Part 13 (1/2)
”Where in h.e.l.l is this steamer?”
”Out to the westward somewhere.”
”Well, she's a mail-boat, ain't she? Then why don't she stop here coming back? Answer me!”
The rotund man shrugged his fat shoulders. ”She's got to call at Uyak Bay going east.”
Emerson looked up quickly, ”Where is Uyak Bay?”
”Over on Kodiak Island,” Big George answered; then turned again to vent his spleen on the trader.
”What right have them steamboat people got to cut out this place for an empty cannery? Why, there ain't n.o.body at Uyak. It's more of that d.a.m.ned Company business. They own this whole country, and run it to suit themselves.”
”She ain't my boat,” said Petellin. ”You'd ought to have got here a few days sooner.”
”My G.o.d! I'm sorry we waited at the Pa.s.s,” said Emerson. ”The weather couldn't have been any worse that first day than it was when we came across.”
Detecting in this remark a criticism of his caution, Big George turned about and faced the speaker; but as he met Emerson's eye he checked the explosion, and, seizing his cap, bolted out into the cold to walk off his mad rage.
”When is the boat due at Uyak?” Emerson asked.
”'Most any time inside of a week.”
”How far is that from here?”
”It ain't so far--only about fifty miles.” Then, catching the light that flamed into the miner's eyes, Petellin hastened to observe: ”But you can't get there. It's across the Straits--Shelikof Straits.”
”What of that! We can hire a sail-boat, and--”
”I ain't got any sail-boat. I lost my sloop last year hunting sea-otter.”
”We can hire a small boat of _some_ sort, can't we, and get the natives to put us across? There must be plenty of boats here.”
”Nothing but skin boats, kyaks, and bidarkas--you know. Anyhow, you couldn't cross at this time of year--it's too stormy; these Straits is the worst piece of water on the coast. No, you'll have to wait.”
Emerson sank back into his chair, and stared hopelessly at the fire.
”Better have some breakfast,” the trader continued; but the other only shook his head. And after a farewell squint of curiosity, the fat man rolled out again in pursuit of his duties.
”I've heard tell of these Shelikof Straits,” Fraser remarked. ”I bunked with a bear-hunter from Kodiak once, and he said they was certainly some h.e.l.l in winter.” When Emerson made no reply, the fellow's colorless eyes settled upon him with a trace of solicitude, and he resumed: ”I'm doggone sorry you lost out, pal, but mebbe something'll turn up yet.” Then, seeing that the young man was deaf to his condolence, he muttered: ”So, you've got 'em again, eh? Um!” As usual on such occasions, he fell into his old habit of reading aloud, as it were, an imaginary scene to himself:
”'Yes, I've got 'em again,' says Mr. Emerson, always eager to give entertainment with the English language. 'I am indeed blue this afternoon.
Won't you talk to me? I feel that the sound of a dear friend's voice will drive dull care away.'
”'Gladly,' says I; 'I am a silent man by birth and training, and my thoughts is jewels, but for you, I'll scatter them at large, and you can take your pick. Now, this salmon business ain't what it's cracked up to be, after all. It's a smelly proposition, no matter how you take it, and a fisherman ain't much better than a Reub; ask any wise guy. I'd rather see you in some profesh that don't stink so, like selling scented soap. There was a feller at Dyea who done well at it. What think you?'
”'It's a dark night without,' says Mr. Emerson, 'and I fear some mischief is afoot!'
”'But what of yonder beauteous--'”
Unheeding this chatter, the disheartened man got up at this juncture, as if a sudden thought impelled him, and followed Balt out into the cold. He turned down the bank to the creek, however, and made a careful examination of all the canoes that went with the village. Fifteen minutes later he had searched out the disgruntled fisherman, and cried, excitedly: