It is needless to say that our lads were wofully disconcerted by the unexplained absence of Jalap Coombs from the place where they had left him. Their homecoming, as they had termed their return to the barrabkie during that day’s toilsome march, was not only robbed of all the pleasure they had anticipated, but was confronted by a mystery that filled them with anxious thoughts and gloomy forebodings. It did not seem possible that their comrade could have departed from the island without leaving some message for them. Neither could they understand why he should have gone without taking the seal-skins which he had prized so highly. Had he wandered to some remote part of the island, and become lost? or fallen down one of its tremendous precipices? or— But what was the use in such conjectures? An experienced sailor-man like the mate of the Seamew was not likely to have done any of these things. He was even so averse to walking, save on the deck of a vessel, that they could not imagine him as having gone any farther from the hut than was absolutely necessary to procure food, fuel, and water.

Remembering his friend’s recent experience with a bear, Phil suggested that Jalap Coombs might have been attacked and carried off by one of those animals; but Serge at once pointed out the absurdity of such a theory. The bears of that country, he said, would not attack a man unless first wounded or provoked, and the mate, as they both knew, was not one who would needlessly or recklessly affront a bear. Besides, such a struggle, as was suggested, could not have taken place without leaving unmistakable traces, and of these there were none. To be sure the interior of the old barrabkie was in great disorder. The lads particularly noted that the split caribou bones from which they had extracted the marrow on the last evening they had spent there, and which they had flung into one corner, were now scattered in every direction, some of them lying at quite a distance beyond the hut. For a while they could not account for this; but at length Serge discovered a fox track clearly imprinted in some damp ashes, and so one bit of mystery was removed.

They had so confidently expected to find a fire at the hut that they had neglected to provide themselves with the means for procuring one. Now they were too tired and disheartened to go off on a long search for sulphur and tinder. So they ate what remained of the slender stock of provisions brought from their last camp, and then, huddling close together for warmth beneath the tent-roof of the hut, they discussed their unfortunate situation and gloomy prospects for the future, until at length they fell into the dreamless sleep of utter weariness. Phil’s last words before dozing into unconsciousness were, “I can’t see that we’ve anything to hope for, not even a breakfast to-morrow morning, unless we—care—to—eat raw—fish; which I won’t.”

Then, save for the melancholy whistle of the wind, the ceaseless boom of breakers, and the occasional yelp of a prowling fox, the old barrabkie and its inmates were buried in a profound silence.

The summer nights are so short in that latitude that it was broad daylight when Serge found himself as wide awake as ever in his life, sitting up and listening nervously to certain mysterious and inexplicable sounds. He heard shouts and laughter, the crashing of rocks, and another sound, which for the moment he could not define.

“Phil! Phil! Wake up!” he cried, in a low tone, at the same time shaking his drowsy comrade. “There are men outside! A lot of them! And I hear something that sounds like escaping steam.”

“Oh, you must be dreaming!” replied the other, incredulously. “No, I declare you are right, for I hear them myself!”

With this both lads sprang to their feet and rushed outside. The sight that met their astonished gaze was that of a number of men busily engaged in tearing down the stone walls of the old hut in which the seal-skins were stored. Others were bearing the skins away and depositing them in a ship’s boat that a couple of sailors were fending off from the rocks.

“Hello there!” shouted Phil, running down and plunging into the midst of this busy scene. “Who are you, and what do you mean by stealing our seal-skins?”

The men paused in their labor to gaze at this sudden apparition. “His seal-skins! Will ye listen to the cheek of that?” exclaimed one of them, mockingly. “The young beggar will be saying this is his island next.”

“Yes, my seal-skins!” cried Phil, hot with indignation. “Even if they were not, they aren’t yours. You are a lot of thieves and highway robbers, and if there is any law in this forsaken country you shall suffer for this outrage—see if you don’t!”

A roar of laughter greeted this speech, and a number of insolent retorts would have been made to it had not a young man in uniform, who seemed to be the leader of the party, appeared at this moment from the interior of the hut.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, in a tone of authority. “Hustle those skins along lively, men!” Then, turning to Phil and Serge, he demanded, roughly, “Well, who are you, and what do you want here?”

“Supposing you answer my question first,” replied Phil, hotly. “Who are you, and by what authority are you stealing our seal-skins?”

“Oh, they are yours, are they?” retorted the other, surveying the irate lad from head to foot with an amused smile. “Very well, if you claim them, the best thing you can do is to go off to the ship and present your claim to the captain. He is only too glad of a chance to settle all such matters. Coxswain, take these chaps aboard ship, present them to the captain with my compliments, and tell him that they are desirous of a settlement in connection with these seal-skins, which they claim as their property.”

“I don’t know that we care to go aboard your ship,” said Phil. “Supposing your captain comes ashore and settles with us right here. We didn’t invite him to this island, or ask him to take our seal-skins.”

“Oh, I guess you’d better go,” responded the other, with a peculiar smile. “You’ll be apt to get better terms if you do. Besides, our captain makes a point of never going ashore before breakfast.”

Phil was about to make some angry reply to this, when Serge nudged him, and said, in a low tone, “Be careful, old man, or you’ll get us into trouble. Don’t you see she’s a cutter?”

A startled glance at the anchored vessel, to which, in his excitement, he had not paid particular attention before, satisfied Phil that she was, indeed, what Serge claimed. Another look at the young man in authority showed his uniform, though faded and bearing evidences of long service, to be that of the United States Revenue Marine.

“I don’t care if she is,” he answered, stoutly. “We’ll go and see her captain, though, and find out by what authority he seizes the property of honest citizens. Come on, Serge.”

A few minutes later the boat was run alongside the cutter’s port gangway, and its cockswain was reporting to the first lieutenant: “Here are two men, sir, that Mr. Ramey ordered me to bring off. They say as them seal-skins are theirs and want to see the captain about ’em.”

“Very well,” answered the officer. “Follow me, you two, and I guess the captain will dispose of your case in short order.”

Thus saying he led the way aft to the captain’s cabin, which was at the same time the office in which he transacted his business. Knocking at the door, the officer was bidden to enter, and, ordering the lads to remain where they were, he did so. A minute later he reappeared, told them they might step inside, as the captain was ready to hear their story, and then returned to his post of duty on the upper deck.

As Phil and Serge stepped inside the roomy, well-appointed cabin, the former thought he had never seen a more comfortable, home-like appearing place. It contained a centre-table on which stood a pot of ferns, a number of easy-chairs, a writing-desk, and a cabinet organ. At one end was a small library of carefully selected books, and on a low sofa seat, at one side, were scattered a number of magazines and illustrated papers.

The most startling object in the room to Phil, however, was a large mirror that confronted him as he entered the door, and in which, for the first time in weeks, he saw his own reflection. He had forgotten that he still wore the kamleika of a sea-otter hunter, that he was hatless, that his feet and lower limbs were incased in great cowhide boots, or that his hair was long and uncombed. Now to his dismay he realized that in general appearance he more nearly resembled a native Aleut than he did a civilized white lad, not to say a young gentleman. In his confusion he hardly realized that the captain of the cutter was speaking to them, and that Serge, who, for the moment was the more self-possessed of the two, was answering him. Suddenly he was recalled to his senses by hearing an exclamation of:

“Bless my soul! not Serge Belcofsky of Sitka! Of course it is, though. Why, Serge, you young scamp, how are you? and how, in the name of all that is mysterious, do I find you here masquerading as a seal-poacher? I saw your mother only a few days ago, and she is terribly anxious about you. Why aren’t you in Sitka?”

To Phil’s amazement, as Captain Matthews, who was a tall, fine-looking man with gray side whiskers, uttered these words he stepped forward, and, grasping the hand of his companion, shook it heartily.

“I am trying to get to Sitka, sir, the best I know how,” answered Serge, laughing, as he shook hands with this old acquaintance, “and so is my friend here, Mr. Ryder, whose father is waiting for him there; but somehow luck seems to be against us.”

“Ryder! Ryder!” repeated Captain Matthews, turning to Phil with a puzzled expression. “It can’t be that you are the son of Mr. John Ryder, the famous mining expert whom I heard of in Sitka, and who is hunting all over the country for a lost boy?”

“I believe I am, sir,” replied Phil, “for my name is Philip Ryder, and I seem to be very much lost, and my father is Mr. John Ryder, a mining expert.”

“Well, bless my soul!” cried the captain. “If this isn’t a most extraordinary state of affairs! And so you two young scamps are the very Ryder and Belcofsky whose names appear on the Seamew’s shipping-papers, and whom I wasted so much time hunting for. But where is Coombs—Quinine Coombs, or whatever his medicinal name is?”

“I am afraid we have lost him somewhere,” replied Serge.

“Like as not,” retorted the captain. “You seem to be capable of losing anything or anybody, including yourselves.”

“Was it you who captured the Seamew, sir?” inquired Phil, curiously.

“Of course it was, and I took her into Sitka harbor, where she lies now, and where her case is to be tried before Judge Ames. As you formed part of her piratical crew, I want to know if there is any reason why I should not clap you two in irons as prisoners of war and deserters, and take you there too?”

“I only wish you would, sir,” replied Phil, earnestly.

Just then a clear, laughing voice from behind them said, “I think, papa, it is about time that I were allowed to greet my old friend Serge.”

Turning quickly, poor Phil beheld one of the very prettiest girls he had ever seen. As a thought of his own ridiculous appearance flashed into his mind, he blushed furiously, and wished that he were in the ship’s hold, or a dungeon, or any other place that was dark.