While Phil watched the departing missionary, who was making his way cautiously over the newly-formed ice, the late-rising sun appeared above the southeastern horizon, gilding a cross surmounting the tower of a little log-church pleasantly located on a high bluff. Back of it rose the dark-green wall of a spruce forest, while about it were clustered a number of low but very substantial and comfortable-looking log-houses. Near the beach at the foot of the bluff stood an Indian village of huts whose roofs bristled with poles. In each one was left a square hole for the egress of smoke from the open fire built on an earthen floor beneath.

Scattered about in picturesque but hopeless confusion were long ranges of pole frames for drying fish, many little log-houses mounted on stilts and looking like dove-cots, the use of which Phil could not imagine, fish-traps, boats, sledges, and everywhere dozens of yelping, prowling, fighting, or sleeping dogs. Besides these things Phil could see what appeared to be the black chimney-stack of some kind of a mill.

Suddenly a flag was run to the top of a tall pole on top of the bluff, and as the Stars and Stripes streamed out bravely in the cold wind a rattling volley of musketry rang forth its loud note of welcome from the Indian village. To this Phil responded by a vigorous salute from the Chimo’s whistle. Then, so utterly weary from overwork, excitement, and loss of sleep that merely to move required a strong effort of will, he left the pilot-house and went below. He found Serge at the captain’s bedside administering a bowl of broth and telling the sick man of the events of the night.

As Phil entered, Gerald Hamer’s eyes rested on him with such an expression of gratitude as the former will never forget. “I thank you two boys,” he said, weakly, “more than I can ever tell. To you I owe not only my life, but whatever it holds of value, and—” Here his voice failed him, and Serge bade him not to attempt another word.

“No, indeed,” added Phil, “for you don’t owe us one cent’s worth of thanks, Mr. Hamer. To the end of our lives we shall always be in your debt, and in bringing you up the river to this point we have used your boat to bring ourselves as well. So—well, that’s all there is to it, anyway; and now if you will only hurry up and get well we shall appreciate that more than all the thanks in the world.”

Then Serge left, and Phil, slipping into his vacated chair, almost instantly fell into a sleep so profound that it is doubtful if a boiler explosion or an earthquake could have aroused him.

An hour or so later he was in the midst of a very perplexing dream, in which he seemed to be recovering from an illness, and the old family physician at his bedside kept changing into a young woman. While in the form of an old man he said, “Yes, there are the two captains, both evidently sound asleep, and no wonder. This is Captain Hamer, who would have died long ago but for the devoted care of the two lads, and this is Captain Ryder, who brought the boat up the river in the face of all obstacles.”

Then, presto! the old doctor changed into a young woman, who said, “Poor boy, I don’t wonder that he has fallen asleep, and I only hope he isn’t in for a spell of illness. He certainly appears feverish.”

With this a soft hand was laid on Phil’s forehead, and he opened his eyes to find his dream so far a reality that there actually was a young woman bending over him, and wearing an expression of anxiety on her pleasant face. Behind her stood the missionary.

She stepped back as she saw that Phil was awake, and the poor boy, recalling vividly his dishevelled appearance, struggled to his feet with a crimson face.

“I didn’t know you were going to bring ladies to see us,” he said in a reproachful tone to his companion of the night. “In fact, I didn’t know there was a lady within a thousand miles of here. I’m sure you didn’t mention the fact. You only said you were going to fetch the doctor.”

“And so I have,” laughed the missionary, “for this young lady is our doctor, and a most excellent one she is, too, I can assure you. She was just saying that you didn’t look at all well, and wondering if you were going to have the measles.”

“I had ’em long ago,” answered the lad, “and I never felt better in my life. I was a bit sleepy.”

“Which isn’t surprising after all you have recently undergone,” remarked the doctor, with a winning smile that served to establish friendly relations between them at once. “You see, we have already heard of your brave struggle against our unruly river, and that you may be prepared for them I will tell you at once that there are two more ladies at the station who are quite anxious to meet the hero of so many adventures.”

“Oh!” gasped poor Phil, who had never before been called a hero.

“Yes, but you needn’t look so alarmed. They aren’t half so formidable as I am, for they haven’t the privilege of ordering people to do things that I obtained with my diploma.”

“Are you going to order me to do things?” asked Phil, with recovered self-possession.

“Indeed I am; for as a doctor I dare issue orders even to a steamboat captain,” laughed the young woman. “I am going to order you to take sleep in big doses. It is a famous remedy in this country, for our nights are already seventeen hours long, and steadily lengthening. But, joking aside, I want to congratulate you, Mr. Ryder, on your skilful care of this patient, whose life has been undoubtedly saved by your success in keeping him warm. Although he is still a very sick man, I believe the crisis is past, and that with the nursing he can have on shore he will pull through all right.”

“I’m awfully glad to hear it,” said Phil, “but I’m puzzled to know how we are to get him ashore. I shouldn’t think it would do to carry him over the ice in the face of the wind that is blowing.”

“No, indeed,” replied the doctor.

“So we have made arrangements to carry him in this very boat,” said the missionary, “and if you care to step outside for a moment you can see how we propose to accomplish it.”

Phil had been wondering at the sound of many voices and busy labor that came from without, but as he gained the deck he comprehended the missionary’s plan at a glance. Some fifty native men and boys, directed by a white man, were hard at work with axes, ice-chisels, poles, and other implements opening a channel the full width of the Chimo from where she lay to the shore. As fast as a cake was loosened it was shoved under the solid ice on the down-stream side, and already a passage was opened for one-third of the distance.

“That is a capital idea!” exclaimed Phil, “and one that I don’t believe I should have thought of. Even if I had I am afraid we couldn’t have carried it out by ourselves, nor do I believe we could have induced those natives to work for us as they seem willing to do for you.”

“Perhaps not,” replied the missionary; “but I think they are fond of me, for when I explained to them how much I owed to my timely meeting with you last evening they seemed only too glad of a chance to return the favor.”

“I didn’t realize that you owed anything to us,” meditated Phil. “In fact, I thought we had been indebted to you for favors ever since our fortunate meeting. But it seems as though most every one was in debt to some one else for assistance in times of trouble.”

“Ah, my boy,” replied the missionary, “that is one of the fundamental principles of human life. From the moment we enter this world until we leave it we are dependent upon others for everything we possess, including life itself. Wherefore it becomes us to render unto our fellows such services as we may, promptly and cheerfully. But here comes Serge, and I am sure he is going to say that breakfast is ready.”

“Yes,” laughed Serge, “I am, and I should have said it long ago only Phil was so sound asleep that I couldn’t wake him without disturbing the captain. But now, if he is hungry—”

“If I am hungry!” cried Phil. “I honestly believe it was only my ravenous hunger that put me to sleep. Will you join us, sir?”

“I was only waiting for an invitation,” replied the missionary, with a smile, “for I didn’t stop ashore long enough to get anything to eat. Nor do I believe the doctor has had her breakfast; so if Serge doesn’t mind having a lady at his table—”

“A lady?” stammered Serge, in dismay, and gazing wildly about him. “Is there one on board?”

“There certainly is,” laughed the missionary, “and from what she has heard of your culinary skill she is most anxious to test it.”

A minute later they were all gathered about the Chimo’s mess-table, and the doctor was winning golden opinions by her judiciously bestowed compliments. Even gruff Mr. Sims was induced to smile by her praise of his polished engine, which she declared outshone any yet seen on the Yukon; while Isaac was told that the mission saw-mill was so frightfully out of order that the man of all men most needed there at that moment was a millwright.

The pleasant meal was hardly finished when a great shout from outside announced the completion of the canal. Then, with Phil at the wheel, while the missionary and the doctor occupied the pilot-house with him, and with flags at half-mast for the dead man in her cabin, the stanch little Chimo steamed slowly up the narrow channel to the berth she was to occupy for the next eight months. As she reached it the mission flag was dipped in salute, and then hoisted to half-mast in sympathy with her sorrow.

So the eventful voyage of four hundred miles from St. Michaels was ended; and, thanks to the lads whom Gerald Hamer had rescued from the cruel waters of Bering Sea, he and his property were now moored in a safe haven. And it was none too soon, for that very night the cold was so intense that the Yukon was frozen from bank to bank.

But Phil did not care, nor did Serge. They had reached the goal towards which they had set their faces with such sturdy determination, and for them neither cold nor storm had any present terrors.