by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER IX FATE LENDS A HAND
Strangely enough it was Fate, in the form of an automobile accident infar away Seattle, that cast the final vote deciding their choice betweenthe _Stormy Petrel_ in Bristol Bay and a glacier bear hunt with SmokeyJoe.
Spring had come at last. Steadfastly refusing to go in debt, the Dawsons,with Johnny's help, were attempting to clear their land without the helpof a tractor.
At first it was fun. With blasting powder and dynamite they blew thelarger stumps into shreds. The boom--boom--boom of blasts might be heardfor miles.
There remained thousands of smaller stumps. To force these from the toughsod and heavy black soil with pick, shovel and bar, was back-breakinglabor.
"Give me time," Johnny would groan when morning came. "There's a place inmy back somewhere that bends. I'll find it. Just give me time."
Joke as they might, they could not but feel that progress was woefullyslow and that seed-time would find them all unprepared.
One bright day an automobile came bumping over the uneven road to pausebefore their field. Out from it popped an old friend.
"Blackie!" Johnny exclaimed. "I thought you'd be in Bristol Bay by now."
"I'm on my way," Blackie puffed. "And so are you.
"Mr. Lawson," he exclaimed, "I must draft your boys into my service."
"What about these stumps," Mr. Lawson straightened his stiff back.
"What'll it cost to have 'em out with a tractor?" Blackie demanded.
Both Johnny and Lawrence looked at him with gleaming eyes.
"Why do you need my boys?" the man among the stumps demanded.
"Two of the men who were to accompany me have been crippled," Blackieexplained. "They were in an auto accident in Seattle. I had a wire thismorning. They were so badly hurt they could not let me know sooner. Andtomorrow we were to sail. Already there has been news of trouble inBristol Bay.
"I tell you, Mr. Lawson," Blackie was pleading now. "It's for Alaska andher greatest enterprise I ask it. Yes, and for every humble American whomakes a simple meal from a can of salmon. As I see it, it's yourpatriotic duty to let them go."
Then Blackie did a strange thing for him. He quoted poetry--
"'Not once nor twice in our fair Island's story Has the path of duty been the way to glory.'
"Mr. Lawson!" he exploded, "let them go. Here!" he waved a roll of bills."I'll pull your stumps. I'll plow your land and sow your seed. Let themgo."
Who could have refused? Surely not a man with Tom Lawson's patrioticsoul. "Al-all right, boys," he said huskily. "Go get your clothes.And--and Blackie, I must trust you to bring them safely home."
"No need to worry," Blackie reassured him. "We'll all be back to shootfire-crackers with you on the Fourth of July. And may your fields begreen by then."
Twenty-four hours later Johnny and Lawrence found themselves standing onthe narrow deck of the _Stormy Petrel_ watching a familiar shore-linefade from their sight.
To Johnny this seemed just one more journey into the great unknown. ToLawrence it was something more, his first long trip away from his ownfamily. Strange emotions stirred within him. Questions he could notanswer crowded through his mind. How long was this journey to last? Whatstrange, wild adventures would he meet? What would be the outcome? Wouldthey be of some real service?
Through his thoughts ran Blackie's two lines of verse,
"'Not once nor twice in our fair Island's story Has the path of duty been the way to glory.'"
What did it mean? He had only a vague notion.
"MacGregor," he said to the gray-haired engineer who thrust his head upfrom the engine room, "what do these words mean?" He repeated the lines.
"Well, noo, me lad," said the friendly old Scotchman, "I've never beentoo good at poetry. But it seems to me it says if ye think first of yercountry and her needs, ye'll be likely to get the things you want mostfer yerself; that is, I meant to say, in the end."
"Thanks." Once again the boy paced the deck. Was this true? He wanted atractor, a humble, earth-digging, sod-plowing, stump-pulling tractor. Itwas a strange thing for a boy to want, he knew. Most boys would havewished for an automobile, but he wanted a tractor. Would he get it?
As they left Seward behind and headed west to follow the AlaskanPeninsula until they could cross over into Bristol Bay, it seemed to himthat they were heading directly away from his heart's desire. The paythey were to receive was small. It would help very little. "And yet," hethought with a firm resolve to do his best in his strange new position,"Sometimes fate does seem to take a hand in making things come out justright. Here's hoping."
The _Stormy Petrel_ was a sturdy boat with powerful motors. She wassmall--little larger than a good-sized speed boat. But how she could go!
There was a small after-cabin with six bunks ranged along the sides. HereGeorge, the colored cook, presided over a small stove producing gloriousthings to eat. The coffee was always hot. And indeed it was needed, for,as a gray fog settled down upon them, the air became bitter cold.
Johnny was to take watch for watch with Blackie as steersman. Lawrencewas to exchange watches with MacGregor and preside over the motors. Hadthis been a week's cruise simply for pleasure, nothing could have beenmore delightful. Johnny loved boats. Lawrence listened to the steady roarof his motors and was joyously happy.
And yet, there hung over them a sense of approaching danger.
"Say-ee!" Johnny exclaimed on the third day, after taking their positionand studying the chart. "We're closer to Asia than we are to Seattle."
"Aye, that we are, me lad," MacGregor agreed.
"Yes, and that's why it's so easy for these Orientals to slip over hereand trap our fish," Blackie exploded.
"And that," he went on quietly, "is why you settlers in Matanuska Valleyare given so much financial aid. Your old Uncle Sam wants you there. He'sgoing to locate more and more people along these Alaskan shores. Youwatch and see! Why? To give them homes? Not a bit of it. To have peoplehere to watch those Orientals, that's why."
"Well," said Johnny with a laugh. "Looks like we'd learn a lot ofgeography and current history on this trip."
"No doubt about that, me lad," MacGregor agreed.
They had been on the water for five days when, touching Johnny on theshoulder, Blackie pointed at two spots of white against the sky.
"That's snow on two mountain peaks," he explained. "The cannery we'reheading for is built on the banks of a small river close to thesemountains. We'll be there before dark. And after that," he took a deepbreath. "After that our real work begins."
"A new world," Johnny murmured dreamily.
"You don't know half of it," said Blackie. And Blackie was right.