On hearing the surprising and unexpected proposition made by the leader of the fur-traders at the close of the last chapter, Phil and Serge looked inquiringly at each other. Both of them were greatly pleased with Gerald Hamer, who displayed the strength of character, combined with an engaging frankness, that always appeals to manly lads, especially when exhibited by one a little older than themselves.

“What do you say, Serge?”

“I’d love to do it.”

“So would I.”

“I don’t know what else we can do, anyway. I’m sure we don’t want to go to China under the circumstances, and we haven’t any money to live on here while waiting for some schooner to come along and take us away.”

“No,” said Phil; “and, as it is now well on into August, we might have to wait all winter, which would be horrid.”

“It would be a splendid chance to see the country.”

“So it would, and that is just what I came North for; while, thus far, I haven’t seen much except the waters surrounding it, and a few islands. If it wasn’t for my father, I’d say ‘yes’ quick enough. But what will he think?—in fact, what must he be thinking now? If I could only get word to him, somehow, that I was all right, and that there wasn’t the slightest cause for anxiety.”

“And if I could only send some comforting message to my poor dear mother,” reflected Serge.

“There is a chance to do that,” said Gerald Hamer, “which I suppose I ought to have mentioned in the first place. This steamer is obliged to stop somewhere near the Pribyloff Islands on her return voyage, to drop the native pilot who belongs there, and whom they are under contract to return. You might send letters by him as far as that, and run the chance of their being forwarded. I suppose you might make some arrangement to go that far yourselves as well, though I am afraid Captain Kuhn would charge a tidy sum for your passage. Still, if you want to ask him, and he is well enough to see you, I will—”

“We don’t,” interrupted Phil, resolutely. “We haven’t any money with which to pay for a passage to the Pribyloffs, and I, for one, wouldn’t go near them again, even if I owned the steamer—in fact, I am tired and sick of this miserable, cold, foggy Bering Sea, and long to get away from it. It seems to me that a trip on dry land is the thing I should most enjoy just at present. So, if—”

“Don’t conceive a false impression of what I am proposing,” laughed Gerald Hamer. “Most of my coming journey is to be made on the waters of the Yukon, and will be filled with hardships and trials. There will be fine hunting of moose, deer, bear, and other such game, if you care for that; but not much else in the way of recreation. Then, the last part of the trip will be made in arctic weather, over snowy plains and frozen lakes, up ice-bound rivers, and through mountain passes where the drifts will be hundreds of feet deep.”

“That’s so!” exclaimed Phil. “You did mention ‘snow-shoes and sledges.’ That settles it. I have always wanted to be an arctic explorer, and I’d rather take a dog-sledge and snow-shoe journey than anything else in the world. Besides, as it really seems to be the only way for us to get to Sitka, it would be worse than foolish for us to throw away such a good chance. I’ve done so many foolish things already on this journey that I don’t mean to be guilty of another between here and Sitka. So, Mr. Hamer, we not only accept your offer, but thank you heartily for making it, and are ready to go with you this very minute. Aren’t we, Serge?”

“It’s just as you say,” laughed Serge. “So long as I got you into this scrape, I’m bound to see you through it, and stick by you till we get to Sitka, if it takes the rest of my natural life.”

“You’re a trump, old man!” cried Phil, heartily, clapping his friend on the shoulder as he spoke. “And our motto, like that of the fellow who was bound across the plains to Pike’s Peak, shall be ‘Sitka, or bust!’ I’m awfully glad, though, that you feel as you do about having got me into a scrape, for I had a sort of uneasy notion that it was I who had brought you into one.”

While Phil and Serge were writing the letters to be sent back by Nikrik, the Norsk floated off the mud-bank, and proceeded to an anchorage nearly three miles off St. Michaels, a nearer approach being barred by shoal water.

St. Michaels is the most northerly of the Alaska Fur Company’s trading-posts, and is also the most northerly settlement of white men in Alaska. To be sure, there are two or three lonely whites in charge of the Government Reindeer Station at Port Clarence, one hundred miles farther north, while away up on the bleak shore of the Arctic Ocean, at the extreme northern point of the American mainland, the Stars and Stripes wave proudly above another brave little band, who maintain the Government Relief Station of Point Barrow.

St. Michaels consists of the company’s store and warehouse, an old loop-holed block-house, some twenty residences, a Greek church painted red, a school-house, and the few scattered huts or tents of visiting natives. It is located on the bluff, seaward point of a small barren island situated eighty miles north of the great Yukon delta, and affording the first bit of coast available for white occupation in all that distance of limitless swamps and mud-flats. As it is the only point at which sea-going vessels can approach anywhere near the coast, it is the great transfer station for the entire Yukon River trade, which, beyond here, is carried on by means of small stern-wheeled steamboats of less than three feet draught. It was on the island of St. Michaels, therefore, that Gerald Hamer proposed to land his cargo, set up his steamboat, and prepare for his long trip into the distant and almost unexplored interior.

As soon as the steamer Norsk came to anchor, he borrowed our lads’ bidarkie, and, taking only Nikrik with him, went ashore to select a landing-place and camp site. It was late in the afternoon when he returned alone, wearied by his hard trip and angry at the reception with which he had met, but more determined than ever to proceed with his undertaking, in spite of all obstacles. The Alaska Company had for so long monopolized the fur trade of the vast region drained by the mighty Yukon and its tributaries that they were furious at the prospect of a rival, and determined to prevent it from establishing itself, if possible. Their annual supply-ship from San Francisco, bringing a large stock of merchandise, several new clerks, and the news of the world, including that of the formation of a rival company, had arrived and departed shortly before the coming of the Norsk. Consequently, when Gerald Hamer went ashore and introduced himself to the agent in charge, he was very coldly received, and was forbidden to land his cargo within the limits of the post.

Upon his return, which he was obliged to make alone, Nikrik having disappeared among the huts of the visiting natives, the young fur-trader called his men together and addressed them as follows:

“Lads, we’ve got a fight on our hands. The people on shore say that we sha’n’t land. The whole settlement is a trading-post belonging to the old company, who have fenced it in, as well as a long strip of the best beach. The only other place where we could make a landing is on a bit of beach just beyond their line, and I think they mean to fence and claim that to-morrow. Now, I don’t intend to interfere with any one’s established rights, nor am I inclined to yield my own. That strip of unfenced beach is government land, to which our right is as good as theirs. I propose, therefore, to steal a march on them by making a landing to-night with a raft of lumber, staking out a claim, and having our shanties up before morning. What do you say? Are you with me?”

“Aye, aye, sir!” came the hearty shout of the entire party, and then, in individual voices: “That we are!” “Only you lead the way, and we’ll follow close enough!” “We’ll euchre them yet!” “I’d like to see them try to drive us off from Uncle Sam’s land!” and so on, until the smiling leader raised his hand for silence.

“Thank you, men,” he said, simply. “I knew I could depend on you, and now let us get to work.”

All night long, under the skilful direction of the leader, the labor progressed steadily and cheerfully. Boats plied incessantly between ship and shore, a huge raft of lumber was floated to the beach, and when, some hours after sunrise, the sleepy inmates of Fort St. Michaels issued from their houses, they stared with amazement at what, but the evening before, had been a stretch of vacant land just beyond their boundary. Now, a large portion of it, including the beach, was staked out, a landing of log crib-work filled with rocks projected into the water, two rough board shanties and a dozen tents had been erected, camp-fires were blazing cheerily, and the sturdy colonists of this new settlement were busily eating their well-earned breakfasts.

In all this work Phil and Serge had displayed such willingness and activity as to draw forth the hearty approval of Gerald Hamer. Through the night he seemed to be everywhere, and in all places at once, always ready to lend a helping hand or speak a cheering word, and at breakfast-time Phil confided to Serge that, under such leadership, Sitka really seemed nearer at hand than it had since they started from Victoria.

As it had been begun, so the work progressed with perfect method and the utmost expedition. In ten days after the Norsk’s arrival, her entire cargo was on shore and under cover, the steamboat was ready to be launched and receive her machinery, and it seemed certain that, early in September, the Yukon party would be off. All this had been accomplished in the face of heavy odds, and every impediment had been thrown in the way of the new company by the old settlers. If Gerald Hamer hired native laborers, threats and bribes were used to induce these to desert him. Those who did work for him were paid in silver coin, which was pronounced worthless at the company’s store, and refused when offered in exchange for goods.

Native spies in the employ of the old company lurked about the camp at all hours; tools were stolen, or rendered worthless, at every opportunity, and boats were set adrift, or had holes bored in their bottoms during the night.

At length Gerald Hamer asked Phil and Serge if they would get what sleep they could in the daytime, and act as camp-guards at night. “I feel that I can trust you two implicitly,” he said.

They willingly agreed to do this, and on that very night, while they were patrolling opposite sides of the camp, Serge sprang upon a skulking figure who, by a violent effort, wrenched himself free and escaped, leaving only a broken watch-chain in the lad’s hand. To his unbounded amazement, when he and Phil examined this trophy by lantern-light, he found attached to it, as a charm, the identical bit of carved ivory that he had given to his comrade in New London, and which the latter had lost so long ago.

“The fur-seal’s tooth!” he cried, almost doubting the evidence of his eyes.

“It certainly is!” exclaimed Phil, as he examined it curiously.

“There must be magic in it, or how could it possibly have come here?” added Serge.

“Let me have that bit of chain and the rest of those charms, and I’ll find out what magic there is about it,” said Phil, mysteriously.

Serge gave them to him, and on the following day Phil went, for the first time, to the company’s store in the trading-post.

“Do you know to whom these belong?” he asked of the first man he met, at the same time displaying the trophy captured the night before.

“Why, yes,” answered the man, examining them closely. “They belong to that fellow over there.”

Turning in the direction indicated, Phil beheld the man who, he believed, had injured him more than any one else in the world—Simon Goldollar.