mahogany, spread with counterpanes of silk and down.

Indeed, Bobby was in a fair way of being spoiled. His indulgent foster
parents could deny him nothing. They gratified his every wish and whim,
even to the extent of tearing from its mother a little puppy dog, to the
great distress of the dumb mother, and taking it into the house for him
to play with.

Since Bobby's arrival Abel, devoting his spare moments to the task, had
carved from walrus tusks six little ivory dogs, an ivory sledge, and a
little ivory Eskimo man, to represent the driver of the miniature team,
for no dog team could be complete without a driver. Now, during the two
days' enforced leisure from out-of-door activities afforded him by the
blizzard, he put the finishing touches upon his work. With infinite
patience he fashioned miniature harness for the ivory dogs, and,
harnessing them to the ivory sledge, with due ceremony presented them to
Bobby. And Bobby, who was already learning to prattle Eskimo words,
received the gift with unfeigned delight. Then he must learn the name
of each, which Abel patiently taught him to pronounce with proper accent
and intonation: _inuit_--man; _tingmik_--dog; _komatik_--sledge.

This was the first of many toys that Abel made for Bobby in the weeks
that followed: a small dog whip, a fathom long, an exact counterpart of
Abel's own long whip, which was a full five fathoms long; a small
sledge, on which he could coast, and on which pups could haul him about
over the ice; bow and arrow--nearly everything, indeed, that Abel
believed his childish desires could crave.

When the storm had passed Skipper Ed and Jimmy came over on snowshoes,
and Jimmy stopped for a week in Abel's cabin, with Mrs. Abel and Bobby,
while Abel and Skipper Ed went away to hunt for seals. This was a
glorious week for both lads, and with it began a comradeship and
friendship that was to last throughout their life and carry them in
later years side by side through many adventures.

The seal hunt was a success, and Abel and Skipper Ed returned with the
big boat loaded with seals. Then followed a season of activity. The
seals were skinned and dressed, the blubber placed in barrels in the
porch, and the meat elevated to a stage outside where it was well out of
reach of the dogs, and was at hand to be used as dog food--and human
food also during the winter.

The seal skins were turned over to Mrs. Abel, to soak and scrape and
prepare for boots and other garments, which Abel and Skipper Ed and
Jimmy, as well as she herself, and Bobby, would require.

Bobby developed a vast liking for the choice morsels of the seal
flippers and meat, which were always reserved for him, and it was not
long before he demanded his due share of the fresh blubber, too.

He loved, when Mrs. Abel was at work sewing the boots with sinew, to
help her by chewing the edges of the oily leather, to soften and render
it pliable for the needle. Indeed, Bobby quickly developed into an
Eskimo child in all save the color of his skin, and texture and color of
his hair, which persisted in remaining silky and yellow.

And thus the weeks passed. With the rapidly shortening days of November,
cold increased with grim earnestness. Already the snow was gathering
depth in the forest, and on the open spaces it lay frozen and hard, and
the sun now had no strength to soften it. A coating of ice crusted the
beach where the tide rose and fell, and this crackled and snapped as the
waves broke upon it. A strange, smoky vapor lay over the sea, shifting
in the east wind. The sea was "smoking," and was only waiting now, Abel
said, for a calm, to freeze.

Then suddenly one night a great uncanny silence fell upon the world, and
in the morning a gray level plain reached away, where the day before had
been the heaving billows of the bay. The sea was frozen at last, and for
many long months there would be no breaking of waves upon the rocks or
lapping of tides upon the sandy beach. The Frost King, grim and
inexorable, had ascended his throne, and the world, subdued into utter
silence, lay prostrate and submissive at his feet.

Toward noon Jimmy came over, hauling behind him a sled, and upon it his
sleeping bag of caribou skin, to say that Skipper Ed had gone that
morning to his traps and would not return until the following evening,
and Jimmy was to stay at Abel's over night. This was the custom when
Skipper Ed was away, and of course Jimmy was more than welcome with both
Abel and Mrs. Abel, and Bobby was delighted.

When dinner was over Abel, with a long stick, went down to inspect the
ice. He prodded it with the stick, and finding it to his satisfaction
stepped out upon it, and still prodding ahead of him made a wide
circuit. The ice bent as he walked, but sea ice is tough, and may be
perfectly safe though it bends. And so Abel found it, for when he came
back he said "_Piovok"_ (it is good).

Bobby was wrapped well, and out he went with Jimmy for his first winter
frolic. A wonderful time they had, coasting down the steep bank and
shooting far out upon the ice, or running over the ice, with Bobby on
the sled and Jimmy hauling him, until at last, quite weary with the fun,
they returned to the cabin to play with the ivory dogs and sledge until
supper time.

After this Jimmy came often with his sled, and he and Bobby coasted the
steep bank or rolled and tumbled in the snow, or built miniature snow
_igloos_, while Bobby grew as tough and hardy as any little Eskimo boy
could have been, which was very much to the satisfaction, not only of
Mr. and Mrs. Abel, but of Skipper Ed, as well.

It was not long after the ice came that the missionary from Nain visited
them, and met Bobby for the first time. He was a tall, jolly man, and
made much of Bobby, asking many questions about the manner of Bobby's
coming.

"It is very strange," said he. "Shall I not take him, Abel, to the
Mission, and care for him there? You do not want a white child."

But there was such a protest from both Abel and his wife, who insisted
that Bobby was their own child, sent them by God, that the missionary
never again suggested taking him from them. When the mail left the
coast, however, the following summer, he wrote to England a full
description of the occurrence, and the fact of Bobby's rescue and
whereabouts was published far and wide in British papers, but no
inquiries ever came of it, and no one came to claim Bobby.

But we must not linger over this period of Bobby's life. When he was
five years of age Skipper Ed began his lessons, coming over to Abel
Zachariah's cabin as often as possible, for the purpose, and now and
again he would take Bobby to his own cabin to stop a day or two with him
and Jimmy.

He supplied Bobby with the books he needed, and Bobby studied hard and
learned quickly, and was fascinated with the work, for Skipper Ed had
the rare faculty of making study appear a pleasant game, and it was a
game which Bobby loved to play.

There was little else, indeed, to occupy his attention during long
winter evenings--no streets to play in, no parties, no theaters--and he
made more rapid progress than he probably would have made had he
attended school in civilization, for Skipper Ed was a good tutor and
Jimmy, who was already quite a scholar, was also of great help to Bobby
in preparing lessons.

And as Bobby grew and developed, Abel, on his part, taught him to be
keenly alert, patient, self-reliant and resourceful--qualities that
every successful hunter and wilderness dweller must possess.

He learned first with the miniature whip that Abel made him, and later
with Abel's own long dog whip, to wield the long lash with precision. He
and Jimmy would practice for hours at a time clipping a small bit of ice
no larger than an egg from a hummock thirty feet away.

He played with the young puppies and trained them to haul him on his
small sledge, and he would shout to them proudly, as large as life--and
just as Abel did when he drove the big team--"_Hu-it!"_ when he wanted
them to start; "_Ah!"_ when he wanted them to stop; "_Ouk! Ouk! Ouk_!"
when he wanted them to turn to the right; "_Ra! Ra! Ra!"_ for a turn to
the left; "_Ok-su-it!"_ when he wished them to hurry; and with his whip
he enforced his commands.

He learned to shoot his bow and arrow, and to wield the harpoon and
spear. Abel once fashioned for him, from a block of wood, a very good
imitation of a small seal, and Bobby and Jimmy had unending sport
casting their harpoons at it, and presently they became so expert that
seldom did they fail to make a "killing" strike.

When he was old enough Bobby learned to make his hunting implements
himself. Here, indeed, was required patience, perseverance, and
resourcefulness, for his only tools were his knife and his ax, and his
only material such as the wilderness produced; and to gain Abel's
praise, which was his high ambition, he must needs do his work with care
and niceness. And thus Bobby was learning to be a man and a hunter.

Bobby was still a very young lad when Abel began to teach him the signs
of the wilderness and the ways of the wild things that lived in the
woods. He learned to know the tracks of all the animals of the region,
and even how long it had been since the animals that made the tracks had
passed by. And he learned to make snares and traps, and how to handle
his gun--the wonderful gun which Abel told him God had sent with him
from the Far Beyond--and shoot it quickly and accurately, for the man
who exists upon the wilderness must know how to do these things, and his
sense of observation must be keenly trained; and he must train himself
to be alert.

One other accomplishment he acquired from Skipper Ed. He learned to
swim. Even in midsummer these northern waters are icy cold. From the
breaking up of the ice in summer until the sea freezes again in winter,
the natives spend their time upon the water or near it, yet it is rare,
indeed, that one of them can swim. And so it was with Abel. He had never
in his life voluntarily gone into the sea. But Skipper Ed was a mighty
swimmer, and under his instruction Jimmy had learned the art, and in the
fourth summer after Bobby's arrival nothing would do but he, too, must
learn. Much perseverance was necessary before Abel and Mrs. Abel gave
their consent, but finally it was obtained, and in a little while Bobby
was as keen for a dip and a dive and a swim as were Skipper Ed and his
partner, Jimmy.

And so the years passed in toil, in pleasure, and in attainment--active
years that were filled with glorious doing, and with never a heavy
moment or idle wasting of time or vain dawdling.

"Never waste time," said Skipper Ed, one stormy winter's day when Bobby
was over there, and he and Bobby and Jimmy were luxuriating in their big
chairs before the fire. "If you can't be busy with your hands, be busy
with your brain. You were put into the world for some purpose, and your
destiny is the will of the Almighty. But we may spoil His will by
refusing to do the very best we can. The Almighty plans some fine thing
for each of us, but He leaves it with us to decide whether we will have
the fine things or not. What we're to be or to do comes to us gradually,
just as the sun rises gradually. We never know ahead what He has planned
for us. That's His big surprise.

"He may have put us into the world to do some great thing, and to become
a great and useful man, or we may be intended just to help other people
to be noble and honest and true, by doing our duty always, and setting
an example of honesty and nobility."

"Do you think you or Jimmy or I will ever be great men?" Bobby asked in
some awe.

"Partner is a great man _now_" declared Jimmy. "He knows most
everything!"

"No, not everything," laughed Skipper Ed. "Not everything, Partner.
But," and he spoke gravely again, "I've always tried to do my duty as
God has pointed it out to me. Perhaps the Great Thing that I was
intended to do was to teach you two chaps what I could, and perhaps your
Great Thing is to teach others, and perhaps working all together in this
way we may guide someone else to a great destiny.

"We are just hunters and fishermen. Aside from our own two families, we
don't see many people, except the missionary down at Nain, and the
Eskimos at the settlement there, and now and again in summer the
fishermen on passing schooners. But that doesn't matter. Here Destiny
placed us, and here is our work, and we must do it the best we can.

"We should work hard when we have work to do; we should play hard when
we are at play; we should think hard when we are neither working nor
playing. We should not waste time idling. We should do our level best to
fit ourselves for our destiny, whatever it may be."

This was one of many conversations of the sort that Skipper Ed had with
the boys. He was their comrade, their teacher, their adviser, and their
inspiration. And, be it said, with the constant inspiration, also, of
the great wilderness and sea, with no other youthful companions or
playmates, and with little of the joy of sports with which boys in
civilization are blessed, it was but natural that they should feel more
deeply the responsibility of life, and should ponder and take to heart
more seriously Skipper Ed's philosophy, than they would had their lot
been cast in a city or a town.

It is not to be supposed, however, that they never got into mischief.
They were too full of life and energy to avoid that. But they were
seldom or never instructed _not_ to do this or that, and their mischief
was usually the result of indiscretion and error of judgment natural to
youth, rather than disobedience. Eskimos do not whip or punish their
children. They treat them rather, as comrades, and the boy's effort is
to do as nearly as he can the things his elders do and in the manner in
which they do them.

And this was the case with Abel and Mrs. Abel and Bobby. They never
punished Bobby. It was the case also with Skipper Ed and Jimmy. Skipper
Ed, from the first, called Jimmy his partner, and talked to him and
treated him very much as he would have done had Jimmy been a grown-up.

From the very beginning Bobby had his escapades, which usually included
adventures. During the first summer after his arrival he fell into the
water with due regularity, but always, fortunately, within reach of
Abel's or Mrs. Abel's strong arms. Once he climbed into the big boat,
undid the painter, and the tide had carried him well out to sea before
his plight was discovered and he was rescued by Abel in the skiff. And
once he was lost for a day in the forest, with Abel, Mrs. Abel, Skipper
Ed, and Jimmy searching frantically for him. They found him, quite tired
out with his wanderings, peacefully sleeping on the forest moss.

With these escapades and a thousand others, Bobby kept his foster
parents pretty constantly varying between a state of suspense and a
state of joy, for they were vastly delighted when he emerged from an
adventure, usually not much the worse for his experience.

Bobby's age was, of course, a matter of conjecture. Abel and Mrs. Abel
must needs have a definite date set down as his birthday, in order that
it might be duly and appropriately celebrated each year, and as a
convenient date they chose December 1 of the year in which he came to
them as his fourth birthday. This was a date when the autumn seal hunt
would be finished, and the sea ice would be formed, when Abel might go
to Nain with the dogs and bring back some sweets or other surprise.

Upon this reckoning Bobby was eight and Jimmy was twelve years of age
when the two lads had their first real adventure together. It was in the
spring. A westerly wind had cleared the bay of ice, and Abel and Skipper
Ed had gone north in the big boat two days before for the spring seal
hunt, and were not expected back for a fortnight. Jimmy, during Skipper
Ed's absence, was stopping with Bobby and Mrs. Abel as usual, and the
two boys were out bright and early to haul a trout net which was set in
the mouth of a river which flowed into the bay not far away.

It was one of those ideal days which come now and again to that northern
country in spring, as though to emphasize by contrast the fact that the
long bleak winter is over. The sun shone brilliantly and the rippling
waves of the nearly placid bay sparkled and glinted alluringly, spicy
odors of the forest perfumed the air, and birds twittered gleefully.

"Let's go egging, Bobby," Jimmy suggested, as the boys, pulling
leisurely back from the river, turned Abel's old skiff to the beach
landing place below the cabin.

"All right," agreed Bobby, "let's do, as soon as we take care of the
trout. Mother said last night she'd like some eggs. We haven't had any
yet this year." Bobby always called Abel "Father," and Mrs. Abel
"Mother."

"I'm sure there must be lots of ducks and gull and tern eggs out on the
islands, and puffin and auk eggs on the cliffs along the shore. It's
lots of fun!" said Jimmy enthusiastically.

So they hurried in with the trout, which they dressed, washed, and
finally salted down in a barrel. This required but a few minutes, and
while they worked Mrs. Abel prepared a simple luncheon of bread,
sufficient tea for a brewing, and a bottle of molasses for sweetening,
and these, with their tea pail and cups and hunting bags, they carried
down to the skiff, followed by Mrs. Abel's wishes for a pleasant day,
and her "_Oksutingae_."

And so they set off down the bay to the islands, each pulling at a pair
of oars and chatting gaily as they rowed, in fine spirits at the
prospect, and enjoying their outing as only youth with enthusiasm can
enjoy itself.

At the end of a three hours' row they turned the skiff to the sloping
rock of an island shore, and landing, tied the painter to a big bowlder.

"This is a fine egg island," said Jimmy, as they set out with their
bags. "Partner brought me out here last year."

Squawking birds rose in every direction as they approached, and clouds
of gulls circled around crying the alarm. Down in rock crevasses along
the shore they saw many sea pigeon eggs, and Bobby wanted to get them,
but they were generally well out of reach.

"They're too small to bother with anyway," said Jimmy. "Come on."

"There! There!" shouted Bobby. "There goes an eider duck! And another!
And another! _Their_ eggs are fine and big! Let's find the nests!"

Presently they discovered, under a low, scrubby bush, a down-lined nest
containing eight greenish-drab eggs.

"There's one!" shouted Jimmy. "This is an eider's nest."

And so, hunting among the bushes and rocks, they soon had their bags
filled with eider duck, tern, gull, and booby eggs, while the birds in
hundreds flew hither and thither, violently protesting, with discordant
notes, the invasion and the looting. But the eggs were good to eat, and
the boys smacked their lips over the feasts in store--and Mrs. Abel
wanted them; that was the chief consideration, after all.

"Now," said Jimmy, "let's go over to the mainland and boil the kettle.
It's away past dinner time and I'm as hungry as a bear."

"All right," agreed Bobby. "I'm so hungry I've just got to eat. Where'll
we go?"

"I know a dandy place over here, and there's a brook coming in close to
it where we can get good water. It's just a few minutes' pull--just
below the ledges."

Ten minutes' strong rowing landed them on a gravelly beach near the
mouth of a brook, which rushed down to the bay through a deep gulch. To
the eastward the gulch banks rose into high cliffs which overhung the
sea. Kittiwakes, tube-nosed swimmers, ivory gulls, cormorants, little
auks and other birds were flying up and down and along the cliff's face,
or perching upon ledges on the rock, and, like the birds on the island,
making a great deal of discordant noise.

"It seems as though there were no end of birds," said Bobby, as they
secured their boat. "I'd like to see what kind of nests those make up
there, and after we eat I'm going to look at some of them."

"You can't get up there," said Jimmy. "I've tried it lots of times. They
take good care to leave their eggs where nobody can get at them."

"Well, I'm going to try, anyhow," Bobby declared, as he turned to the
brook for a kettle of water.

"I wish we had something to boil eggs in," said he, as he set the kettle
of water down by Jimmy, who was whittling shavings for the fire.

"What's the matter with the old tin bucket we use for bailing the
skiff?" Jimmy suggested. "I don't believe it leaks enough to hurt."

"That's so!" said Bobby. "We can boil 'em in that."

With the ax--in this country men never venture from home without an ax,
for in wilderness traveling it is often a life saver--Jimmy split some
sticks, and then with his jackknife whittled shavings from the dry
heart. He stopped his knife just short of the end of the stick, until
six or eight long, thin shavings were made, then, with a twist of the
blade, he broke off the stub with the shavings attached to it. Thus the
shavings were held in a bunch.

Several of these bunches he made, working patiently, for patience and
care are as necessary in building a fire as in doing anything else, and
Skipper Ed had taught him that whatever he did should be done with all
the care possible. And so in making a fire he gave as much care to the
cutting of shavings and placing of sticks as though it had been
something of the highest importance, and doing it in this way he seldom
failed to light his fire, rain or shine, with a single match. Fire
making in the open is a fine art.

When Jimmy had collected enough shavings for his purpose, he placed two
of his split sticks upon the ground at right angles to each other, an
end of one close up to the end of the other. Then, holding a bunch of
shavings by the thick, or stub, end, he struck a match and lighted the
thin end, and when it was blazing well placed the unlighted end upon the
two sticks where they met. Other bunches of shavings he laid on this,
the thin ends in the blaze, the thick ends elevated upon the sticks.
Then came small splits, and bigger splits, and in a moment he had a
crackling fire.

He now secured a pole six or seven feet in length, and fixed one end
firmly in the ground, with the other end sloped over the fire. On this
he hung first, by its bale, the old bailing kettle, filled with water,
and then the tea pail, in such a way as to bring them directly over the
blaze, and though the fire was a small one, it was not many minutes
before the kettles boiled. Then while Bobby dropped half a dozen eggs
into the bailing kettle, Jimmy lifted the tea pail off, put some tea
into it, and set it by the fire to brew.

"Now," said Jimmy, presently, "let's go for it."

And they ate, as only hungry boys can, and with the keen relish of
youths who live in the open.

"Let's see if we can't get some of the eggs off the cliff now,"
suggested Bobby, when they were through. "I know I can climb down
there."

"I've tried it plenty of times," said Jimmy, "and I don't believe it can
be done. You can't get in from this end, and the top hangs over so you
can't get in from the top."

"Let's go up on top and try to get down, anyhow," insisted Bobby. "I
know what! There's a harpoon line in the skiff. Father always keeps it
stuffed in under the seat aft. We can tie an end of it under my arms and
you can let me down, and then pull me back."

And so without loss of time the young adventurers secured the harpoon
line, and climbing out of the gully followed the top of the cliff to a
place where birds were numerous.

Jimmy tied a bowline knot at the proper distance from one end of the
line, passed the line around Bobby's body under the arms, ran the end of
the line through the loop, and secured it. With this arrangement the
line could not tighten and pinch, and still was tight enough to hold
Bobby securely.

"Now," said Jimmy, indicating a high bowlder, "I'll bring the line
around this rock, so I'll have a purchase on it and it can't slip away
from me, and let it out as you climb down. You holler when you want to
stop and holler when you want to come up."

The plan worked admirably for a while. Very slowly Bobby descended,
calling out now and again for Jimmy to "hold" while he picked eggs from
nests on shelving rocks.

At last his bag was full, and he was ready to ascend.

"All right, Jimmy. Pull up now," he called.

Jimmy pulled, but pull as he would he could not budge Bobby one inch. He
did not dare release the line where it made its turn around the
bowlder, for without the leverage he feared the line would get away from
him, in which case Bobby would crash to the bottom of the cliff. So
Jimmy pulled desperately. But it was of no avail, and presently he took
another turn of the line around the bowlder, and secured it so that it
could not slip, and ran forward.

Bobby was shouting to be drawn up, and Jimmy, throwing himself upon his
face and peering down over the edge of the cliff, saw Bobby dangling in
mid air some forty feet below him and thirty feet above the deep black
water. He also saw that, supported only by the line, Bobby was in a
strained and perilous as well as most uncomfortable position.

His first impulse was to lower Bobby to the base of the cliff, and let
him wait there until he could get the boat, bring it around and take him
off. But he saw at a glance that at its foot the rocky cliff rose out of
the deep water in a perpendicular wall, so smooth that there was not
even a hand hold to be had, and this was its condition for a
considerable distance on either side. Neither was there hope that, in
the strong outgoing tide, and encumbered by clothing, Bobby could swim
in the icy waters to a point where a footing could be had.

"Hurry, Jimmy; I can't stand this much longer! I can't stand it much
longer!" Bobby shouted, as he caught a glimpse of Jimmy's head.

Jimmy in return shouted reassurance to Bobby, and ran back for another
effort to pull him out. But again he pulled and pulled in vain. With all
the strength he had he could not pull Bobby up a single inch. With a
sickening dread at his heart, he refastened the line.




CHAPTER V

THE RESCUE


Jimmy realized that there was no help to be had from outside. There was
no one at home but Mrs. Abel, and rowing the skiff alone against the
tide fully four hours would be consumed in reaching there and another
three hours in coming back. Then it would be well past dark. An easterly
breeze was springing up, and a chop was rising on the bay. This
easterly wind was likely to bring with it a cold storm, and Bobby,
suspended thirty feet above the water, and not warmly dressed, might
perish.

"Yes," said Jimmy, "he might perish! He might perish! And it would be my
fault!"

The thought brought a cold perspiration to Jimmy's forehead, and a cold,
unnatural feeling to his spine, and in desperation he tried the line
again. But it was useless effort. He could not pull it up. And again he
ran to the cliff, crawled out and peered over at the dangling and by no
means silent Bobby.

"Hey there, Jimmy! Pull me up! Hurry!" shouted Bobby.

"I can't! I can't budge you! Oh, Bobby, what are we going to do?"

"If you can't pull me up, let me down!" Bobby was growing impatient. "I
can't stand this much longer. The line is cutting me in two."

"Try to climb up the line," suggested Jimmy, the idea striking him as a
bright one. "Just climb up, and when you get up here where I can reach
you I'll pull you over."

Bobby tried the experiment, but the line was oily, and in spite of his
best efforts he could climb only a little way, when he would slide back
again.

"I can't do it," he shouted up to Jimmy, after several vain efforts.
"The line is too greasy. I can't get a good hold."

"I don't know what to do!" said the distressed Jimmy. "I don't know what
to do!"

"If you can't pull me up, let me down," directed Bobby.

[Illustration: "Hurry, Jimmy. I can't hang here much longer. I'm getting
all numb"]

"That won't do any good," said Jimmy. "You'll only go into the water and
drown, for there's no place for you to stand."

"Well," Bobby insisted, "let me down nearer the water. I feel all the
time as though the line was going to break, and I'm so high up from it
that it makes me dizzy swinging around this way."

"Holler when you want me to stop," shouted Jimmy, rising and running
back.

But Jimmy found that after all he could let Bobby down only a very
little way when he came to the end of the line. So he fastened it again.

"That's as far as it will go!" he called, lying down on his face again
to look over the cliff at Bobby, who was now about twenty feet above the
water.

"Then go and get the boat and fetch it down," shouted Bobby. "Hurry,
Jimmy. I can't hang here much longer. I'm getting all numb."

That was a solution of the difficulty that had not occurred to Jimmy,
and without delay he ran away along the cliff top and down to the skiff,
which was lying a half mile above, and, undoing the painter, rowed with
all his might toward Bobby, until presently he drew up directly beneath
the swinging lad.

"Can you unfasten the line and drop into the boat, Bobby?" he asked,
gazing up.

"No," decided Bobby, glancing at the skiff, which rose and fell on the
swell, and which Jimmy was holding dangerously near the breaking waves
on the cliff base. "I might hit the boat but I'd break my neck, and
maybe tip you over. Stand her off a little, and I'll show you."

He felt in his pocket for his jackknife, drew it out and opened it. Then
with his left hand he succeeded, after several attempts, in lifting
himself sufficiently to relieve the strain of his body, and with the
jackknife in his right hand cut the line where it circled his body below
the arms.

Hanging now by his left hand he deliberately and coolly closed the knife
by pushing the back of the blade against his leg, and restored it to his
pocket. This done he grasped the line with his right hand just above the
bowline knot, where he had a firm hold, slipped his other hand down to
it, and began swinging in toward the cliff and out over the waves, and
then on an outward swing, let go. Down he went, well away from the
rocks, feet first into the deep water, and, a moment later, appearing on
the surface, swam to the skiff, grasped it astern, and climbed aboard,
shivering from his icy bath.

"Oh, Bobby, you're a wonder!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I never would have
thought of that way of your getting off that line!"

"'Twasn't anything," declared Bobby, deprecatingly, as he seated himself
and picked up his oars. "Now let's pull back where we can put on a fire.
I'm freezing cold."

"I was scared when I found I couldn't pull you up," said Jimmy, as they
rowed back to the gully. "Wasn't you?"

"No, I wasn't scared," boasted Bobby. "I was just getting cold and
numb. The worst of it is I had to drop my bag with all the eggs I
picked off the cliff. I had some dandies, too! Two of them were the
prettiest eggs I _ever_ saw--real small at one end and big at the other,
and all colored and marked and spotted up. They were different from any
eggs I ever saw, too."

"Did you find 'em together, or separate?"

"Found 'em separate, on different ledges."

"I know what _they_ were! They were murre eggs. Murre eggs are different
from any other kind. They've got more colors and marks on 'em. Partner
found some last year."

"There were some murres down on the water, but I never thought they'd go
up to lay their eggs in places like that. The eggs were right on the
bare rock, and weren't in a nest at all, and if it wasn't for their
shape they'd have rolled off."

"It's a strange place for any bird to leave eggs, but that's where the
kittiwakes, auks and swimmers and some of the gulls and lots of birds
make nests and lay eggs. I suppose it's so as to make it hard to find
them when folks go egging. Partner tells me lots, and I ask lots of
questions, because he says the more I know about the way birds and
animals live and the things they do, the better I'll be able to hunt and
take care of myself."

In spite of his exertion at the oars, Bobby's teeth were chattering when
they landed at the place where they had cooked their dinner. But it was
not long before Jimmy had a roaring fire and the kettle over for some
hot tea, and then, leaving Bobby to dry his clothes, Jimmy climbed up
again over the cliff to recover Abel's harpoon line, which was much too
valuable to be left behind.

At this season of the year the days are long in Labrador, and though it
was nearly eleven o'clock at night when the boys reached home, it was
still twilight. Mrs. Abel was on the lookout for them, and had a fine
pan of fried trout and steaming pot of tea waiting on the table, for she
knew they would be hungry, as boys who live in the open always are. And
she praised them for the fine lot of eggs they brought her, and laughed
very heartily over Bobby's adventure, for in that land adventure is a
part of life, and all in a day's work.




CHAPTER VI

WITH PASSING YEARS


Bobby's adventure on the cliff was, after all, but typical of the
adventures that he was regularly getting into, and drawing Jimmy into,
but somehow coming out of unscathed, during these years of his career.
Though he was nearly four years Jimmy's junior, he was invariably the
instigator of their escapades.

Jimmy was inclined to cautiousness, while Bobby had a reckless turn, or
rather failed to see danger. Bobby was naturally a leader, and in spite
of his youth Jimmy instinctively recognized him as such. He could always
overcome Jimmy's scruples and cautions, and with ease and celerity lead
Jimmy from one scrape into another.

But Bobby invariably kept a cool head. He had a steady brain and nerve
and the faculty of quick thought and prompt decision, with a practical
turn of mind. If he got Jimmy and himself into a scrape, he usually got
them out of it again not much the worse for their experience.

Jimmy was imaginative and emotional, and when they were in peril he
could see only the peril, and picture the possible dire results. Bobby,
on the other hand, concentrated his attention upon some practical method
by which they might extricate themselves, losing sight, seemingly, of
what the result might be should they fail to do so.

Bobby had doubtless inherited from his unknown ancestors the peculiar
mental qualities that made him a leader. From Abel he had absorbed the
Eskimo's apparent contempt of danger. Abel, like all Eskimos, was a
fatalist. If he was caught in a perilous position he believed that if
the worst came it would be because it was to be. If he escaped unharmed,
so it was to be. Therefore why be excited? Bobby had as completely
accepted this creed as though he, too, were an Eskimo, for his life and
training with Abel was the life and training of an Eskimo boy.

And so the years passed, and Bobby grew into a tall, square-shouldered,
alert, handsome, self-reliant youth. He was in nearly every respect,
save the color of his skin and the shade of his hair, an Eskimo. He
spoke the language like an Eskimo born, his tastes and his life were
Eskimo, his ambition to be a great hunter--the greatest ambition of his
life--was the ambition of an Eskimo, and he bore the hardships, which to
him were no hardships at all, like an Eskimo. He was much more an
Eskimo, indeed, than the native half-breeds of the coast farther south.

In one respect, however, Bobby was highly civilized. He was a great
reader and an exceptional student. Skipper Ed had seen to this with
singleness of purpose.

To him and Jimmy study was recreation. Mathematical problems were
interesting to them, just as the solution of puzzles interests the boy
in civilization. Just as the boy in civilization will work for hours
upon the solution of a mechanical puzzle, they worked upon problems in
arithmetic and geometry, and with the same gusto. They studied
grammatical construction much as they studied the tracks and the habits
of wild animals. They read the books in Skipper Ed's library with the
feelings and sensations of explorers. In the first reading they were
going through an unknown forest, and with each successive reading they
were retracing their steps and exploring the trail in minute detail and
becoming thoroughly acquainted with the surrounding country.

This may seem very improbable and unnatural to the boy whose studies are
enforced and, because they are compulsory, appeal to him as tedious
duties which he must perform. But nevertheless it was very natural.
Human nature is obstinate and contrary. Tom Sawyer's friends derived
much pleasure from whitewashing the fence, and even paid for the
privilege. Had their parents set them to whitewashing fences they would
have found it irksome work, and anything but play.

Bobby, indeed, had developed two distinct personalities. In his
every-day living he was decidedly an Eskimo; but of long winter
evenings, reading or studying Skipper Ed's books, at home in Abel's
cabin, or in one of the easy chairs in Skipper Ed's cabin, when Skipper
Ed explained to him and Jimmy the things they read, Bobby was as far
removed from his Eskimo personality as could be.

Abel and Mrs. Abel never wavered in their belief that God had sent Bobby
to them from the Far Beyond, through the place where mists and storms
were born. They believed he had been sent to them direct from heaven.

But Bobby was very human, indeed. No one other than Abel and Mrs. Abel
would ever have ascribed to him angelic origin, and as he developed it
must have caused a long stretch of even their imagination to continue
the fiction. There was nothing ethereal about Bobby. His big, husky
frame, his abounding and never-failing appetite, and his high spirits,
were very substantial indeed.

And as Bobby grew, and more and more took part in the bigger things of
life, his adventures grew from the smaller adventures of the boy to the
greater ones of the man.

In this wild land no one knows when he will be called upon to meet
adventure. The sea winds breathe it, it stalks boldly over the bleak
wastes of the barrens, and in the dark and mysterious fastnesses of the
forest it crouches, always ready for its chance to spring forward and
meet you unawares. Adventure, ay, and grave danger too, are wont to show
themselves unexpectedly. And so, one winter's evening, they came to
Skipper Ed and Bobby and Jimmy.




CHAPTER VII

THE WOLF PACK


In seasons when caribou were plentiful along the coast, wolves were also
plentiful, for it is the habit of wolves in this land to follow the
trail of the caribou herds and prey upon the stragglers. And so it was
that sometimes of a winter's night the silence of the hills was startled
by the distant howl of wolves. And always Skipper Ed's dogs and Abel's
dogs would answer the wild, weird cries of their untamed kin of the
hills with equally weird cries, their muzzles in the air and the
long-drawn notes rising and falling in woful and dismal cadence.

Perhaps the dogs were possessed of an uninterpreted longing to join
their brothers of the wilderness in their care-free wanderings, and be
forever free themselves from the yoke of sledge and whip and the toil
and drudgery of the trail. But so like men were the beasts that they
never had the courage to cast themselves free from the shackles of their
man-master, though it required but a resolution and a plunge into the
hills.

"So it is with many a man," said Skipper Ed one evening when Bobby was
stopping for the night with him and Jimmy, and a wolf howl was followed
by the answering howl of dogs. "Many and many a man that has the power
and strength within him, and the brains too, if he but knew it, to go
out into the broad world of endeavor and do great things, simmers his
life away in the little narrow world into which he has grown, expending
his energies as a servant when he might be a master. He keeps his eyes
to the ground and never looks out or up, and so he never knows how big
the world is or how much it holds for him.

"It takes courage sometimes to break loose from old things. But it's the
man that dares to break loose, and hit a new trail, and try his hand at
new things, that wins. The man that never takes a chance, never gets
anywhere, and then he says that luck has been against him. I speak of
luck sometimes, but I don't mean it in that way. There is no such thing
as luck. What we call luck is the Almighty's reward when we've done the
best we can."

"Did you ever try new things?" asked Bobby.

"Yes, yes, lad! Long ago," and a shadow fell upon Skipper Ed's face, to
pass in a moment, however, as he added, "I think I did what the Lord
Almighty intended me to do."

"What was it?" asked Bobby, ever curious.

"To come here, and be Jimmy's partner, and to be a friend to both of you
young scalawags, I think," and Skipper Ed smiled.

"Didn't you ever ask the Lord to let you do some big, _big_ things?"
insisted Bobby.

"Partner does big things all the time," protested Jimmy. "He's a fine
shot, and there isn't a better hunter on The Labrador."

"Yes," said Skipper Ed, "I've asked the Lord, and I think the big thing
He's given me to do is to teach you chaps the best I can, and maybe my
teaching will help one of you to do the big, _big_ thing."

And then a wolf howled again, not far away this time, and out in front
of the cabin Skipper Ed's dogs howled an answer, and down from Abel's
cabin came the long, weird cry of woe from Abel's dogs; and the three
sat silent for a little, and listened.

"The wolves are growing bold," remarked Skipper Ed presently. "That last
fellow that howled was just above here in the gulch."

"I'd like to see one running loose," said Bobby, "but they don't like to
show themselves to me, and I never saw but one in my life."

Skipper Ed arose, and donning his _adikey_ went out of doors, soon to
return followed by a breath of the keen, frosty air of the winter night.

"It's bright moonlight," said he, rubbing his hands briskly to warm
them, for he had worn no mittens. "The wind is nor' nor'west, and if you
chaps feel like an adventure we'll take a walk around and up the
s'uth'ard side of the gulch, where he won't get a smell of us, and maybe
we'll have a look at that old rounder that's howling, and who knows but
we might get a shot at him and his mates. What do you say?"

"Fine!" agreed the boys in unison, springing eagerly up from their
chairs.

"Well, hustle into your _adikeys_, then, and we'll try to get to leeward
of the old fellow," directed Skipper Ed.

"I hope there'll be a chance for a shot!" Bobby exclaimed excitedly, as
they shouldered their rifles and slung cartridge pouches over their
shoulders.

"So do I!" agreed Jimmy.

"Just a bare chance," said Skipper Ed, as they passed out into the porch
shed and took their snowshoes from the pegs. "It depends upon which way
they're traveling."

"Do you think there's more than one?" asked Bobby in an excited
undertone, as they swung away on snowshoes.

"Yes, but we'd better not talk now. They're keen, and shy old devils,
and they might hear us," warned Skipper Ed.

Cautiously but swiftly they stole out and into the moonlit forest and up
into the gulch and along the southern banks of a frozen brook. Now and
again Skipper Ed halted, stooping to peer about and along the open space
that marked the bed of the stream. Presently he held up his hand as a
sign of caution, and crouched behind a clump of brush, motioning the
boys to follow his example.

"They're just above us," he whispered. "I saw them moving among the
trees, above the bend. They're coming down this way, and they'll come
out in that open just ahead of us. Don't shoot till I tell you, but be
ready for them, lads."

"How many are there?" Bobby whispered excitedly.

"I can't tell yet. But I saw them move, and there's more than one,"
answered Skipper Ed.

A moment later the blood-curdling howl of a wolf broke the forest
stillness. It was answered by the distant howl of the dogs, and then
near at hand the night was startled by the defiant howl of many wolves,
long, loud and terrible in unexpected suddenness, and so close that the
boys involuntarily rose from their crouch.

"A pack!" whispered Skipper Ed, "and a big pack! See them coming there!
Too many for us to tackle, lads! Keep quiet, now, lads, and don't lose
your heads and don't shoot! We must keep to leeward of them so they
won't get our scent, and we must get back to the cabin. They're too many
for us to tackle."

As he spoke the leaders of the pack--great, fearsome creatures looming
big on the glistening white of the moonlit snow--straggled leisurely
around the bend of the frozen stream--one--two--three--Skipper Ed
counted until more than twenty had appeared, and still others were
coming. It was a pack large enough to be fearless of any enemy and to
attack boldly any prey that crossed its path.

Leading the way, and keeping under cover of trees, with Bobby and Jimmy
close at his heels, Skipper Ed turned and ran down the gulch toward the
cabin, which was not above a mile distant. The gulch ended in an open
space, which was a marsh in summer but was now a white expanse of
hard-beaten snow. Between this open space and the bay shore a hedge of
thick brush grew. On its northern and southern sides the open was
flanked by the forest, extending from the gulch mouth to the shore of
the bay, and on the northern side it continued to Skipper Ed's cabin and
beyond.

Skipper Ed led the way into the forest to the southward of the open,
that they might keep well to leeward of the pack, and thus avoid so far
as possible danger of the wolves getting their scent. He hoped that this
maneuver might permit them to circuit back to the cabin under the
protecting cover of the brush fringe along the shore and the forest to
the northward. To have crossed the open would have been to invite
discovery, for it was evident the wolves would follow the bed of the
stream through the gulch and into the open.

Whether they would answer the call of the dogs and turn northward, or
whether they would range southward in quest of prey, was uncertain. If
to the southward they would be very sure to catch the wind of Skipper Ed
and the boys almost immediately, and be upon them before they could
reach safety. If they answered the dogs, there would still be danger,
but the three in that case would be enabled to keep on the lee side of
the pack with the probability of detection considerably lessened.
Therefore Skipper Ed hoped and trusted that the wolves would answer the
challenge of the dogs.

Even then there was still the danger that the trail made by them on
their way up the gulch would be discovered, and unless the dogs proved a
greater attraction Skipper Ed knew that the moment the wolves came upon
the trail they would take up the fresh scent, and might overtake them
before they could gain the shelter of the cabin.

As it came about, they were behind the brush hedge, running up the
shore, when the wolves wound out of the gulch and into the open. Through
a break in the brush Skipper Ed saw them dimly, in the distance. The
leaders stopped and sniffed. Suddenly came the howl of pursuit--the
awful, terrifying cry of the wolf pack fresh upon the heels of quarry.
The wolves had turned on the trail and were off up the gulch.

"Run!" commanded Skipper Ed, half under his breath, but still in a tone
so loud and tense that the boys heard. "Run! We must run now for our
lives!"

And they did run, but had scarcely gained the cover of the woods on the
northern side of the open when wolf cries left no doubt that the animals
had discovered the return trail and were hot upon it. It seemed now that
nothing but an intercession of Providence could save them. The wolf pack
would surely overtake them before they could attain the protection of
the cabin.




CHAPTER VIII

THE BATTLE


Now they could hear the pack yelping down through the forest! Already
it had reached the brush hedge by the shore! It had made its turn
northward, the yelps increasing in volume as it approached! Now the
leaders were in sight!

"Go on! Go on!" yelled Skipper Ed, himself lagging in order that he
might fall in the rear of the boys and take a position between them and
the wolves, and as he did so he turned quickly and fired a random shot
at the leader of the pack.

The cabin had just loomed into view dimly through the trees, and the
wolves, almost upon their expected prey, were sounding the wild, fierce
cry of triumph, when another pack, like phantoms in the forest shadows,
coming from the direction of the cabin, swept down past Skipper Ed and
the boys, suddenly breaking forth as they ran into a fierce howl of
defiance.[B]

[Footnote B: A few years ago Job Edmunds, a native acquaintance of the
author, was saved from a pack of wolves in just this manner by his
dogs.]

"Thank God!" exclaimed Skipper Ed. "The dogs! The dogs will help us!
Run, lads, and get to the door! I'll stop and help hold them with my
rifle till you get in!"

But Bobby and Jimmy would not have it so. They, too, turned, and in the
dim light of the shadowed forest the three fired into the face of the
pack until their rifles were empty. Whether or not any of the animals
fell they could not see, but the pack paused for a moment in surprise.
Then the dogs charged them, and as the three reached the cabin door
yelps and snarls told of the clash as the dogs met their wild kin of the
hills in battle.

"Thank God!" again breathed Skipper Ed when the three, panting for
breath, were safe in the cabin, a moment later, with the good stout door
between them and the ravenous pack, which presently came snapping and
snarling around the cabin. "I never saw such a pack of wolves before. I
never knew that they gathered in such numbers in these days. There must
be at least thirty of them."[C]

[Footnote C: Not many years ago a pack of upwards of thirty of these great
northern wolves appeared a few miles to the southward of this point. One
of my friends was driven to the shelter of his cabin to escape
them.--Author.]

"The dogs! Partner, what will become of our dogs?" exclaimed Jimmy.
"They'll kill our fine dogs!"

"I'm afraid they will," agreed Skipper Ed, who had lighted a lamp and
was loading the magazine of his rifle. "Load up, partner. Load up,
Bobby. We'll see what we can do from cover."

"We must have killed some of them!" Bobby exclaimed excitedly. "I know I
did! I saw three fall when we shot!"

"Yes, of course we did," agreed Skipper Ed, "but there are enough of
them we didn't kill. Here, you chaps," he added, raising a window three
or four inches. "You should get some good shots from here. I'll try my
luck from the shed door."

They had turned the lamp low, that they might see the better what was
going on out of doors. The wolves, baffled by the sudden disappearance
of their quarry, were ranged a little distance from the porch door, save
two or three of the bolder ones, which were sniffing at the door itself.
The dogs were nowhere to be seen.

"Look out!" called Bobby to Skipper Ed, who was about to open the porch
door. "Some of them are right at the door!"

Then he and Jimmy began shooting. The wolves at the door fell, and
Skipper Ed, opening the door a little way, joined in a fusillade at the
main pack. The rapid reports of the rifles at close range, together with
the flashes of fire from an unseen source, struck panic to the heart of
the pack. A slightly wounded one turned and ran. That was a signal for
panic, as is the way of men and beasts, and the whole pack followed in
a mad, wild rush to the cover of the woods.

An instant and the last of the pack had faded into the shadows among the
trees--all save those left sprawling and limp upon the snow, which would
never roam the hills again, and one or two of the wounded, which were
whining, like whipped dogs, and the clearing about the cabin was as
deserted as ever it was.

"I'll go out," said Skipper Ed, "and end the suffering of those wounded
brutes. Build up the fire, partner, and put the kettle on, and we'll
have some tea. Then if there's no sign of what's left of the pack
returning, we'll haul the carcasses into the shed, where we can skin
them tomorrow."

There was a roaring, cheerful fire in the stove when Skipper Ed returned
a few minutes later to report that twelve wolves lay dead outside.

"There must be some more down where we shot them at first," said he, as
he drew off his _adikey_, "and some of those that got away were wounded,
no doubt. At any rate we've cut the pack down so far in numbers that it
won't be a menace any longer."

"What'll they do now?" asked Bobby, as the three settled into their easy
chairs to wait for the kettle to boil.

"Go and look for caribou, and attend to their business, I suppose, and
leave us quiet, peaceable folk alone," he laughed, adding: "I never saw
such a pack before, though I've heard some of the old Eskimos say that
years ago it used to happen now and again that packs like this appeared.
Wolves are cowardly beasts, but numbers give them courage. When six or
eight get together, you have to look out for them, and when the pack
grows to a dozen they'll attack openly, and aren't afraid of
anything--not even man."

"Well, anyway we had the adventure we started out to get," laughed
Bobby, "and a little more of it than we expected."

"Yes, and a nice haul of wolf pelts to boot," added Skipper Ed.

"We were lucky they didn't get us," said Jimmy.

"Yes," agreed Skipper Ed, "lucky--the kind of luck we were talking about
tonight. That is, the luck of the Almighty's bounty and protection. We
did the best we could, according to our lights, to protect and help
ourselves, and so He helped, and brought us safely back, none the worse,
and perhaps a little the stronger and better and richer in experience
than we were an hour ago."

"It was a corking good adventure, anyhow!" broke in Bobby. "That sort of
thing just makes me tingle all over! Somehow when I get out of a mess
like that I feel a lot bigger and stronger and more grown up. It was
great fun--now that it's over."

"You're a natural-born adventurer," laughed Skipper Ed. "You should have
lived in the old days, when men had to fight for their life, or went out
to find and conquer new lands."

"Well, I'm glad it's over," Jimmy shuddered--"the run from the
wolves--and that they've gone. I didn't have time to feel much scared
out there, but I'm scared now of what might have happened. I don't like
to get into such fixes."

"Well, it's over, and all is well, and we're none the worse for it. Now
drink your hot tea, lads," counseled Skipper Ed. "We've work to do
before we sleep."

They ate their hardtack biscuit, and sipped the hot tea silently for a
little, listening the while to the snug and cheerful crackle of wood and
roar of flames in the big box stove.

"Now," said Skipper Ed finally, "we'll haul the wolves into the porch,
and make them safe, for the dogs are like to tear at them, and injure
the pelts."

The following morning the carcasses of five additional wolves were
discovered at the place where they had first fired upon the pack. Two of
the dogs, mangled and torn by wolf fangs, were dead, and three others
were so badly injured that for a long time they were unfitted for
driving. But the others had discreetly decided that it was better "to
run away and live to fight another day," and were none the worse for
their scrimmage.

Bobby, of course, ran over to Abel's cabin to tell the great news of the
battle, and Abel and Mrs. Abel must needs return with him to assist in
removing the pelts from the animals, and to spend the day with Skipper
Ed and his partner. And a merry day it was for all of them, for wolf
pelts could be traded at the mission store for necessaries. And none of
them gave heed or thought to the danger the pelts had cost, save to give
thanks to God for His deliverance; for dangers in that land are an
incident of the game of life, and there the game of life is truly a
man's game.




CHAPTER IX

THE FISHING PLACES


Like every other healthy lad of his years Bobby loved fun and adventure,
though he had early learned to carry upon his broad shoulders a full
portion of the responsibilities of the household. In the bleak land
where he lived there is no shifting of these responsibilities. Everyman,
and every boy, too, must do his share to wrest a living from the sea and
rocks, and Bobby had no thought but to do his part. If a boy cannot do
one thing in Labrador, he can do another. He can cut wood, hunt small
game, attend the fish nets, jig cod--there are a thousand things that he
can do, and make sport of as he does them, too, as Bobby did, until he
grows to man's estate.

Each summer Abel and Mrs. Abel returned to their old fishing place on
Itigailit Island, and of course Bobby went with them, and did his share
in jigging cod; and each summer Skipper Ed and Jimmy went to Skipper
Ed's old fishing place--the place where he had found his forlorn little
partner that stormy autumn day, when they had sealed their bargain with
a handshake.

The days of preparation for departure to the fishing were days of keen
and pleasurable anticipation for the boys. It was a break from the
routine of the long winter, and brought with it the novelty of change.
These promised weeks upon the open sea were always weeks of delight, and
above all else was the pleasure of seeing and sometimes visiting the
fishing schooners which occasionally chanced their way.

The schooners had a wonderful fascination for the lads, for they came
from the far-away and mysterious land of civilization of which Skipper
Ed had told them so often and so much, and of which they had read so
eagerly on long winter evenings.

It was more than a novelty to listen to the sailormen on the schooners
talk of the strange happenings in that wonderful land, and to hear them
sing their quaint old sea songs and chanteys, or relate marvelous
stories of adventure.

Sometimes a skipper would drop them a newspaper, many weeks old to be
sure, but as fresh and interesting to them as though it had come
directly from the press. Or perchance--and this was a treasure
indeed--an illustrated magazine fell to their lot. And no line of paper
or magazine, even to the last advertisement, but was read many and many
times over. And no illustration in the magazines but held their
attention for hours upon hours.

These old newspapers and magazines were preserved, and carried home to
take their place as a valued source of entertainment on stormy winter
days and long winter evenings. And finally the illustrations and more
interesting articles were clipped and pasted upon the walls until the
interiors of Abel's and Skipper Ed's cabins became veritable picture
galleries and libraries of reference.

But the eve of parting for their separate fishing places was always
tinged with sadness and regret, for during these weeks they were denied
one another's companionship.

"If our fishing places were only close to each other, so we could fish
together, wouldn't it be fine!" suggested Bobby, one spring day as he
and Jimmy sat on a rock below Abel's cabin, looking expectantly out over
the bay, while Abel, with Skipper Ed's assistance, put the finishing
touches upon the big boat in preparation for departure to their fishing
places the next morning.

"Yes, wouldn't it!" exclaimed Jimmy. "If we weren't so busy, Partner and
I would be dreadfully lonesome without you."

"And if it wasn't for being busy I'd be dreadfully lonesome without you,
too," admitted Bobby. "I always am, anyhow."

"Yes," said Jimmy, "so are we on days when the sea's so rough we can't
fish."

"But it's fine out there, and it's always fine to get back, isn't it,
Jimmy?"

"Aye, 'tis that!" declared Jimmy.

"But it makes me feel lonesome already," said Bobby, returning to the
original proposition, "to think that I won't see you and Skipper Ed for
so long."

"What's this I hear? Lonesome for Partner and me?" asked Skipper Ed,
who had finished with the boat and, coming up behind the boys, overheard
Bobby's remark.

"Yes," said Bobby, "at the fishing."

"Well, well, now, isn't that strange!" ejaculated Skipper Ed. "I was
thinking the same way, and Abel was thinking that way, too, and we've
been talking it over!"

"Jimmy and I think 'twould be fine if we could all fish together,"
continued Bobby.

"So were we! So were we! A strange coincidence!" declared Skipper Ed.
"And Abel thinks it might be arranged."

"Oh, can it? Can it?" and the boys jumped to their feet.

"I don't know," and Skipper Ed's face assumed a long and gloomy
expression as he seated himself upon the rock. "There's one thing in the
way and I couldn't consent."

"Why can't we?" asked Jimmy, in deep disappointment.

"Because," said Skipper Ed seriously, "I'm not free to consent."

"Why not? Yes, you are!" coaxed Bobby. "Please do."

"I'd like to," said Skipper Ed. "Yes, I'd _like_ to; but you see I've
got a partner, and one partner can't go ahead and do things unless the
other partner agrees. At any rate he shouldn't. Do you agree, Partner?"

The boys gave a whoop of joy.

"Then you consent, Partner?" and Skipper Ed's eyes twinkled humorously.

"Of course I do, Partner!" exclaimed Jimmy. "It's what I've wanted to do
right along."

"Then everything is arranged," said Skipper Ed. "Abel says there are
plenty of fish for all of us around Itigailit Island. Perhaps, then,
we'd better go home, Partner, and put things in shipshape for an early
start in the morning."

And so they parted in high glee, Bobby to the cabin to break the good
news to Mrs. Abel, and Skipper Ed down the trail toward his own cabin,
with Jimmy at his heels.




CHAPTER X

A FOOLHARDY SHOT


Though the days were long now, for this was July, when dawn comes in
this land before two o'clock in the morning, it was scarce daylight when
Skipper Ed and Jimmy in their big trap boat, and with a skiff in tow in
which were stowed his seven sledge dogs, hoisted sail and bore down the
bay before a westerly breeze.

And as they passed beyond the point which separated the cove in which
Abel's cabin stood from the cove where their own cabin stood, they
discovered Abel's boat almost abreast of them, and within hailing
distance. Bobby and Jimmy exchanged vociferous greetings, and Skipper Ed
and Abel converged their courses until the boats were so close as to
permit of conversation.

It was a glorious morning. The air was crisp and fragrant with whiffs of
forest perfumes borne down to them from the near-by shore. Banks of
brilliant red and orange in the eastern sky foretold the coming of the
sun. The sea sparkled. Gulls and other wild fowl soared overhead or rode
lightly upon the swell. A school of shining caplin shimmered on the
surface of the water. Here and there a seal lifted its curious head for
a moment, and then disappeared. At intervals a grampus, with a
startling, roaring blow, raised its great black back above the surface,
and then sank again from view.

On barren hillsides patches of snow, remnants of mighty drifts, lay
against the dark moist rocks like great white sheets, and here and there
miniature ice pans rose and fell upon the swell, reminders of the long
cold winter, for winter in this far northern clime is ever reluctant to
relinquish its grasp upon the earth.

The glow in the east disappeared at length, and then the sun rose to
caress them with his warmth. Presently mirages appeared. Islands seemed
to sit upon the tops of other islands, or to hang suspended in the air,
and every distant shore became distorted in the brilliant July sunlight.

"That's the way a good many of us look at things in this life," said
Skipper Ed. "We see the mirage, and not the thing itself. Hopes loom up
and look real, when they're just false. It's a great thing to be able to
tell the differences between what is real and what is just a mirage."

The wind fell away to a dead calm before noon, and though Abel and
Skipper Ed worked at their heavy sculling oars, and Bobby and Jimmy and
Mrs. Abel at the other oars, the boats, laden as they were, and retarded
by the skiffs in tow, made such slow progress that at length they
stopped at a convenient island to boil the kettle and cook their dinner
and wait for a returning breeze.

Dinner was a jolly feast, simple as it was, for in this land folk live
upon simple food and are satisfied with little variety, for their
appetites and desires are not glutted, as ours so often are. And many
things that you and I deem necessary they do not miss, because they have
never had them, and more often than not have never so much as heard of
them. And perhaps it is just as well, and their happiness is just as
complete.

A cod which Bobby caught with his jigger, was boiled in sea water,
because sea water salted it to just the right flavor. This was the first
cod of the season, and the first cod is always a delicacy, and so they
deemed it, together with some of Mrs. Abel's bread, and a pot of tea
sweetened with a drop of molasses.

Then Skipper Ed and Abel shaved tobacco from black plugs, and Skipper Ed
and Abel and Mrs. Abel talked while they waited for the wind to rise
that was to carry them on their journey.

It was a rocky, irregular island upon which they had halted, with rocks
sloping up from the water's edge, and on the top some struggling bunches
of brush. It was not a large island, but nevertheless Bobby and Jimmy
deemed it worthy of exploration, and so, bent upon discovery, they left
their elders to talk, while they wandered about.

"There's a dotar on the shore," exclaimed Bobby, stopping suddenly and
indicating the dark body of a harbor seal sunning itself comfortably
upon the surface of the smooth, flat rocks near water. "Wait here,
Jimmy, till I get my gun and try a shot at him."

And away he ran, presently to return with his gun--the same that Abel
had found in the boat at the time he discovered Bobby. It was
double-barreled, and a shotgun, but now both barrels were loaded with
round ball. And loaded with ball it was effective enough at fifty yards
or so, but far from certain in accuracy at a greater distance.

"Let's work down through the brush as far as we can," suggested Bobby,
"and then I'll crawl down on him, if he'll let me, for a good close
shot."

Slowly they crawled, and cautiously, looking at nothing and paying
attention to nothing but the seal, which, presently becoming conscious
of danger perhaps, grew restless; and though Bobby was not as near his
game as he should have wished, he threw up his gun and fired. The
bullet, after the manner of bullets fired from shotguns at long range,
went wide of its mark, and the seal, after the manner of seals, slipped
gently into the water and was gone.

"There he goes!" exclaimed Bobby in disgust, springing to his feet. "If
I had only had a rifle!"

"Yes," said Jimmy, "you'd have--"

Jimmy's sentence was cut short by the sound of a heavy tread behind
them, and wheeling about our young hunters discovered a big polar bear,
in the edge of the brush and not twenty yards away. It had apparently
been aroused from an afternoon sleep, and not being partial to human
society was now bent upon an expeditious departure from the vicinity.
Quick as a flash Bobby raised his gun to his shoulder.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" warned Jimmy.

But Bobby did not heed the warning. The bullet from the undischarged
barrel went crashing into the animal's shoulder. The bear stumbled, bit
furiously at the wound, and then in a rage charged upon his now
defenseless enemies.

Polar bears, unless very hungry, or unless
placed in a position where they must defend themselves, will rarely
attack man. But when wounded they are more likely than not to become
furious, and their fury knows no bounds. Bent upon revenge they will
attack viciously and are dangerous enemies. The hunter who wounds a
polar bear without first taking the precaution to prepare for defense or
retreat, tries an exceedingly dangerous experiment.

[Illustration: Quick as a flash Bobby raised his gun to his shoulder]

This was exactly what Bobby had done. The instant he fired the shot he
realized that he had not reached a vital spot. In his eagerness to
secure the bear he took the chance of his single bullet disabling it. A
reckless game it was, but he played it and lost.

Jimmy was unarmed and Bobby had no time to reload, for he knew the bear
would charge immediately.

"Run, Jimmy! Run for your life!" he shouted.

But Jimmy needed no warning. He was already putting into action all the
speed he could muster, and away went Bobby, also.

Jimmy chose the open space nearer the shore, Bobby a more direct, though
more obstructed, course across the island, but both took the general
direction of camp. As the two diverged the bear, probably because he was
more plainly in view, chose to follow Jimmy, and followed him so
strenuously and with such singleness of purpose that he was presently
at Jimmy's very heels--so close at his heels, indeed, that had Jimmy
stopped or hesitated or lessened his speed for an instant, the
infuriated beast would have been upon him.

Bobby was quick to discover that the bear had left his own trail, and he
was also quick to discover Jimmy's imminent danger. There was no other
help at hand. If Jimmy was to be saved, he must save him. The thought
crossed his mind like a flash of lightning. He did not lose his
head--Bobby never lost his head in an emergency. He thought of
everything. He feared there was not time to reload, but it was the only
thing to do. As he ran he drew two shells, loaded with ball, from his
pocket. For the fraction of a minute he halted, "broke" his gun, dropped
the shells into place, snapped the gun back and threw it to his
shoulder, but in the brief interval that had elapsed the bear and Jimmy
had so far gained upon him that the distance between him and the bear
loomed up before him now as almost hopelessly long. If he only had a
rifle, instead of his shotgun! But it was the last hope, and whispering
a prayer to God to send the bullet straight, with nerves as tense as
steel, he pulled the trigger.

His heart leaped with joy as he saw the bear stop, bite again at the
wound, this time near its hind quarters, and then with a roar of rage
turn from Jimmy toward himself.

He would not risk another shot at that distance. He would wait now for
his enemy to come to close quarters, and with nimble fingers he slipped
a loaded shell into the empty barrel, that when the time came to shoot
he might have two bullets at his disposal instead of one. He had never
felt so perfectly cool and steady in his life, nor so absolutely
unafraid, as now, while he stood erect and waited.

The bear was not twenty feet away when he fired his first shot. It
staggered, shook its head for a moment, and then rushed on. Bobby drew a
careful bead and fired again. The bear fell forward, pawed the rocks,
regained its feet, and lunged at Bobby.




CHAPTER XI

WHEN THE ICEBERG TURNED


But the bear had spent its vitality, and as Bobby sprang nimbly aside it
fell at the very spot upon which the young hunter had stood when he
delivered his last shot, struggled a little, gave a gasp or two, and
died. And when Jimmy came running up a moment later Bobby with great
pride was standing by the side of his prostrate victim.

"We got him, Jimmy! We got him!" said he in high glee, touching the
carcass with his toe.

"But, Bobby, what a chance you took!" Jimmy exclaimed. "Supposing you
hadn't stopped him!"

"No chance of that at all," declared Bobby in his usual positive tone.
"All I wanted was time to load, and I knew I'd get him."

"Well, I'm thankful you got him, instead of he getting you, and I was
afraid for a minute he was going to get us both," and Jimmy breathed
relief, as he placed his foot against the dead bear. "My, but he's a big
one! I don't think I ever saw a bigger one!"

"He _is_ a ripper!" admitted Bobby proudly. "Won't the folks be glad!"

And Bobby was justified in his pride. He had fired upon the beast in
the first instance, not through the lust of killing but because he was
prompted to do so by the instinct of the hunter who lives upon the
product of his weapons. In this far northern land it is the instinct of
self-preservation to kill, for here if man would live he must kill.

In Labrador they butcher wild animals for food just as we butcher steers
and sheep and hogs for food, and the only difference is that the wild
creature, matching its instincts and fleetness and strength against the
hunter's skill, has a reasonable chance of escape, while our domestic
animals, deprived of liberty, are driven helpless to the slaughter.

In our kindlier clime the rich soil, too, produces vegetables and fruits
upon which we might do very well, if necessary, without ever eating
meat; but in the bleak land where Bobby and Jimmy lived the summer is
short and the soil is barren, and there are no vegetables, and no fruits
save scattered berries on the inland hillsides. And so it is that here
men must depend upon flesh and fish for their existence and they must
kill if they would live.

Every lad on The Labrador, therefore, is taught from earliest youth to
take pride in his profession of hunter and trapper and fisherman--for on
The Labrador every man is a professional hunter and trapper and
fisherman--and to strive for skill and the praise of his elders, and
Bobby was no exception to the rule.

And so it came about that Bobby at the age of thirteen proved himself a
bold and brave hunter, and standing now over the carcass of his victim
he felt a vast and consistent pride in his success; for it was no small
achievement for a lad of his years to have killed, single-handed and
poorly armed, a full grown polar bear. It was an accomplishment, indeed,
in which a grown man and a more experienced hunter than Bobby might have
taken pride; and a grown man could scarcely have employed better
tactics, or shown greater skill and courage, after the first foolhardy
shot had been fired.

But this was Bobby's way. It was an exhibition of his old trait of
getting himself and Jimmy into a scrape and then by quick action and
practical methods getting them safely out of it again.

Skipper Ed and Abel had heard the reports of Bobby's gun, and they knew
that something unusual was on foot. The first shot did not disturb them.
That, they knew, was for the seal for which Bobby had taken the gun. But
no self-respecting seal will remain as a target to be fired at
repeatedly, and the shots that followed told their practiced ears that
more important game than a seal was the object of the fusillade. And so,
without parley, each seized his rifle, and together they set out across
the island, and thus it happened that presently they came upon Bobby and
Jimmy admiring the prize.

"Jimmy and I got a bear! A ripping big one, too!" said Bobby as the two
men came up to them, giving Jimmy equal credit, for if he was positive,
Bobby was also generous, and wished his friend to share in the glory of
his triumphs and achievements.

"Bobby got him alone," corrected Jimmy. "I legged it, and if it hadn't
been for Bobby he'd have caught me."

"Oh, you know better than that," protested Bobby. "You got in his way,
so he'd take after you, and that gave me time to load, and shoot him."

"_Peauke! Peauke!_" exclaimed Abel. "A fine fat bear."

"Good for you, Bobby!" commented Skipper Ed, looking the carcass over.
"I never killed as big a bear as that myself. Good work!"

"And we'll have some meat now, and won't have to eat just fish all
summer," said Bobby, who had the respect of most healthy boys for his
stomach.

"We'll feast like kings," agreed Skipper Ed. "Flesh as well as fish.
Great luck! Great luck! And I'll be bound not another lad of your age
could have got a bear like that with just a shotgun. Why, neither Abel
nor I would have tackled him with just a shotgun. No, sir, we wouldn't!"

And Skipper Ed put it to Abel, who declared he never would have risked a
shotgun unless he had a spear, also, to protect himself.

Deftly and quickly they skinned and dressed the carcass, wasting no part
of the flesh, save the liver, which they fed to the dogs, for, as every
one knows, the liver of the polar bear is poisonous and unfit for human
consumption.

"I could eat a steak right now," suggested Bobby, when the meat was
stowed.

But there was no time now to cook bear steaks, for a breeze had sprung
up and they must needs take advantage of it, and Skipper Ed and Jimmy
had already hoisted sail.

"Never mind," said Abel, "I'll show you! I'll show you!" and with an air
of mystery, and chuckling to himself, Abel hurriedly gathered some flat
stones which he piled into the boat.

"Now," suggested Abel, when they were at last moving, "you take the
tiller, Bobby, and we'll see about the bear steaks."

With much care he proceeded to arrange the stones in the bottom of the
boat until presently a very excellent fireplace was built, and so
arranged that the boat itself was well protected. No wood save driftwood
was to be found on Itigailit Island or on the near-by shores, and
therefore both Abel's boat and Skipper Ed's boat had been provided with
sufficient firewood to meet the needs of their camp for several days.
And so, with fuel at hand, Abel quickly had a cozy fire blazing in his
fireplace and Mrs. Abel, laughing and enjoying the novel experience of
cooking in a boat, had some tea brewing and some bear's steaks sizzling
in the pan in a jiffy.

Skipper Ed's trap boat, though a fine sea craft, was not so fast a
sailer in a light breeze as Abel's, and though Skipper Ed and Jimmy had
left the island some little time in advance the boats were now so close
that Abel could make himself heard, and standing in the bow he bawled:

"_Pujolik! Pujolik!_" (A steamer! A steamer!)

A steamship in these waters was uncommon. No steamer had ever come into
the bay, indeed--for they were still in the bay--at least within the
memory of man, and eager to see what manner of ship it might be Skipper
Ed and Jimmy were on their feet in an instant, eagerly searching the
eastern horizon.

Abel was immediately convulsed with laughter, and Mrs. Abel laughed, and
Bobby laughed, and when Skipper Ed and Jimmy, failing to discover the
steamer, or any signs of it, turned inquiringly back toward Abel, still
standing in the bow, Abel pointed to the smoke rising from the fire, and
repeated:

"_Pujolik! Pujolik_!"

Then Skipper Ed and Jimmy understood, and they laughed too. It was a
great joke, Abel thought, and for an hour afterward he indulged at
intervals in quiet chuckles, and even after the two boats had drawn
alongside, and tea and fried bear's steaks had been passed to Skipper Ed
and Jimmy, that they too might share in the feast, Abel laughed.

It was noon the following day when the boats drew up to the old landing
place on Itigailit Island, and an hour later the two tents were pitched
on Abel Zachariah's old camping ground, and everything was as snug and
settled, and they were all as perfectly at home, as though they had been
living there for months.

Then the dogs in the skiffs were brought ashore and released from their
two days' confinement, and Abel's train and Skipper Ed's train, after
the manner of Eskimo dogs, immediately engaged in a pitched battle. They
began by snarling and snapping at one another with ugly, bared fangs,
and then followed a rush toward each other and they became a rolling,
tumbling mass of fearsome, fighting creatures, and had to be beaten
asunder with stout sticks before they could be induced to settle into
their quiet and uneventful summer existence.

When all was arranged Bobby, after his custom, walked quietly back to
the cairn which he had built in previous summers to mark the grave of
the mysterious man that Abel and Mrs. Abel had buried so many years
before, and Jimmy went with him.

"I often wonder," said Bobby, as he replaced some stones that winter
storms had loosed, "who the man was and how he came by his death. I
remember I called him Uncle Robert, but I can't remember much else about
him, and that is like a dream."

"I wonder if he really was your uncle?" suggested Jimmy.

"I don't know," said Bobby. "I try to remember, until my head is
spinning with it, and sometimes it seems as though I am going to
remember what happened away back there. It's just as though I had lived
before, and I think of bright lights, and beautiful things, and
wonderful people. I wonder if Father and Mother are right, and what I
remember is heaven? Do you think so, Jimmy?"

"I--I wonder, now!" Jimmy's voice was filled with awe. "Maybe you did
come from heaven, Bobby!"

"I don't believe so," and Bobby was practical again. "I don't feel as
though I'd ever been an angel, and I don't look it, do I?"

And he squared his shoulders and laughed his good-natured, infectious
laugh, in which Jimmy joined, and the two returned to camp.

There was no floe ice on the coast now, but the sea was dotted with many
icebergs, children of the great northern glaciers, drifting southward on
the Arctic current. Some of them were small and insignificant. Others
towered in massive majesty and grandeur high above the sea, miniature
mountains of ice. Some were of solid white, but the greater part of them
reflected marvelous blues and greens and were a riot of beautiful color.

One of the smaller icebergs lying a half mile or so from Itigailit
Island attracted Bobby's attention as he and Jimmy walked back from the
cairn.

"See that berg, Jimmy?" he asked.

"The little one close in?"

"Yes. Do you know, I've got an idea. That bear meat won't keep long
unless we pack it in ice or salt it, and I'd rather have it fresh than
salted, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would!" said Jimmy.

"Then let's take your skiff--it's bigger than ours--and go for a load of
ice."

"It's dangerous to go digging on icebergs. They're like to turn over,"
suggested Jimmy.

"Oh, don't be afraid, now. Come on. There isn't any danger," said Bobby,
with impelling enthusiasm. "We can get enough ice to keep the meat fresh
until it's all used up. Come on."

And Jimmy, as was his custom when Bobby urged, agreed. Skipper Ed's
skiff lay at the landing, and arming themselves with an ax the two
pulled away unobserved.

It was a small iceberg, perhaps sixty feet in diameter, and rising not
more than twenty feet above the water. Its surface was irregular, and
there were several places where excellent footing could be had. The boat
was directed toward one of these.

"You stay in the boat," said Bobby, seizing the ax, "and I'll go aboard
her and cut the ice."

"Be careful," cautioned Jimmy.

"Oh, there's no danger," said Bobby, climbing to the iceberg.

Bobby began chopping off as large pieces as he thought he could
conveniently handle. The ice was exceedingly hard and brittle. It had
frozen centuries before, under the extremely low temperatures of the
Arctic regions. It had its beginning, perhaps, in snow deposited in some
far-off Greenland valley. Other snows had come upon it, and still other
snows, until a tremendous weight of snow pressed it, as it froze, into a
glass-like hardness.

And all the while the great mass was moving, inch by inch, and slowly,
down the long valley toward the sea. Perhaps a century passed, perhaps
two or three, or even more, centuries, before this particular portion of
the glacier, as these masses of ice between the hills are called,
reached the sea and was at last thrust out beyond the land.

And then, one day, with a report like the report of a cannon, it
separated from the mother glacier, slid out into the current, and began
its southward voyage. Months had passed since then--perhaps a year, or
even two or three years--and all the time it had been wasting away in
the water until Bobby and Jimmy found it this July day, off Itigailit
Island.

But neither Bobby as he chopped at the ice, nor Jimmy as he sat in the
boat, gave that a thought, if indeed they knew it. They were intent only
upon gathering enough of the aged ice to preserve the meat of a polar
bear.

Neither did they realize that with each stroke of the ax Bobby was
disturbing the center of gravitation of the iceberg, already delicately
balanced in the water, until presently Jimmy noticed that the side next
him was rising--very slowly and deliberately at first.

"Bobby! Look out--the berg's turning!" he shouted in a terrified voice.

Up and up went the side of the iceberg. Bobby was lost to view. Then
came a rush of water, a great deluging wave swamped the skiff, and
Jimmy went down with a crash and roar of water and crumbling ice in his
ears.




CHAPTER XII

ADRIFT ON THE OPEN SEA


As the iceberg turned, great masses of ice, some of them weighing tons,
loosened from the main body, and with loud rumbling and roar crashed
into the sea. Bobby, when he realized what was happening, began with all
his energy to scramble up the wall of ice as it rose from the water.

Fortunately it was a small iceberg, and fortunately, also, it turned
slowly and with deliberation and but a short distance, when it again
reached its equilibrium, and was still.

Bobby's life had been one of pretty constant peril and adventure, and
after the manner of wilderness dwellers he had learned resourcefulness
and self-possession. It is indeed a part of the daily training of every
lad of the wilderness, that he acquire these attributes, until at last
they become second nature to him, and instinctively he does the thing
he should do when he comes suddenly face to face with unexpected
dangers. And so it was with both Bobby and Jimmy, and thus it came about
that Bobby did not lose his head when the iceberg began to turn, and
when it was again at rest he found himself upon a high pinnacle, with
the seething waters all around him. To be sure, his heart beat faster,
and it was but natural that he should be excited, but his nerves were
nevertheless under control, and his wits, too.

From his perch upon the iceberg Bobby looked eagerly for Jimmy and the
skiff. He feared that some of the ponderous blocks of ice had fallen
upon them and crushed them, and the thought made him heart-sick for an
instant.

But presently he saw the skiff, filled with water and smothering in the
swell, and a moment later he discovered Jimmy, also smothering in the
swell, but swimming vigorously toward the iceberg. This brought him vast
relief. Jimmy was alive and apparently uninjured, and the whole
adventure became to Bobby at once an ordinary occurrence of their
every-day life, for which he was mightily thankful. To be sure it was an
unpleasant and annoying adventure, but they would escape from it, he had
no doubt, none the worse for their experience. And in this frame of mind
he clambered down the slippery sides of the ice hill to a level spot at
the water's edge, shouting in the most matter-of-fact way, as he did so:

"This way, Jimmy! This way! You can climb aboard here!"

In a few strokes Jimmy came alongside, and Bobby, taking his hand,
helped him to scramble, shivering, to the ice.

"My, Bobby, but I was glad to see you here!" Jimmy exclaimed through his
chattering teeth. "I was afraid you were done for! I was afraid it
carried you under when it turned."

"I was afraid you were done for, too!" and there was thanksgiving in
Bobby's voice. "How did it happen you got into the water? Did the ice
hit the skiff?"

"I don't know how it happened," said Jimmy. "I don't think the ice hit
the skiff, but it all came so suddenly I don't know."

"Well, here we are, and out there's the boat, and we've got to get it,"
declared Bobby. "I'm going for it."

"No, let me go. I'm wet anyhow, and I'm all right for it," Jimmy
protested. "I might have brought it in with me, but I didn't see it."

"I'm going," declared Bobby, with an accent that left no doubt he was,
as he pulled off his clothes, and his sealskin boots. "You've had your
dip, and I'm going to have one now--the first of the year."

"It's pretty cold," Jimmy cautioned. "I've been in, and I'm used to it,
and don't mind it."

But Bobby was in, and swimming for the skiff. It was, fortunately, not
above fifty or sixty feet away, for the whole occurrence had taken place
within a very few minutes' time, and the boat had not yet had time to
drift beyond reach.

A few strokes carried Bobby to the submerged skiff. He secured the
painter, which was attached to the bow, and with some hard tugging
reached the iceberg, and climbed up with Jimmy's assistance.

"You'd better take off your things and wring 'em out, while I dress,"
Bobby suggested, as he drew his clothes on.

"I guess I had," Jimmy agreed.

"Now," said Bobby, when he and Jimmy were dressed, after Jimmy had wrung
as much of the water as possible from his clothes, "we're going to have
a hard time of it getting the water out of her. How'll we do it?"

"Can't we get her alongside and turn her over?" Jimmy suggested. "We can
pull her up empty."

With some mighty pulling and hauling, and many futile efforts, they at
length succeeded, and presently the skiff was in the water again and
floating as easily as though nothing had happened and it had never once
been under the waves. And then a new problem confronted them.

"The oars! The oars are gone!" exclaimed Jimmy in consternation.

And so they were. Nowhere could they discover the oars, though they
clambered up the iceberg again and scanned the surrounding sea.

"Well," said Bobby, "that's hard luck! I wonder if we can't make father
or some one hear. Let's get up on top and yell."

From the top of the iceberg they shouted and shouted, but Mrs. Abel was
in one tent, busied with her household affairs, and Skipper Ed and Abel
were in the other tent, making ready their fishing gear, and the breeze
blew from the land, and altogether no one heard the shouting.

"No use," said Bobby at last, descending to the skiff. "I'll tell you
what we'll do. We'll knock one of the seats out, split it, and make two
paddles. They'll be short, but they'll do us to get ashore. It isn't
far."

"It looks as though it's the only thing to do, unless we want to stay
here for three or four hours," agreed Jimmy, taking the ax and knocking
out the seat. "I'm shivering cold from my wetting."

"It's lucky I hung to the ax," said Bobby, as he watched Jimmy
fashioning the paddles.

"There," said Jimmy at length, "they're pretty short paddles, but we'll
have to make 'em do. Let's get off of this."

But the tide was running out, and a very strong tide it proved, and the
breeze from the land was stiff enough, too, had there been no opposing
tide, to have made pulling against it with a good pair of oars no easy
task. All this they did not realize until they had paddled beyond the
shelter of the iceberg, for they had drawn the boat up upon its lee
side.

They put all the energy they could muster into their effort, but the
paddles were very short and very narrow, and work as they would they
presently discovered that tide and wind were mastering them, and instead
of progressing toward Itigailit Island they were drifting seaward.

"We can't make it!" said Jimmy at last.

"No," agreed Bobby. "We'll have to go back to the berg and wait for them
to come for us."

But even that they could not accomplish. Work as they would, the
paddles proved hopelessly inefficient, and after an hour's desperate
effort they realized that they were nearly as far to seaward from the
iceberg as the iceberg was from Itigailit Island.

"Well," said Bobby, at length, "we're in for it, and a fine fix it is."

"What are we going to do?" asked Jimmy. "We've _got_ to do something."

"I wish that I had some of that bear meat. I'm as hungry as the old bear
ever was," said Bobby, irrelevantly.

"Well, so am I, but we'll be hungrier than the bear ever was, I'm
thinking, if we don't do something to get to land," broke in Jimmy with
some irritation. "Why, Bobby, don't you realize what it means? We've got
no water and nothing to eat! We'll perish of thirst and hunger if we
don't get to land! Unless a sea rises and swamps us, and then we'll
drown!"

"It does look as though we were drifting to the place I came from, but
it won't do any good to worry," said Bobby. "Maybe when the tide turns
we can do something. The wind goes down with the sun every evening, and
then with the tide in our favor maybe we can make it."

"It'll be a good hour yet before the tide turns, and two or three hours
before sundown, and where'll we be then?" argued Jimmy, dejectedly. "I
wish I could be like you, Bobby, and not worry over things the way I
do."

"Well, just remember that we did the best we could to get out of the
mess after we got into it, and if we keep on doing our best that is all
we can do, and worrying won't help us any. I just feel like being
thankful that you weren't killed and we're both here safe and sound,
with an even chance that we'll get back home all right."

And so, paddling, drifting, sometimes silent for a long while, sometimes
talking, the time passed. The land faded upon the horizon and was lost.
Icebergs lay about them. Once they were startled by the thunderous roar
of a monster berg in the distance as it toppled and turned upon its
side, and later they felt its swell. Not far away a whale spouted.

Finally the sun set, and the wind died, and for a little while the
heavens and icebergs and sea were marvelously and gloriously painted
with crimson and purple and orange.

Then came the long gray twilight of the North, and at last the stars,
and night, and darkness, with the icebergs, white, spectral, and coldly
majestic, rising in silhouette against the distant sky, and the
throbbing, restless sea, somber and black, around them.




CHAPTER XIII

HOW THE "GOOD AND SURE" BROUGHT TROUBLE


The two or three hours of the midsummer Labrador night were long hours
for Bobby and Jimmy--the longest hours they had ever experienced. At
intervals, guiding their course by the stars, they paddled, and this
drove away the deadening chill that threatened to overcome them.

But at last dawn came, and with the growing light the sense of
helplessness which had enveloped them during the period of darkness fell
away, and to some extent Bobby's confidence, hopefulness, and buoyancy
of spirits returned, and he rallied Jimmy, also, into a better frame of
mind.

"Hurrah!" shouted Bobby, at length. "See there, Jimmy!"

And Jimmy, looking, saw upon the western horizon a long, gray line.

"Why, there's the land!" he exclaimed.

"Isn't it great to see it again!" said Bobby.

"Let's paddle hard, and see if we can't make it. The tide's been
drifting us in, and the paddling we've done in the night has been
helping."

"It didn't seem to, but it must have," agreed Jimmy, working as hard as
he could with his short paddle. "The exercise kept me warm, and that's
about the only good I thought it was doing, but it did help, didn't it?"

"It certainly did," agreed Bobby. "My, but I'm hungry!"

"So am I," said Jimmy. "Won't the sun feel good when it rises?"

"I wonder which way we lie from home?"

"South, of course, for that's the drift of the current. All the bergs
drift south."

"Yes, but how far?"

"Oh, I don't know, but we must be some bit south of the island."

And so they calculated and chatted, while the glow grew in the eastern
sky, and until the sun rose, at last, to comfort them and warm stiffened
fingers and chilled bodies. But with the sun a westerly breeze also set
in to retard them, and their progress was tedious and slow.

The shore still lay a long way off, though a little nearer than when
they first discovered it in the morning light, and Bobby had just
remarked that they had gained a little, when Jimmy suddenly ceased
paddling, and rising to his feet gazed eagerly to the southward.

"What is it?" asked Bobby. "What do you see?"

"A sail! A sail!" Jimmy almost shouted a moment later. "I wasn't sure at
first, but now I'm certain!"

Bobby was on his feet in an instant, and the two, balancing themselves
dexterously while the skiff rose and fell upon the swell, watched
excitedly as the sail increased in size.

"It's a schooner!" said Jimmy.

"And it'll pick us up!" said Bobby.

"If it doesn't pass too far to windward to see us," suggested Jimmy.

"They'll be sure to see us," insisted the optimistic Bobby. "They can't
pass between us and the land without seeing us."

And so it came to pass. Nearer and nearer the schooner drew, until at
length her whole black hull was visible, and then Bobby and Jimmy took
off their jackets and waved them and waved them, until presently men
crowded at the rail of the schooner and waved in answer, and in due
time, when the schooner came abreast of them, a boat was lowered, and
pointed directly toward them.

"Now we'll be all right," said Bobby, with immense relief, as they
watched the four long oars, pulled by four husky men, rise and fall and
glint in the sunshine, while a fifth man sculled astern. "They'll either
drop us in at Itigailit Island or lend us oars for the skiff!"

"Yes, and it's great luck for us that they saw us," remarked Jimmy. "I
don't believe we ever could have made land with these short paddles."

"The first thing I want is something to eat and drink," declared Bobby.
"I'm getting hungrier every minute."

But the boat was upon them already, and they were soon to have a plenty
to eat, and the adventure after all had amounted to nothing but a little
inconvenience. It was all in a day's work, and already they had
forgotten the dismal night, or if they had not in fact forgotten it they
had at least put it behind them as an experience of small importance.

"Look sharp now, lads!" shouted the man at the sculling oar, as the boat
and the skiff, rising and falling upon the swell, approached each other.
"Look sharp! Now, heave her, b'y!"

And Jimmy, in the bow of the skiff, with coiled painter ready, tossed it
to one of the men. The boats were straightened out, the skiff drawn
alongside, and in a moment Jimmy and Bobby were aboard, with Skipper
Ed's skiff trailing behind.

"Why, it's Skipper Ed's partner an' Abel Zachariah's lad! My eyes! My
eyes now! And whatever brings you driftin' around the sea at this time
of the mornin', and with nary an oar?" exclaimed the man astern, who
proved to be Captain Higgles of the Newfoundland fishing schooner _Good
and Sure_, who for as long as the lads could remember had anchored for
at least one night each summer on his outward voyage down north, or on
his homeward voyage south, in the shelter of the island upon which
Skipper Ed had always fished, or behind Itigailit Island. And so it
happened that Captain Higgles recognized Bobby and Jimmy, and they
recognized him.

"Oh," explained Bobby, "we were getting ice off a berg yesterday, when
she shifted and turned us over and we lost our oars."

"Yesterday, was it? And so you young scallawags ha' been cruisin' about
since yesterday, eh, with nary an oar. Now listen t' that, b'ys!
Cruisin' around with nary an oar! My eyes! Oh, my eyes!" and the captain
roared with laughter, as though it were a great joke, and the four
seamen laughed with him.

"And neither of you'd be eatin' a biscuit, an' drinkin' a mug o' tea,
now, if you had un!" he continued. "I'll be bound both o' you young
daredevils'd turn up your nose at a mug o' tea and a biscuit, now.
Wouldn't ye?"

"No, sir," said Jimmy, "we wouldn't turn up our nose at anything good to
eat."

"I could eat the oarlocks this minute!" broke in Bobby.

At which Captain Higgles exclaimed, "My eyes! Oh, my eyes!" and indulged
in another burst of hearty guffaws.

"Well, b'ys," said the captain, "I know how you feels, an' I knows where
you'll get th' tea and th' biscuit. An' th' cook aboard th' _Good an'
Sure_'ll show you."

"Thank you," said Bobby.

'"Twere lucky I sees you," continued the captain. "There's a sick lad
with a rash aboard, an' it's a wonderful troublesome rash, and makes he
sick. I were just turnin' in t' see Skipper Ed, thinkin' he might know
what t' do for the little lad t' relieve he, when we sights you."

"What, sir!" exclaimed Jimmy, "are we as far south as that?"

"Aye," said the captain, "we're just t' th' s'uth'ard o' Skipper Ed's
fishin' place. An' weren't you comin' from there when you goes adrift?"

"No, sir," explained Jimmy. "Partner and I are down at Itigailit Island
with Abel Zachariah this year, and we went adrift from there."

"An' there we goes, then!" said the captain. "Another hour's sail, but
time saved. Lucky for you that we sights you, an' lucky for th' sick
lad, an' lucky for me--lucky all around. My eyes! 'Tis like t' be a
lucky day."

And so it came about that Bobby and Jimmy were presently aboard the
_Good and Sure_, satisfying an accumulated and vast appetite upon
Captain Higgles' good hardtack and tea, while the schooner laid her
course for Itigailit Island.

An hour later, as the captain had predicted, the _Good and Sure_ came to
off Abel Zachariah's fishing place, and almost before the anchor chains
had ceased rattling Skipper Ed and Abel pulled alongside in a boat and
were expressing their relief upon the safe return of the two lads, whose
sudden and unexplained disappearance had puzzled them and caused them a
deal of worry.

"I finds th' young scallawags driftin' around th' sea, and bearin' no
course whatever," explained Captain Higgles, "an' I picks un up as
salvage. But I don't want un. My eyes! I don't want un. I don't want any
such two scallawags as they about the _Good an' Sure_. They'd be causin'
me no end o' trouble, and you can have un free o' charge if you'll but
take a look at a sick lad I has below, sir, an' tell us what t' do for
un. 'Tis Hen. Blink's lad, sir. He has a wonderful rash all over he--my
eyes, 'tis a wonderful rash, and it makes th' lad sick."

Skipper Ed followed the captain to the cluttered little cabin, and Abel
and Jimmy and Bobby, curious to see the wonderful rash, also followed.

The lad, a boy of ten years or thereabouts, was stretched upon a bunk,
and he was indeed afflicted with a wonderful rash. The moment Skipper Ed
set eyes upon him his face assumed a very grave expression. He asked
several questions, which the child's mother answered, and then he asked
the boy:

"How you feeling, little lad?"

"Terrible sick," answered the boy, "but I'd be fine if I could go above
deck, sir."

"'Twill never do for you to go above deck with this rash," said Skipper
Ed, "but there'll be better luck by and by, lad; better luck, lad."

And then he directed the mother to give the child no cold drink, to keep
him below decks, and not on any account to permit him to become chilled
until the rash had disappeared and he felt quite well and normal again.
To this he added some simple directions as to food.

"Is I goin' t' die?" asked the boy anxiously.

"No, no, lad, not if you do as your mother tells you, now. You'll be
all right, but it'll be some time. Can't weigh your anchor and hoist
your sails for a little while. Better luck by and by, though."

"What's th' matter with un, Skipper?" asked Captain Higgles when they
were again on deck.

"Measles," answered Skipper Ed.

"Measles! Measles!" exclaimed the Captain in instant consternation. "My
eyes! Oh--my--eyes! And we're all like to cotch measles! And measles
kills folks! Oh--my--eyes! 'Tis like t' ruin th' v'yage!"

"'Tis too bad, but it can't be helped," Skipper Ed sympathized. "The lad
has the measles, and if any of you haven't had measles you're likely to
get 'em now. The only thing for you to do if any one breaks out with the
rash, is to treat him just as I said to treat the boy. Don't let 'em go
out or get chilled till the rash is well."

"My eyes!" said Captain Higgles. "Measles! 'Tis a wonderful dangerous
complaint. I minds when th' folks cotched un one summer in Black Run
Harbor, and most every one that cotched un died! Oh, my eyes!"

"Aye, 'tis like t' be a dangerous complaint down here on The Labrador,
where we folk have poor means for caring for our sick," agreed Skipper
Ed, dropping into the dialect of the people, as he often did when
conversing with them. "But you have a schooner, and you're not so badly
off as we are in our tents."

"My eyes!" repeated Captain Higgles. "Measles! 'Tis like t' ruin th'
v'yage!"

The _Good and Sure_ spread her canvas and sailed away that morning, and
quite as though nothing had occurred to disturb the even tenor of their
every-day existence Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Bobby and Jimmy
turned their attention to jigging cod, and Mrs. Abel to splitting the
fish and spreading them to dry, and all worked from morning until night
each day, that none of the harvest might be lost, for that year there
was a plentiful run of fish.

But Skipper Ed had something on his mind. After the departure of the
_Good and Sure_ his face looked troubled, and more than once he
murmured, "Better luck, I hope. Better luck." And as the days passed his
anxiety increased, and Bobby and Jimmy frequently surprised him looking
intently at them.

Then came a morning when Bobby complained of feeling ill, and Skipper Ed
directed that he must not go with the others of them to jig, but must
remain in the tent, and he prepared a hot drink for Bobby, and wrapped
the lad warmly in blankets. That very day Jimmy, too, fell ill, and Abel
fell ill, and a day later Mrs. Abel also complained. "Measles," said
Skipper Ed.

And measles it was, and a serious condition of affairs confronted
Skipper Ed. He gave up his fishing and devoted his whole attention to
his four patients, and he thanked the Lord that he himself had passed
through the ordeal as a child, and was immune.

Because the people on the Labrador can seldom be brought to understand
that a patient with this ailment must be kept warm and free from
exposure or chill until the period of rash is passed, it is too often a
fatal disease there--and an epidemic is sure to result in many deaths.
In tent life, in time of gales and driving storms, it is frequently
difficult, and sometimes indeed impossible, to properly care for the
patients, for the tents of the people are seldom stormproof or
rainproof.

And so it was that Skipper Ed, who was not only nurse but cook, was more
than occupied. There were times when confinement grew irksome to his
patients, and at those times he was compelled to resort even to force to
prevent one or another from going out into the chilling sea breeze. And
one morning Bobby did evade him and go out, and became chilled, and the
following day lay, as Skipper Ed verily believed, at the door of death.




CHAPTER XIV

VISIONS IN DELIRIUM


There came a terrible day and night when Bobby's life hung in the
balance. A burning fever was upon him. His reason wandered, and he
talked of strange things.

"Mamma! Mamma!" he called, and time and again he plead: "Uncle Robert,
give me a drink of water! Uncle Robert, I'm so thirsty! Oh, I'm so
thirsty!"

And then it would be Abel Zachariah or Mrs. Abel, or Jimmy, or Skipper
Ed himself, who was addressed. Every subject under the sun was running
through Bobby's poor, delirious mind. Sometimes he spoke in Eskimo,
sometimes in English. "Father!" he would cry, "see this cod. He's a fine
one! We'll have a fine catch this season." And so he would ramble along
about the fishing for a time, and then perhaps grow silent, only to
resume, upon some other thought.

After each brief silence there was something new. Perhaps he was warning
Jimmy to run, or declaring that he knew he could get the bear if he only
had time to load. Or perhaps he was telling Mrs. Abel that he was tired,
oh, so tired, and begging her to sing a lullaby to him as she used to do
when he was little.

Skipper Ed, foreseeing this state of affairs, had removed his other
patients, who were now convalescing, to his own tent, where he gave them
strict instructions as to their conduct, and such casual attention as he
could. But for the most part he remained with Bobby. Indeed, during the
day and night of Bobby's delirium he scarcely left Bobby's side for an
instant. And more than once during this period of vigil and fear and
foreboding Skipper Ed fell upon his knees and poured out his soul to the
Great Master in an appeal for his young friend's life.

It was near sunrise on the second morning of his delirium that Bobby
suddenly ceased to speak and lay very quiet--so quiet that an awful
dread came into Skipper Ed's heart. He leaned over the still form and
with fearful apprehension listened for breathing that he could not hear,
and felt for heart beats that were too faint for his discovery.

And then again he fell upon his knees, for he was a God-fearing man and
he had the love of God in his heart, and he prayed that if it were not
too late God in His goodness would again place the breath of life into
Bobby and return him to them. He prayed aloud, and as he prayed the
tears ran down his weather-beaten cheeks.

At last he rose. Bobby's face had assumed an unnatural, peaceful repose.
The color had left the cheeks that had been fever flushed for so long.
The lips were partly open, and there was no movement or sign of life.

Skipper Ed staggered to the tent front, and thrusting the flaps aside
staggered out. The world lay quiet and serene, as though it held no
grief. The waves lapped gently against the rocks. The sky was afire with
radiant beauty.

For a long while Skipper Ed stood there, his face drawn and haggard,
his tall form bent, uncertain which way to turn or what to do. Presently
the fire faded from the sky, a breeze sent a ripple over the calm
waters, and the big sun rose out of the sea, as though to ask him why he
mourned. And then he whispered, "Thy will be done. If it is Thy will to
take him from us, oh God, give us the strength and courage to accept our
bereavement like men."

Then it was that a new, strange peace came upon Skipper Ed, and he
reentered the tent, to stoop again over Bobby's couch, and as he did so
his heart gave a bound of joy, and a lump came into his throat. Bobby
was breathing--ever so softly--but breathing.

With the passing minutes the steady, regular breathing became more
apparent, the pulse asserted itself and grew stronger, and at the end of
an hour, when Bobby at last opened his eyes Skipper Ed saw that reason
had returned to them.

"I've--been--asleep--dreaming--queer--dreams," Bobby murmured faintly.

"Yes," said Skipper Ed, "you've been asleep."

"I--feel--very--weak."

"Yes, you're very weak, for you've been very sick, lad," and Skipper Ed,
choking back his emotion, added cheerily: "But there's better luck for
you now, lad. Better luck."

"May--I--have--a--drink?"

Skipper Ed poured some water into a tin cup, and supporting Bobby's
head, held the cup to his parched lips.

"Father--and mother--and Jimmy--where--are--they?" Bobby feebly asked,
for even in sickness his eye was quick to note their absence.

"They're in my tent. Nearly well, but not well enough to go out and get
chilled, though they're ready enough for it, and tired enough of staying
in," said Skipper Ed.

And then, wearied with the exertion, Bobby fell into deep and
strength-restoring slumber, and Skipper Ed joined the others to cheer
their hearts with the good news that Bobby's illness had passed its
climax, and to rejoice with them over a meager breakfast.

With the passing days Bobby grew rapidly stronger, and the others were
able to be out and at their duties again. And in due time Bobby, too,
was out on the rocks enjoying the sunlight, with his old vigor daily
asserting itself.

But hours of sunshine were few now, and more often than not the sky was
leaden and somber, and the wind blew raw and cold, and already the
clouds were spitting snow. The fishing season had passed almost before
they realized it. The weeks of idleness had been costly ones, and when
the time came for them to return to the cabins at the head of Abel's
Bay, and make ready for winter, they had garnered little of the harvest
that had promised so well.

"Every season can't be a good one for us," remarked Skipper Ed as they
struck their camp. "Better luck next year; better luck. And we should be
mighty thankful we're all alive and all well. That's good luck--good
luck, after all."

But they were to be denied many things that winter that the fish they
had not caught would have brought them. The little luxuries in which
they had always indulged occasionally were not to be thought of; and
pork, which is almost a necessity, was to become a rarity and a luxury
to them, and there were to be times when even the flour barrel would be
empty.

But this was a part of the ups and downs of their life, and one and all
they accepted the condition cheerfully, for who, they said, does not
have to endure privations now and again? And they had always done very
well in other years, and the needs of life are small; and so they had no
complaint to make. Comfort and privation are, after all, measured
largely by contrast, and what to them would have been comfortable and
luxurious living would have seemed to you and me little less than
unendurable hardship.

Bobby and Jimmy were as glad, now, to return to the snug cabins as they
had been to set out for Itigailit Island in the summer, and as they
looked back over the few short weeks, the July day when they had their
adventure with the bear seemed to them a long, long while ago.

And when the boats were loaded Bobby ran up to say good-bye for a
season to the cairn and the dead man mouldering beneath it, and to the
wide open sea, and the misty horizon out of which he had drifted, and
then they hoisted sail and were off.

Another long winter with its bitter cold and drifting snow, its joys and
its hardships and adventures, was at hand.




CHAPTER XV

MAROONED IN AN ARCTIC BLIZZARD


That was indeed a winter of bitter cold and of almost unexampled
severity. It came suddenly, too, and with scant warning, as we shall
see, and a full fortnight in advance of the time when it should have
come.

Abel and Skipper Ed took Jimmy with them that year upon their autumn
seal hunt. It was deemed wise to leave Bobby behind with Mrs. Abel,
despite his protest. Though he was willing enough to remain when Mrs.
Abel declared that because of her recent illness she wished some one to
stay at home and assist her, for she did not feel equal to the task,
unassisted, of making things snug for the winter. And of course there
was none but Bobby to stay.

And so it came about that Bobby, with many longings and regrets, though
cheerful enough withal, stood down on the beach one frosty September
morning and watched Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy sail away
for the hunt, while he comforted himself with the thought that another
year he, too, would go.

Indeed, he had already taken part in the spring hunt, and though he gave
no hint that he had guessed what was in their minds, he knew well enough
that the plea that he was needed at home to assist Mrs. Abel at the work
was a subterfuge of his foster parents, instigated, he had no doubt, by
Skipper Ed. He was also satisfied that the real reason why he was left
at home was because they deemed him not yet strong enough, as a result
of his own recent illness, to withstand the unavoidable exposure and
hardships to which the seal hunters would be subjected on the open and
unprotected coast. And he had to confess to himself that he had not
indeed recovered the full measure of his activity and hardihood, and
that there was reason and justice in their course.

A raw wind was blowing, but a fair wind, and in a little while the boat,
bowling before the breeze with all sail set, was lost to view. Then,
disconsolately, Bobby turned back to the cabin, but Mrs. Abel took good
care that he was kept so busy that he soon forgot his disappointment in
work.

And that day he and Mrs. Abel had a jolly dinner of boiled goose, and
tea, and that evening they sat a full hour beyond their bedtime while
she recounted to him in her own quaint way the story of his coming from
the place where mists and storms are born, and told him how he was sent
by God to be their son, and how little he was, and how ill he was when
Abel first placed him in her arms, and how she had hugged him to her,
and had nursed away his fever, and how glad she and Abel had always been
that God had sent them a son.

The days passed thus until they lengthened into a week. Though Bobby was
content enough, it was but natural that he should be a bit lonesome now
and again, and eagerly wish the fortnight gone that yet must pass
before the return of the seal hunters.

The wild geese and ducks were still in flight, coming in great flocks
from the lakes of the vast unknown interior and from the farther north,
on their way to milder southern climes. There were several marshes near
Abel's Bay where the migrating flocks tarried for a time to rest and
feed, and of mornings they would pass with a great roar of wings and
loud honking from the bay to these marshes, and at night they would
return.

It was Bobby's custom morning and night to lie in wait for them with his
shotgun, and he always returned to the cabin with as many birds as he
could carry. These were hung in the entrance shed of the cabin, where
they would freeze and remain fresh and good until needed for the table.
And thus he too was doing his part in providing for the long winter
which was at hand.

The goose-hunting season was always one of great sport for Bobby, but
this year he found it lonesome enough without Jimmy's company. It was
this loneliness, no doubt, that prompted him, one morning in the
beginning of the second week after the departure of the seal hunters, to
take Abel Zachariah's old skiff and pull far down the bay in the hope
that he might kill a seal on his own account. It was a gray day, with
leaden clouds hanging low. Patches of snow lay upon the ground. The bay,
throbbing with a gentle swell, was somber and dark.

Bobby rowed the old skiff down the bay and past the bird islands near
which he and Jimmy had their adventure on the cliff, but no seals were
to be seen, and presently he turned his attention to the numerous sea
pigeons which were swimming here and there. The young birds were quite
full-grown now, and it was great fun shooting at them and watching them
dive and rise again unharmed, though sometimes one would be just a
fraction of a second too slow and the shot would find it, and then its
downy body would float upon the water, and Bobby would pick it up and
drop it into the boat and turn his attention to another, which might
escape, or might be added to Bobby's bag.

This was exciting sport--so exciting that Bobby could not bring himself
to give it up until a full two hours past noonday, and even then he
would not have done so had not a rising northeast wind created a chop
which made shooting from the skiff so difficult and inaccurate that it
lost its interest.

Then Bobby discovered that he was possessed of a great hunger, and he
ran the skiff ashore on a wooded point, and in a snug hollow in the lee
of a knoll and surrounded by a grove of thick spruce trees, where he was
well sheltered from the keen northeast wind, he lighted a fire, plucked
and dressed one of the fifteen sea pigeons he had secured, and impaling
it upon a stick proceeded to grill it for his dinner.

He was thus busily engaged when snow began to fall. Thicker and thicker
it came, but Bobby was well protected and he finished his cooking and
his meal without a thought of danger or concern for his safety. And,
when he had eaten, reluctant to leave his cozy fire, he tarried still
another half hour.

"Well," said he, rising at length, "the snow's getting thick and I'd
better be pulling back. My! I didn't know it was so late! It's getting
dusk, already, and it'll be good and dark before I get home!"

Then, to his amazement, he discovered when he emerged from his
sheltered nook that the wind had risen tremendously, that the cold had
visibly increased, and that the chop had developed into a considerable
sea, and that the snow, too, driving before the wind, was blinding
thick.

Bobby was not, however, alarmed, though he realized there was no time
to be lost if he would reach home before the full force of the rising
blizzard was upon him, and he chided himself for his delay. But the old
skiff was a good sea boat, and Bobby was a good sea-man, and he pulled
fearlessly out upon the wind-swept waters. And here the driving snow
soon swallowed up the land, but Bobby was not afraid, and pulling with
all his might turned down before the storm.

For a little while all went well, and Bobby was congratulating himself
that after all he would reach home before it became too dark to see.
Then suddenly a big sea broke over his stern, and left the skiff half
filled with water. This was serious. He could not relinquish the oars to
bail out the water. Another such deluge would smother him.

Then he realized that the seas had grown too big for him to weather, and
his one hope was to make a landing. He searched his mind for a section
of the shore within his reach, sufficiently free from jagged rocks and
sufficiently sheltered to offer him a safe landing, and all at once he
bethought himself of the bird island where he and Jimmy had gone egging,
and which he had visited many times since.

He was, fortunately, very near the island and when he heard the surf
beating upon its rocky shores he determined quickly to make an effort to
run upon its lee shore. Here, he argued, he could bail the water from
the skiff, and then could pull across to the mainland, where he could
haul up the skiff and walk home. It would be a disagreeable tramp in the
storm, but it was his safest and his only course.

But even in the lee of the island the seas were running high and dashing
upon the rocks with such force that for the instant he held off,
hesitating. There was no other course, however. The half-submerged skiff
would never live to reach the mainland. With every passing minute
conditions were growing worse.

And so, watching for an opportune moment, Bobby drove for the shore. A
roller carried the skiff on its crest, dropped it with a crash upon the
rocks, and receded. Bobby sprang out, seized the painter, and running
forward secured it to a bowlder, that the next sea might not carry it
away.

Then, watching his opportunity, little by little and with much tugging
and effort, he drew the skiff to a safe position beyond the waves, and
as he did so he discovered that the water which it held ran freely out
of it, and that one of its planks had been smashed, and in the bottom of
the skiff was a great hole.

And there he was, wet to the skin, stranded upon a wind-swept, treeless
island, with a useless skiff and with never a tool--not even an ax--with
which to make repairs. And there he was, too, without shelter, and the
first terrible blizzard of a Labrador winter rising, in its fury and
awful cold, about him. And whether or not there was any wood about that
could be gathered with bare hands he did not know. But more important
than wood was cover from the storm, for without protection from the
blizzard Bobby was well aware he could never survive the night.




CHAPTER XVI

A SNUG REFUGE


The weather had suddenly become intensely cold, and Bobby's wet
clothing was already stiff with ice. The northeast wind, laden with
Arctic frost, swept the island with withering blasts, and cut to the
bone.

The wind was rising, too, and there was no doubt that with darkness it
would attain the velocity of a gale, and the storm the proportions of a
sub-Arctic blizzard. Snow was already falling heavily, and presently it
would be driving and swirling in dense, suffocating clouds. Winter had
fallen like a thunderbolt from heaven.

But Bobby never permitted himself to worry needlessly. He was not one of
those who with the least difficulty plunge into unnecessary
discouragement and lose their capacity for action. It was not in his
nature to waste his time and opportunities and energies worrying about
what might happen, but what in the end rarely did happen. He conserved
his mental and physical powers, and turned his mind and muscles into
vigorous and practical action. And like every fortunate possessor of
this valuable faculty, Bobby more often than not raised success out of
failure.

And so it came to pass that when Bobby found himself cast away upon the
naked rocks of a small and treeless sub-Arctic island, with no shelter
from the awful cold of a driving blizzard, and with no other tools than
his hands, he did not give up and say, "This is the end," and then sit
down to wait for the pitiless cold to end his sufferings. What he did
say was:

"Well, here I am in another mess, and I've got to find some way out of
it."

He examined the skiff carefully and the examination satisfied him that
it was too badly injured to be repaired with the means at his command,
and so with all his energy he set himself at once to making himself as
comfortable as the conditions and the surroundings would permit.

First he scoured the island for wood, for he knew that presently the
storm and blizzard would rise to such proportions as to render any
efforts to find wood impossible, and any attempt to move about perilous,
and therefore no time must be lost.

In a little while he succeeded in collecting a considerable amount of
driftwood, and when he turned his attention to other things he had the
consolation of knowing that the gale would sweep the snow from the rocks
and into the sea, and that any wood that he had overlooked in his
search, or had no time now to gather, would be left uncovered, where he
could find it when the blizzard was past and he could go abroad again.

He piled his fuel by the side of a big, high, smooth-faced bowlder which
he had purposely chosen because of its location, not far from the place
where he had been driven ashore, and on the lee side of the island. The
smooth face of this bowlder looked toward the water, and with its back
toward the wind it offered a fairly good wind-break, and a considerable
drift had already formed against its face, or sheltered, side, where the
snow lodged as it was driven in swirling gusts around its ends or swept
over its top.

When his wood was gathered, Bobby with much effort dragged the boat to
the rock, and then working hard and fast cleared away the snow as best
he could with the aid of sticks and feet from the smooth rock bed in
front of the bowlder, and on which the bowlder rested. He now carried
from the innumerable stones lying about upon the wind-swept rocks,
sufficient to build at right angles to the bowlder two rough walls about
two feet high and as long as the width of the boat. These walls were
perhaps eight feet apart, and when they were finished he raised the
boat, bottom up, upon them, the after part of the boat resting upon one,
the prow extending over the other, and the side of the boat shoved back
flush against the bowlder face.

Thus he made for himself a covered shelter, and the front of this he
enclosed with other stones, save for a space three feet wide in the
center, which he reserved for a door. From low spruce bushes--for there
were no trees on the island--he now gathered a quantity of brush and
arranged it under the boat for a bed.

Dusk was settling before these arrangements had been completed. When all
was at length as snug as his ingenuity could make it in the short time
at his disposal, he stored as much of the wood, under the boat as the
limited space would allow and still permit him room to stretch with
some comfort; and as quickly as possible he built a small fire just
outside the door. Already snow had drifted around the ends and on top of
the boat and his little fire reflecting heat within soon made his
covered nook comfortable enough.

Fourteen sea pigeons would make fourteen meals, though scant ones for a
husky fellow like Bobby. Now he was hungry enough, as indeed he always
was at meal hour and it did not take him long to pluck and dress one of
the birds, and in short order it was grilling merrily on the end of a
stick. There was no bread to keep the grilled sea pigeon company, but
Bobby did not mind in the least. Indeed, this lack of variety was no
hardship. He often dined upon meat alone, and now he was thankful enough
to have the sea pigeons, or indeed anything.

But almost before his supper was cooked the little fire, deluged with
clouds of snow, dried out and refused to burn, and it became evident to
Bobby that he must face the night without fire, and resort to other
means to protect himself in his narrow quarters from freezing. He was
already ashiver and his hands and feet were numb.

He had no blanket, and no other covering than the wet clothes he wore,
and he closed the door of his shelter as best he could with the sticks
of driftwood which were stored under the boat. There was nothing else to
be done.

The cold had become intense. The storm demon had broken loose in all its
fury and was lashing sea and land in wild frenzy. The shrieking wind,
the dull, thunderous pounding of the waves upon the rocks and the hiss
of driving snow, filled the air with a tumult that was little less than
terrifying.

No man unsheltered could have survived an hour upon the exposed rocks of
the blizzard-swept island, and cold and shivering as he was, Bobby gave
thanks for his narrow little cover under the boat, which in contrast to
the world outside appealed to him now as an exceedingly snug retreat. It
was safe for a little while, at least, and here he hoped he might have
the strength to weather the storm in safety.

And while he lay and listened to the roar and tumult of the storm,
presently he became aware that he was growing warmer. His shivering
ceased. The bitter chill of the first half hour after his fire went out
passed away, and in a little while to his astonishment he discovered
that he was not after all so uncomfortable.

"The snow must have covered me all up," he exclaimed with sudden
enlightenment, "and I'll be at the bottom of a big drift pretty soon,
and that's what's making me warm."

It was dark, and he struck a match to investigate, and sure enough,
every chink and crevice, even his door, was packed with snow, and not a
breath of air stirred within. Gradually the sound of the shrieking wind
and pounding sea seemed farther and farther away, and he heard it as one
hears something in the distance.

"Mother's going to be scared for me," he mused, as he rearranged his bed
of boughs. "She'll think I'm lost, and I'm sorry. She'll be all right
when I get home, though. It is a fine mess to get into."

Then his thoughts turned to Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy,
somewhere out on the coast and weathering the same storm. But they had a
tent and a stove, and they would be comfortable enough, he had no doubt.

But there was the seal hunt. Winter had come to cut off the seal hunt
two weeks too soon, and they could scarcely have made a beginning. That
was a serious matter. The failure of the fishing season, now coupled
with an undoubted failure of the autumn seal hunt, would pinch them
harder than they had ever been pinched before. Without the seals they
would not be able to keep all of their dogs, and the dogs were a
necessity of their life.

All of these thoughts passed through Bobby's mind as he lay in the dense
darkness of his den. But he was young and he was optimistic, and
disturbing thoughts presently gave way to a picture of the snug little
cabin at the head of Abel's Bay and of its roaring fire in the big box
stove, and with the picture the sound of the storm drew farther and
farther away until it became at last one of Mrs. Abel's quaint Eskimo
lullabies, that she crooned to him when he was little, and Bobby slept.

And there under the snow drift he slept as peacefully as he could have
slept in his bed at home in the cabin at Abel's Bay, and just as
peacefully as he could ever have slept in a much finer bed in that misty
and forgotten past before he drifted down from the sea to be a part of
the life of the stern and desolate Labrador.

And so God prepares and tempers us, to our lot, and shows us how to be
happy and content, if we are willing, in whatever land He places us,
and with whatever He provides for us. And thus He was tempering Bobby
and directing him to his destiny.




CHAPTER XVII

PRISONER ON A BARREN ISLAND


Because his bed of boughs was snug and comfortable, and because there
was nothing else to do and nowhere to go, and it was the best way,
anyhow, to spend the hours of imprisonment that would last until the
blizzard spent itself, Bobby gave himself the luxury of a long sleep.
But even then it was still dark when he awoke, and at first he was
puzzled, for he was sure he had slept away hours enough for daylight to
have come. He could hear the raging storm and pounding seas in a muffled
roar, as though far away, while he lay for a little while wondering at
the darkness.

The air had grown close and stifling, and presently he arose and struck
a match. It glowed for a moment but refused to burn. He struck another
and then another, with like result. The matches were perfectly dry, for
he carried them in a small, closely corked bottle. He could not
understand it in the least. He struck another. It flashed, but like the
others went out.

Then he suddenly remembered that Skipper Ed had once said fire would not
burn in air from which the oxygen had been taken, for then the air would
be "dead," and that a person would exhaust all the air in a close room
in a short time, and therefore rooms should be well ventilated. And with
this he realized what had happened. His air had been cut off and all
that remained was dead.

The drift had covered his den to a great depth while he slept, and the
wind had packed the snow so hard that the air could no longer circulate
through it.

It was necessary that an opening be made quickly or he would smother,
and this he set about to do with all his might. He removed some of the
sticks with which he had closed the doorway, and using one of them as a
tool dug away the snow, until light at last began to filter through, and
he knew it was day, and presently he broke the outer crust of the drift.
A flood of pure but bitterly cold air poured in upon him, and he
breathed deeply and felt refreshed.

He had dug his opening straight out from the place which he had arranged
for a door, and he now made it large enough to permit the passage of his
body as he crawled upon hands and knees.

The storm had in no degree abated. The velocity of the wind was so
terrific that had Bobby not stood in the shelter of the drift-covered
bowlder he could not have kept upon his feet. The air was so filled with
driving snow as to be suffocating. A tremendous sea was running and
great waves were pounding and breaking upon the rocks with terrific
roar, though no glimpse of them could he get through the snow clouds
that enveloped him.

There was nothing to be done but to return to his burrow and make
himself as comfortable as circumstances would permit. His first care
was to clear away the snow which he had thrown back under the boat as
he dug his way out, and which partially filled his cave. And when this
was done he selected a sharp stick and with it made three or four air
holes in the roof of the drift above his door, to furnish ventilation,
for it was not long before the entrance of the passageway was again
closed.

Bobby was very hungry, as every healthy boy the world over is sure to be
when he rises in the morning, and when he had completed the ventilation
of his cave to his satisfaction he proceeded to make a small fire over
which to grill one of his birds, never doubting the smoke would pass out
of the ventilating holes that he had made through the top of the drift.
But to his chagrin the smoke did not rise and was presently so thick as
to blind and choke him, and he found it necessary to put the fire out.
And so it came about that in the end he had to content himself with
eating his sea pigeon uncooked, which after all was no great hardship.

All that day and all the next day the storm continued and Bobby was held
prisoner in his cave, and he was thankful enough that he had the cave to
shelter him.

When he awoke, however, on the morning of the third day of his
captivity, and forced his way out of doors, he was met by sunshine and
his heart bounded with joy. It was only behind bowlders and the clumps
of bushes scattered here and there, and in sheltered corners where
drifts had formed, that snow remained upon the island. Elsewhere the
wind had swept the rocks clean.

The gale that had racked the world had passed, but a brisk breeze was
blowing down from the north, sharp with winter cold. The sea, too, had
subsided, though even yet big rollers were driving and pounding upon the
rocky shore.

"Now," said Bobby, "with the first calm night, when the water quiets
down, the bay will freeze, and then I can walk in on the ice. But
they'll have to hurry in from the seal hunt or they'll be caught out
there and won't be able to bring the boat in this winter. I can stand it
a little while, and I hope the freeze-up won't come till they get back
home."

But Bobby lost no time in needless calculation. What was of highest
immediate importance was the satisfaction of his appetite, which as
usual was protesting against delay.

He had been eating raw sea pigeon quite long enough, and he proposed now
to enjoy the great treat of a grilled bird. And so without troubling
himself with vain regrets of what he might have done or might not have
done, he proceeded to fetch wood from his cave and to build a fire, and
a good one it was to be, too, in the lee of his bowlder. And when the
wood was crackling merrily he made a comfortable seat of boughs upon
which to sit while he cooked and ate the one sea pigeon which he allowed
himself.

Bobby had never eaten a sea pigeon that seemed quite so small as that
one, and it required a large degree of self-denial and self-restraint to
observe the rule of economy which he had imposed upon himself on the
evening he was wrecked. He had decided then that two sea pigeons a day,
one in the morning and one in the evening, were all he could afford. For
who could tell how long it might be before he would make his escape? And
there were no birds or other game to be had on the island at this
season, and when those he had were gone there would be hungry days to
face. Though he declared to himself when picking the last bone of his
breakfast that he could never possibly be any hungrier than at that very
moment.

Nor could he afford a large fire in future. He calculated that he had
already collected enough wood to last him, with small and carefully
constructed fires, one day, and a survey of the island and its
possibilities revealed the fact that all the additional fuel he could
garner from the rocks would scarcely last him, even with rigid economy,
another week.

While confined to his cave during the period of the blizzard he had
satisfied his thirst with bits of ice. Now his fire was built close to a
little hollow in the rock, and, placing snow near the fire, it melted,
and the water running into the hollow settled there, and gave him drink.

And so, making the best of his resources, Bobby prepared for his siege,
which he felt quite sure would end only when the bay froze and he could
make his escape over the ice. A great part of the daylight hours were
spent in collecting bits of wood. This kept him exercising, and kept
his blood warm.

Already the sea was smoking. The freeze-up was close at hand. With each
hour the merciless winter cold increased in strength. That evening when
he entered his cave he closed the entrance with snow, that it might be
kept warm, but nevertheless he spent an uncomfortable night, and he was
glad enough to crawl out in the morning and light his fire.

That was a cheerless day. The sun shone through a gray veil, and offered
little warmth. There was no more wood to gather, and to save his little
stock he ran up and down upon the rocks that he might drive away the
cold with exercise.

The sun was low when he lighted his evening fire, and as he prepared his
sea pigeon for supper he remembered with regret that he had but one bird
remaining.

"And I've been hungry ever since I've been here," he remarked to
himself. "I'm half starved this minute."

He was thinking a great deal now of what he should have to eat when he
reached home, and planning for this and that. And, oh, for some good
hot tea!

And so, thinking, and dreading to go to his cheerless cave, he sat while
his fire burned low and the sun sank from sight and the long and gloomy
twilight gathered.

"I'll spare another stick or two," he said, replenishing the fire. "I
can't go into that hole yet."

The fire blazed up, and the twilight grew thicker, and the fire had
nearly burned out again while Bobby, dreaming of home and Mrs. Abel, and
wondering where Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy were, fell into
a doze. Then it was that something unlooked for startled him into sudden
wakefulness.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE WINTER OF FAMINE


Faintly over the waters, but quite loud enough for Bobby to hear, came a
hail, and Bobby was on his feet in an instant, shouting with all the
power of his lusty young lungs. Then he ran to his cave and got his gun,
and fired three shots at intervals of a few seconds, and with the last
shot listened tense with eagerness and excitement.

This was a signal that he and Jimmy had agreed upon. It meant, "Come! I
want you," and when at home if Jimmy wished Bobby to come over to
Skipper Ed's cabin, or Bobby wished Jimmy to come to Abel Zachariah's
cabin, it was the way they called one another. And when the signal was
heard, two shots were fired in quick succession to say, "I hear, and I
will come," or two shots with an interval between, to say, "I hear you,
but I can't come." Then it was the duty of the one who had fired the
three shots in the beginning, whether or not his invitation had been
accepted, to fire a single shot to say: "I hear you and understand."

And so it was that Bobby listened eagerly. If the hail had come from the
boat returning from the seal hunt, Jimmy would surely answer.

He had but a moment to wait when two quickly fired shots rang out over
the water. His excitement could scarcely contain itself as he fired one
answering shot. Everything was working splendidly, after all! They were
getting in from the seal hunt ahead of the freeze-up, and he was to
reach home none the worse for his adventure.

Bobby was lavish now with his wood. Darkness was settling and he piled
the wood upon the fire until its flames leaped up into a great blaze as
a beacon, to guide the boat to a safe landing among the rocks.

And so it came to pass that Bobby was found and rescued, and he and Abel
and Skipper Ed and Jimmy were glad enough to see one another again and
to relate to one another their various experiences. And Mrs. Abel,
mourning in the cabin, was given great joy, for she had believed that
Bobby had been lost without doubt in the storm.

The seal hunt was, as Bobby had feared it would be, almost a failure.
But four small seals had been killed when the storm came upon the
hunters, and they were forced to retreat, that they might reach home
before the sea froze. These four seals, together with what remained of
the meat from the spring hunt, were the only provisions they had for the
dogs until February, when they could go to the ice edge, or _sena_, for
the winter hunt, for then the seals would be on the ice.

Even with scant rations this would be little more than half enough to
keep the animals in serviceable condition, for there were a good many
dogs to feed. Abel's two teams, together with an extra dog or two to
fill the place of any that might be injured, numbered eighteen, while
Skipper Ed kept seven. This made a total of twenty-five dogs to be
provided for, and twenty-five big wolf dogs will consume a vast amount
of food during a winter.

So they held a consultation, and Skipper Ed decided that he could do
very well without dogs if Abel would permit him the use of a team now
and again.

"Partner and I have kept dogs only these last two years, anyhow," said
Skipper Ed. "Our hunting and trapping is chiefly inland, and we haven't
much use for them. I don't want to see any of the dogs suffer for the
want of something to eat, and if Partner is willing we'll kill them, and
let you have the carcasses to feed to your teams. What do you say,
Partner?"

"We'll kill them." Jimmy agreed, regretfully.

Abel also decided that it would be wise to reduce the number of his own
dogs to fifteen, and thus the problem was solved.

Winter settled with almost unexampled cold, and with a succession of
fearful storms. It was a winter, too, of awful hardship and privation to
the people of the Coast. The Eskimos to the northward depended chiefly
upon seals for their own living as well as for dog food, and with them,
as with Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed, the seal hunt was cut off by the
early blizzard, and few seals were killed.

Abel and Skipper Ed, however, relied more largely upon the cod fishing,
and it had been their custom for many years to barter away the fish they
caught to trading schooners which visited them for that purpose at their
fishing places before they returned to winter quarters. In this way they
usually purchased sufficient flour and pork, tea and molasses to do them
until the following spring, and when open water came again they would
sail to the mission station and purchase with the furs their traps had
yielded them, fresh supplies.

The attack of measles this year, however, had so interfered with their
fishing that their small catch had purchased from the traders scarcely
enough flour and pork and tea to last them until the new year. And so
one day late in December Abel and Skipper Ed drove the two dog teams
over to the Nain Mission, expecting to obtain there the supplies they
needed.

"I'm sorry," said the missionary, "but I can spare you very
little--almost nothing. The seal hunt was a failure with the people all
down north, and they are starving, and I must take care of them. This
year there are so many needy ones our stock will go only a little way.
I'll divide it the best way I know how, but, God help the poor folk, it
won't go far, and I'm praying God to send caribou or send seals."

"We'll get on somehow," said Skipper Ed. "The timber is back of us and
we'll get rabbits and partridges, and make out. Give the Eskimos what
you have. They're on barren ground and don't have the chance we have.
There'll be better luck for us all by and by. Better luck."

And with only a half barrel of flour and some tea they returned to
Abel's Bay to face the winter and make their fight against nature
without complaint. For no truly brave man will complain when things go
wrong in the game of life. And up there on The Labrador the game of life
is a man's game and every man who wins must play it like a man, with
faith and courage.

The weeks that followed were trying and tedious ones. Sometimes there
was not much to eat, when the hunting was poor, but they thanked God
there was always something.

But when February came at last there was not food enough to render it
possible for them to make the long journey to the ice edge with safety.
Living now was from hand to mouth. Each day they must hunt for what they
would eat that day. Grouse and rabbits were the game upon which they
usually relied, but Fate had cast this as one of those years when the
rabbits disappear from the land as it is said they do every nine years.
Be that as it may, not one was killed that winter and not a track was
seen. For them to go to the ice without food was too great a risk. If
they went and failed to find seals and were overtaken by a storm they
would perish.

This was the condition of affairs when Bobby and Jimmy set out one cold,
clear morning to hunt for ptarmigans, the white grouse of the North. Not
far away was a barren hill whose top was kept clean swept of snow by the
winds, and up this hill they climbed, for sometimes ptarmigans are found
in places like this, feeding upon the frozen moss berries which cling to
the rocks.

Bobby was in advance, and from the summit of the hill he scanned the
great expanse of snow reaching away over the endless rolling country to
the westward. And looking, he discovered in the distance a dark, moving
mass slowly drawing down another hillside. For a moment he was
speechless with joy, but it was for only a moment, and then he shouted:

"_Tuktu! Tuktu! Tuktu!_" (Caribou, or reindeer.)

Bobby's excited cry brought Jimmy up on a run, and when he looked and
saw, he, too, shouted, and was no less excited than Bobby.

"Caribou! The caribou are coming!"

That was enough to send them back on a run for Abel and Skipper Ed and
their rifles and all the ammunition they could muster, and then all four
turned back to meet the caribou.

On and on came the great herd, in a far-reaching, endless mass,
thousands upon thousands of them, and they were heading directly for the
hill where the four eager hunters waited.

At length the mass reached them, and what followed was not a hunt but a
slaughter, and when they were through more than a hundred caribou lay
stretched upon the snow, and still the caribou came.

The period of starvation was at an end. Comfort and plenty had appeared
at their very door.

The dogs were harnessed, and as many of the carcasses as they could use
for man and dog food were hauled down, some to Abel Zachariah's cabin
and some to Skipper Ed's. And bright and early the following morning
Abel set out to the mission station and Skipper Ed to Abraham Moses'
cabin, to bid the starving people come and help themselves and feast,
and in the end not a caribou of all those that were killed was wasted.

And so it was that the Almighty looked after these children of His, and
so He cares for His children even in the wild wastes of Labrador.

"Good luck! Good luck at last!" said Skipper Ed.




CHAPTER XIX

OFF TO THE "SENA"


And so it was that the famine ended. There was small variety for the
table, to be sure, but there was always plenty of good venison, varied
with ptarmigans, and now and again a porcupine. And after all they were
able to go to the ice edge on the winter seal hunt, and a profitable
hunt it proved.

Thus the years passed, and thus they were filled with ups and downs and
many adventures and hard work, and withal plenty of good fun, too, to
flavor them, as years are bound to be in that land of stern and active
existence.

But there was always time for study, and when Bobby was in his sixteenth
year he and Jimmy could boast of having read Caesar and Cicero and
Xenophon, and they were delving into Virgil and the Iliad. Under Skipper
Ed's tutorship Bobby had advanced as far in his studies as most boys of
his age in civilization, who have all the advantages of the best
schools. And Skipper Ed was proud of his progress, and proud of Jimmy's
progress too, as indeed he had reason to be, for neither of them was a
waster of time. There was no inducement to be laggards.

Their hearts were clean and their vision was clear. Their view was not
cut off or circumscribed by the frivolous and ofttimes vicious
amusements that stand as a wall around life's outlook in the town. Their
view and their hope were as wide as the wilderness and the sea, rugged
and stern but mighty and majestic and limitless--God's unspoiled
works--and God was a living God to them.

Bobby at this age had developed into a big, husky lad. He could drive
the dog team as well as Abel. He had already killed many seals, and he
was an excellent hunter for his years. To Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel
he was a dutiful, affectionate son. They, too, were proud of him, and
looked upon him as the finest lad in the whole land, and Abel boasted
that when he grew to be a man he would be the finest hunter on the
coast.

It happened that early in February following Bobby's fifteenth birthday
Abel wrenched an ankle so badly that he could not go about his duties,
or even hobble outside the cabin door. The responsibility of providing
for the little household, therefore, fell upon Bobby. And Bobby, though
keenly sympathetic, was nevertheless glad of an opportunity to show his
prowess.

He squared his shoulders, and regardless of cold and storm set about the
work, determined to prove that he was a man in the things he could
accomplish, if not in years; and he succeeded so well that he won high
praise from Abel. Certainly Abel himself could not have done better with
the fox trapping, which at this season was the chief employment. Bobby
kept the house, too, so well supplied with rabbits and ptarmigans,
through his incessant hunting, that presently there were enough hanging
frozen in the porch to last till the coming of warm weather.

One evening near the end of February Bobby announced, as he entered the
cabin after giving the dogs their daily feed:

"The

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/14882