When the steamer Norsk left the harbor of Oonalaska, on the very day that Mr. John Ryder took lunch with her captain, she carried with her the fur-seal’s tooth. Japonski, the table-boy, had listened with avaricious ears to the story of its value. He hoped soon to go to Sitka himself, for he had a brother there, employed as wardroom boy on an American man-of-war. How well it would be to have one thousand of those big American dollars to show to him and to spend! Japonski’s brother had laughed when he sailed on the Norsk, and told him that not many yen could be picked up in the merchant-service. So it had proved; but here was a chance. A tooth would be a very little thing, and so easy to hide. The white man said, “He who stole it would have no good-fortune”; but he must have said that to make him, Japonski, afraid; but a Hakodate man was not afraid. He would prove it.

So Japonski slipped the fur-seal’s tooth up his sleeve, even while, with innocent face, he handed the overcoat to Mr. Ryder. That night, in the privacy of his own cubby-hole, just off the pantry, he examined his prize, and gloated over it. The white man had gone without suspecting him, and the ship was already far on her way. Whatever this thing was worth, it was his, and no one would ever know how he obtained it. He smiled scornfully at the thought of its bringing him any misfortune; but, as he looked at it closely, the smile faded from his face.

That bit of ivory had never been carved by Indian hands, nor by Aleuts, nor Eskimo. Nowhere in the world could such dainty work be done, save in his own country, and who would thus depict the frowning face of Buddha, terror of evil-doers, except a devout native of Japan. That was one emblem borne by the ivory tooth. On the opposite side was a fish. What could it be but the lucky fish of Queen Jung-gu, the conqueror of Corea?

Alas, that he had dared steal a curio of such omen as this; but he could not give it back. He dared not give it to any except him from whom he had stolen it. So he hid it away; but he thought of it all the time, and from that day all things seemed to go wrong with him. Never had he broken so many dishes, never spoiled so much food, never so incurred the captain’s wrath. Still he clung to the tooth, and would not part with it. The white man had said it was worth one thousand silver dollars; that would be fifteen hundred silver yen, and on that sum he could live like a prince for many years in his own country.

At the Pribyloffs the Norsk took on board one Nikrik, an Aleut, who had been for some years employed at St. Michaels, to act as a pilot through the shoals of Norton’s Sound. Although there was a strong general resemblance between this man and the cabin-boy, each of them regarded the other as belonging to an inferior race. As, however, they were both looked down on by the whites, they were almost forced into each other’s society, and thus it came about that, very early in their acquaintance, Japonski displayed his treasure to Nikrik, and asked him what he thought of it.

Now the Aleut was too great a traveller not to have heard of the fur-seal’s tooth, for it was known—at least, by fame—to all Northern Alaska, and the moment he saw it he was determined to possess it. So he told Japonski tales of its strange power for evil over all but those native to Alaska, and tried to frighten him into giving it up. But Japonski only smiled blandly and said, “Alle same I keep him.”

Still, he was made uneasy by these tales, and from that moment misfortunes seemed to crowd upon him more thickly than ever. At length he so enraged Captain Kuhn by his carelessness that that individual turned purple in the face, became speechless, and was threatened with an apoplectic fit. Japonski had seen him thus before, and knew just what to do. There was a certain medicine that must be given quickly. He prepared it, and forced a spoonful down the captain’s throat. To his horror the captain turned white and rigid, and, to all appearances, died, then and there.

The terrified cabin-boy rushed out for aid, and the very first person he came across was the chief engineer, who was regulating a delicate bit of machinery. The engineer was so startled by Japonski’s sudden appearance that he dropped a tool into the machinery, something snapped, and, a moment later, the engines were stopped for repairs. Then Japonski ran and hid himself in his cubby-hole, where Nikrik, finding him some time later, said that if the captain died and the ship was lost it would all be owing to the fur-seal’s tooth, which he must give up at once in order to avoid further disaster.

Upon this, Japonski conceived such a horror of the bit of ivory, that he rushed frantically on deck and flung it with all his might into the sea. Almost at the same instant the engines were again started, and, when he went below, the first news he heard was that the captain was getting better. So he was glad of what he had done, though it had cost him a fortune in silver yen.

Early the next morning, when Nikrik went on deck before any one else except the watch, he spied the bidarkie in which our lads had come, and examined it closely to see where it had been made, and by whom. As he turned it over, something rattled inside of its parchment skin. The Aleut reached in to feel for the cause of this sound, and, when he withdrew his hand, clutching the fur-seal’s tooth that he had supposed was lost forever, his oily face was overspread with a broad grin of gratified surprise. He knew, of course, that Japonski had flung it overboard, and now he also knew that, by some miracle which he attributed to the magic power of the tooth itself, it had fallen into the drifting bidarkie. Nikrik had recognized the lads when they were brought on board the night before; but, with the usual reticence of his race, he had not yet mentioned this fact. Now he was glad of it, because it was possible that one of them might claim the treasure he had just stolen; for to an Aleut it is as much of a theft to take a thing from a bidarkie as from its owner. So Nikrik’s guilty conscience caused him to avoid Phil and Serge as much as possible during the short time that they remained on the same ship.

The pilot’s thoughts dwelt so constantly on his newly-acquired treasure that, in his absent-mindedness, he ran the Norsk ashore, when close to Fort St. Michaels, in one of the channels with which he was most familiar. This so enraged the mate that he ordered him from the bridge, and declared he should have no pay. That very evening, on shore, Nikrik engaged in a gambling game with some Yukon Indians, who had come to the fort to trade. In this, luck ran so strongly against him, that, before morning, he had staked and lost everything of value he possessed, including the fur-seal’s tooth. This fell to the lot of a young Indian, who, ignorant of its true value, traded it to a recently-arrived clerk of the post for a pound of tobacco. With an air of great satisfaction the clerk added this new charm to some others that dangled from his massive (plated) watch-chain. There it attracted curiosity, envy, and whispered remarks from all the natives whose eyes happened to light upon it.

Phil and Serge did not leave the bunks in which their friendly rescuers had placed them for a day and a night after going on board the Norsk, during which time they slept almost continuously. When they did appear on deck, they were so thoroughly refreshed that no trace remained of their recent terrible adventure, that now seemed to them only like some dreadful nightmare. Until now they had not known nor cared whither they were being carried; but the moment they stepped on deck, and while they were being warmly greeted by Gerald Hamer, their eyes turned wonderingly to a low coast visible on the right. As soon as they found a chance they inquired eagerly what land it was, and on being told that it was the southern coast of Norton Sound, while the Alaska Company’s trading-post of Fort St. Michaels was directly ahead, they gazed at each other in speechless dismay.

“Is that where you were bound for when you got lost?” asked Mr. Hamer, politely; for he had not yet learned the story of their wanderings.

“No,” answered Phil, with a melancholy smile; “we were bound for Sitka.”

“Sitka!” exclaimed Gerald Hamer. “Then you have come from the north, I suppose?”

“No, we have come from Victoria, which, I believe, is somewhat south of this.”

“Well, I should say it was! About three thousand miles! And, as Sitka is all of twenty-one hundred miles from here, I wish you would tell me how you have managed to miss it so completely, and drift up into this latitude?”

As Nikrik ran the ship aground on a mud-flat just then, there was plenty of time, while waiting for the tide to float her off, for the lads to relate the story of their wanderings and adventures. The fur-trader listened to it with profound interest, and, when it was concluded, he said:

“If that doesn’t beat all the roundabout travelling and hard luck that ever I heard of! I should think you would be sick of the sea, and willing to try dry land for a while by this time.”

“So we are,” answered Serge; “but, as the railroad isn’t even laid out yet, I suppose we shall have to go back on this ship—at least, as far as Oonalaska.”

“But she isn’t going there,” said Mr. Hamer. “She is chartered to carry a cargo of furs from here to China.”

“Whew!” whistled Phil. “And is that where you are going?”

“Oh no, I am bound for Sitka,” laughed the trader.

“What?” cried both lads, in amazement.

“Yes, I mean it; though, to be sure, I expect to reach there in rather a curious way. You see, I have in this ship a steamboat in sections, a saw-mill, some mining machinery, and a couple of hundred tons of merchandise. I am going to put my steamboat together as soon as we get on shore, load my freight aboard, and take her a thousand miles up the Yukon River to the mining camp at Forty-mile Creek. There I shall leave her for the winter and go out on snow-shoes, with dog-sledges, seven hundred miles across country to Pyramid Harbor, where I can get a steamer most any time for Sitka, or Juneau, either of which is only about one hundred miles farther. From one of those places I shall go down to San Francisco for a new stock of goods, and have them up here in time to meet my steamboat again in the early summer.

“Most of the men I have with me now are ship-carpenters, who will go back on this steamer to San Francisco, by way of China; so only about half a dozen will remain with me, and I should be very glad of a couple more hands. Now, if you care to take this trip with me and are willing to work your passage, I will pay all your expenses, and guarantee to land you in Sitka, sooner or later. What do you say? Will you do it?”