The Pony Rider Boys in Alaska

Chapter 2

“Oh, how do you do, sir. Did I say anything?”

“Well, there’s a chance for a difference of opinion as to that,” smiled the miner.

“I have been enjoying the scenery, sir. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“You should see it at sunrise,” answered Darwood. “These mists are well worth coming all the way up here to gaze upon. In the morning they take on all the delicate tints of the primrose. Then at sunset of course the colors grow warmer–amber, orange, gold–almost everything that could be imagined in the way of wonderful colorings. All that sort of thing, you know. I never saw anything like it in any part of the world, and I’ve seen some,” added the Gold Digger reflectively.

“I should like to see it at sunset,” answered Tad. “Is it ever like this in the interior, sir?”

“Interior of what?”

“Of the country? Up there in the mountains?”

Darwood gave the boy a quick glance of inquiry. There was suspicion in his eyes.

“In the far country?” added Butler.

“I can’t say as to that; I can’t say that I know,” replied the prospector shortly.

“What we wanted to ask you about was the Yakutat trail from the coast up?” interjected Ned. “You see, we are going that way and we want to get all the information we can about the trails and the country itself.”

Tad gave his companion a warning look, but Ned persisted in pressing his questioning. The miner’s hands dropped from the rail.

“I reckon you would better ask someone else. I can’t tell you anything about the trail,” replied Darwood, turning on his heel and striding away.

“There, you’ve done it now,” complained Butler ruefully. “Of course you had to break in and spoil it all. Now we shan’t get another opportunity. Mr. Darwood is suspicious of us, and he won’t talk with us again. It’s too bad.”

“Well, you wanted to know. What’s the use in beating about the bush when you want to know a thing. I believe in asking for what you want,” protested Ned.

“So do I, but it isn’t always best to go at it bald-headed. However, never mind, Ned. I am now convinced that there would be little use in asking Mr. Darwood questions in any circumstances. The instant you begin to talk Alaska with that man he is going to shy off. He fears he might be trapped into an admission, or else he thinks we are trying to pump him for some other reason. You may be sure that others have tried to draw him out, believing they might obtain information that he is supposed to possess.”

“They are a queer lot,” muttered Ned. “Didn’t the Captain say no one knew anything about this gold pass, or whatever you call it?”

“Taku Pass? Yes. That is, he said few persons knew of it, but you may be sure that the purpose of these men up here is known. There are plenty of gentlemen waiting to beat those four into the land of golden promise. I don’t blame the Diggers for having their suspicions of everyone about them. I wish I could convince them that we aren’t that sort of people. I like that fellow. I’d like to help him, too,” mused Tad.

“I shouldn’t. However, I’m sorry I put my foot in it,” nodded Ned.

“You needn’t be. See! We are running out of the swell now.”

The steamer, soon coming under the lee of the islands, was steaming into Fitzhugh Sound, where dangerous shoals menace the navigators of these enchanting waters. Captain Petersen was now occupying the little bridge just forward of the pilot house. His face was grim and set. The good fellow was no longer present–it was now the master, bent upon attending to his duties.

The sound is a slender waterway, extending directly northward fully thirty miles, more entrancing, it seemed to the boys, than any other water over which they had sailed. The Pony Rider Boys were having a glorious passage into the far north where they were going in search of new adventure. They were bound for the wildest and most remote section of Uncle Sam’s domain, where they hoped to spend the summer months.

Now that the waters had become more quiet, Stacy Brown slowly dragged himself from the shadow of the life-boat and stood gripping the gunwale. After getting his head leveled somewhat he walked unsteadily to his companions who were leaning on the steamer’s rail regarding him with smiling faces.

“Sick?” questioned Tad.

“No; merely ailing,” replied the fat boy.

“I wouldn’t be a landlubber,” jeered Rector.

“You would, if you were in my place,” muttered Stacy.

On through a panorama of changing scenes and colors sailed the “Corsair.” In Finlayson Channel, some distance farther on, the forest that lined the shores was a solid mountain of green on each side, the trees growing down to the water. Here the reflections were so brilliant that the dividing line between shore and water was difficult for the untrained eye to make out. The boys seemed to be gazing upon an optical illusion. From the water’s edge the mountains rose sheer to a great height, their distant peaks capped with snow glistening in the morning sunlight, while glacial streams flashed over the open spaces on the mountain sides.

“Is there no end to it?” wondered Tad Butler, gazing at the scenery until his eyes ached.

“It is all very wonderful,” agreed Professor Zepplin.

“I call it tiresome,” declared the fat boy wearily. “I prefer something exciting.”

Ned suggested that he jump overboard. Stacy replied that he would were it not that he didn’t want to put his companions to the trouble of rescuing him.

The entrancing scenery continued at intervals until the evening of the second day after their unsuccessful attempt to draw out Curtis Darwood. They were now passing through Frederick Sound, bordered by spire-shaped glaciers that towered in the sky, pale and chaste, more than two thousand feet above the sound. Darkness fell, the sky being overcast, and the air chill, giving the passengers the shivers and sending them to their cabins below. Tad Butler and Ned Rector had clambered to the top of the deck-house and settled themselves between the two smokestacks. It was a nice warm berth and they appreciated it. They seemed far away from human habitation there.

“You said you had something to tell me this evening,” Ned reminded his companion, after a few moments of contented silence.

“Yes. It was about last night. You remember that remark of the skipper’s the other day, don’t you?”

“About what?”

“What he said about ‘Red Whiskers’?”

“Yes.”

“I have the gentleman located, Ned. I am reasonably certain that I have. Of course it’s none of my business, but I have been curious ever since the Captain said that. My man has red whiskers, regular combustible whiskers,” added the freckle-faced boy with a grin.

“There are several men on board this boat who wear red upholstery on their chins,” averred Rector.

“I know that, but this one is the fellow, all right,” declared Tad in a confident tone.

“You know something!” exclaimed Ned.

“I do. Don’t speak so loudly. Someone might hear. I heard someone passing along the deck just below us a moment ago.”

“No one down there could distinguish what we were saying,” answered Ned, as the two drew back farther between the steel bases of the two funnels.

“Well?” urged Ned.

“The man referred to by Captain Petersen is Sandy Ketcham, the tall, lank fellow, with the squinty eyes and the stoop shoulders. He has a trick of peering up from under his eyelids when he looks at you.”

“Oh! I know the one you mean, and I don’t like his looks. How did you know?”

“Since the Captain made that remark about ‘Red Whiskers’ I have been taking an interest in every man on the boat who wore red whiskers,” said Tad. “I tried to decide, in my own mind, which of them was the right one.”

“So did I,” admitted Ned. “But I got all mixed up. If you succeeded in picking out the right one you are mighty sharp. I wish I were as keen as you.”

“Keen? Not a bit of it! It was a pure accident that I found out. I just blundered on the truth last night. The man I had picked out wasn’t the fellow at all. I had the wrong man, so you see I am not so smart as you thought. You remember you left Stacy and myself sitting on a bale of freight at the rear end of the boat when you went down late last evening?”

“Yes. Chunky was half asleep.”

“Exactly. Well, I shook him up a few moments later and he went below grumbling because I wouldn’t let him sleep when he was so comfortable. He was liable to catch cold in the damp air. Then I went to sleep myself,” admitted Butler. “I’m not much of an adviser, am I?”

“Go on,” urged Rector.

“Something awakened me. Two men were talking nearby. I couldn’t see them, but could hear every word they said. One of the two I recognized by his voice. The other I was unable to place. I got him placed right to-day though, when I heard him talking on deck. They are a precious pair of rascals, Ned. Perhaps it is considered fair enough up here to do those things, but I just can’t hold myself when I see crookedness going on.”

“You haven’t said what it was about yet,” reminded Ned.

“They were plotting against Darwood.”

“You don’t say?”

“Yes, they were.”

“How?”

“I am not going to tell you now. The question is, ought I to tell Mr. Darwood? Would it be right to carry tales, even in a case like this?”

“Not knowing what the case is I can’t very well advise you,” answered Ned Rector.

“What did they say?”

“I’d rather not say a word about that until I have decided what to do.”

“You’re a queer chap, Tad. You arouse my curiosity; then you won’t satisfy it.”

“You shall know all about it in good time. Hark! Was that you who kicked the collar of the stack?”

“No. I didn’t hear anything. Who was the other man?”

“His name is Ainsworth. He is a prospector, too. They are together, he and the man Sandy. There are some others in the plot, as I learned from the conversation, but I hardly think they are on board. I take it that the others are to meet this party at Skagway, which proves to me that the plans of our friends, the four Gold Diggers, were learned by the plotters some time before the former set sail for the north country. Oh, it is a fine game of grab they are planning! But I believe that, if Mr. Darwood be warned in time, he will be perfectly able to take care of himself. I am quite sure I shouldn’t care to be the other fellow.”

“I don’t know why we should get so excited over it,” grumbled Ned. “Darwood and his companions are no friends of ours. I should say that quite the opposite is the case.”

“But they are real men, just the same,” objected Tad. “I don’t care whether they are friendly to us or not. Come on; let’s get down.”

Grasping awning spars the two lads swung down to the promenade of the upper deck. After they had cleared the deck-house a man dropped to the deck from the deck-house, on the opposite side.

After a few moments’ stroll, during which the boys continued their conversation, they went below. On reaching his cabin, Butler discovered that he had lost his pocket knife. Thinking that it had slipped from his pocket while the two were lounging on the deck-house, Tad went back to look for it. He was the only person in sight on deck. That part of the deck was unlighted, save as a faint glow shone up through the engine room grating. The freckle-faced boy looked carefully about on top of the deck-house for several minutes, in search of his lost knife, lighting match after match to aid him in his quest. He failed to find it. With a grunt of disappointment he again swung himself to the deck.

The instant his feet touched the deck, Tad Butler met with a violent surprise. He was suddenly grabbed from behind. A powerful arm gripped him like a vise, pinioning his own right arm to his side, while a big hand was clapped over his mouth, forcing the lad’s head violently backwards with a jolt which for the moment he thought had dislocated his neck.

Tad struggled and fought with all his might, but to little purpose. The boy realized that he was in the hands of a man who was a giant for strength and who was slowly but surely forcing him toward the steamer’s rail. The Pony Rider Boy felt a bushy beard over his shoulder and against his neck. Now he was against the rail, facing out over the water. Butler knew that, despite his struggles, he was going to be dropped over the side. Then a sudden idea came to him. Tad shot up his free left hand, fastening his fingers in the long beard of the man behind him. He heard a smothered exclamation over his shoulder, and for the instant the hand over his mouth was withdrawn.

“Help!” shouted Tad Butler. Then a blow on the head sent him limply to the deck.