D. T. $2.00 DARK TREASURE by William MacMillan Adventure was what 19-year old Mark Abbot was seeking when he left his father’s blacksmith shop in Boston, and sailed for Quebec. And adventure is just what Mark Abbot found— enough to satisfy a dozen red-blooded youths. In Quebec lived the famous explorer, Cap- tain John MacLaren, an old friend of Mark’s father. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . he would give Mark a place in his next expedition. Simon Abbot had written a letter to this effect. But Captain MacLaren was a canny Scot. He could use a young blacksmith on his mysterious forth- coming trip to the Island of Dark Treasure . . . but only if he was brave. Almost as the words leave the Captain’s lips, and thereafter many times, Mark proves his bravery. With his fists, when fists are all he has to use. With a spear, against a ferocious polar bear. With foils in defense of a weaker adversary against the villain, Count Stovoski. With a clasp knife when a giant swordfish threatens to carry the Captain to his death. And while the good ship Thor threads her way to the Arctic, the Northwest Passage and over the top of the world to the land of treasure, both Mark and the reader learn the ways of ships in storm and calm, of trappers —- both good and bad, of ambergris, of Eskimos, and all the varied and fascinating life of the far north, where whales, seals, wolverines, caribou and auks are commonplace, and building igloos, recaulking the ship’s bottom, and finally find- ing the dark treasure of the mysterious island— tl'10U$and<' of highly-prized Russian sables — all part of t lad’s unforgettable cxpwicr For adu nded bm u 0 ¢ \ _ ‘”"""‘*____l"_~'+- -'7~ DARK TREASURE d fl G st hold of his weapon ~ § Frenchman lo 8 h t . I I doubled up lake a jackmfe. DARK TREASURE 5] ‘ZQ)z'//iam Q21 acJJ’[z'//an Illustrated by Edward A. Pauc/zer M. S. MILL CO., INC. mew YORK conmcu-r, 1943, av WILLIAM uscmtum All rights reserved. No part of this boob may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed III a magazine or newspaper. PUBLISHERS NOTE A recent ruling by the \Var Production Board has curtailed the use of paper by book publishers. In line with this ruling and in order to conserve materials and manpower, we are co-operating by (a) using lighter-weight paper which reduces the bulk of our books, and (b) printing books with smaller margins and with more words to each page. The story itself is not abridged or shortened in any way. We are sure that readers will understand the publishers‘ desire to co-operate as fully as possible with the objectives of our government. MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AIBIXCA RY THE VAIL-BALLOU PRESS, lNC., IINGKAMTON, N. Y. THIS TALE [S DEDICATED TO ALL BOYS WITH THE TUG OF ADVENTURE AT THEIR HEARTS CKAPTII I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI CONTENTS THE FUR BRIGADES . . . . . . . Covnr STOVOSKI TELLs or THE DARK TREAsuRE . . . . . . . . . THE Thor SETS SAIL . . . . . . . MARK S101-rrs HIS F1RsT SEAL . . . . THE Thor ALMOST FOUNDERS . . . THE STRAIT or BELLE IsLE . . . REDSKINS AS]-[ORE . . . . . . . WHALES AT PLAY . . . . . . . . MARK SAvEs THE ExPLoRER’s LII-‘E . . . THE ABANDONED SCHOONER . . . . . ASHORE ON BAFI-‘IN ISLAND . . . A WHALE HUNT . . . . . . . A SHOT IN THE Foo . . . . . . BOARDED BY ESKIMOS . . . . MARK MEETS A WALRus . . . . WINTER . . . . . . . . . . OVERLAND TREK . . . . PERPETUAL NIGHT . . . . . . DEATH IN THE DARK . . . . . . Losr on THE IcE . . . . . . . . THE ISLAND AT LAs'r . . . . . . PAGI 13 25 37 47 59 70 82 93 99 1:6 :27 139 150 163 175 187 198 210 221 333 14$ ILLUSTRATIONS “. . . the Frenchman lost hold of hisweapon and doubled up like a jackknife." . . . . . . .Fronti:piec: “. . . to the huge delight of the onlookers, drove him along the deck." . . . . . . . . . . “The strait was a dangerous and spooky place, bristling withhazards..." . . . . . . . . . “. . . the loop tightened about the big man's ankle . . .” “. . . to come full on a native village." . . . . . “. . . they were in a mighty tight spot." . . . . “I-Iis foot slipped on the slimy rock and he went down likeanine-pin.". . . . . . . . . . . “They could see the outlines of his tracks in the snow . . .” “Pvefound it, I’vefoundit.". . . . . . . . PAGI 51 79 105 135 151 18: 223 243 DARK TREASURE 14. DARK TREASURE tossing out bundles of furs that he realized that these were the fur brigades his father, Simon Abbot, had so often described in the old black- smith’s shop back home. And so indelibly had the tales been impressed on his memory he readily recognized the ceinture flechéd voyageurs, the long-faced Scotch traders, and the tightly bun- dled fur packs. There seemed to be no end to the home coming brigades after that. And Mark’s heart leaped in his throat at sight of the white foam curling out from under the sharply curved prows. Clearly itching to get ashore, the paddlers, slender men with bright sashes about their middles, stroked furiously, timing each lunge of their dripping blades to the stirring cadence of a boat song. The little cove was now packed with canoes. Years later the same shelter was to be the moor- ing place for great fleets of timber ships, and immense rafts. Just now it was the landing place of those fur traders and explorers challenging the perils of the interior. Suddenly warned of approaching darkness by the lengthening shadows of the cliffs, Mark reso- lutely turned his back on the fascinating spectacle and started up the steep path leading to the cliff- top. Disgusted at finding himself winded when he reached the crest he dropped his bag to the THE FUR BRIGADES I5 ground and leaned thankfully against a thick stone wall girdling the edge of the precipice. From this vantage point he had a clear and un- interrupted view of the shadowy river below. Fur laden canoes were still surging downstream; he could hear the deep-throated songs of the voyageurs and even catch the thud and swish of their flashing paddles. Squaring his sturdy nineteen-year-old shoul- ders Mark renewed the vow he had made, back there at the old smithy in Boston, to carve out of this new and fascinating world the fame and for- tune that had eluded his father. Suddenly aware of a movement beside him, Mark turned to see a tall, hawk-faced man si- lently surveying the scene. Deciding to make the most of the opportunity he excused himself and politely inquired if he knew where J0hn Mac- Laren lived. A shadow darkened the angular face. “Mac- Larens, MacDufls, and MacTavishes,” he ex- ploded. “The place is full of Scots. They are everywhere. You can’t move without stepping on them.” “ I mean Captain John MacLaren,” hastily in- terjected Mark, “the explorer.” The other’s face brightened. “Oh, he’s differ- ent; everybody in Quebec knows him.” “He lives nearby ?” I6 DARK TREASURE “Aboard that schooner there,” explained the man in a more friendly manner, indicating the blurred outline of a ship moored to a wharf far below, “and in a stone house by the St. Louis Gate.” Thanking him cordially, Mark retrieved his bag, and turning his back on the river, hurried along the street his informant assured him eventu- ally led to the gate in the fortifications. Forcing a way through the exuberant crowd was no easy matter. And he had, at times, to bring his massive shoulders into play. With the fur brigades in town the populace had evidently de- clared a holiday and poured into the streets, mak- ing progress both slow and perilous. The invaders from the trap lines and trading posts were divided into two entirely difierent groups. And even the New England blacksmith had no difficulty recognizing the excitable, gaily- garbed voyageurs, and the tall, solemn Scots. They were as different, these two, as day was from night. While the French hooted and danced, and even rolled on the street in impromptu wres- tling bouts, the dour Gaels picked their way silently through the crowd. Both, he readily real- ized, had their qualities and their faults. And he couldn’t decide which he would prefer at his back in a pinch. Locating the St. Louis Gate proved much THE FUR BRIGADES I7 more difficult than Mark had anticipated. But when he finally caught a glimpse of the gate’s towers and turrets piercing the gloom like the battlements of a medieval castle, he forgot his blistered feet in rapturous contemplation of the huge wrought-iron hinges, the massive bars, and artistically conceived handles. The men who had hammered these things into shape had been craftsmen of no mean ability. And there was something almost reverent in the way he passed a great hand over a ring-bolt set deep in the ma- sonry. Suddenly remembering the object of his jour- ney, he tore his eyes from these evidences of mas- ter craftsmanship and passed through the gate itself to find himself directly in front of a gray stone house he judged was the home of the man he was looking for. ' Oblivious of the jostling throng he was staring speculatively up at the pile of stone when he be- came aware of the heathenish music spilling out of an upstairs window. Reassured by the feel of the letter in his pocket he pushed open the heavy oak door and started up the great staircase within. Somebody was clearly having a gay time. The stairs shook under the tread of an invisi- ble dancer, and encouraging shouts frequently drowned out the teeth-grinding music. I8 DARK TREASURE The minute Mark reached the top step he was reminded, by the appearance of a solemn-faced flunky in a long red coat, that caste and class had a place even in this land of opportunity. “Your pleasure, monsieur?” demanded this in- dividual in broken English. “My what?” gasped Mark. “Your pleasure?” repeated the man. “What do you want?” Mark laughed. “Now, why didn’t you say that in the first place?” The flunky frowned disapprovingly. “You are waiting for somebody?” “On the contrary, somebody is waiting for me.” His face almost as red now as his coat, the man made an involuntary movement towards his visi- tor. And if looks could have killed, then Mark would undoubtedly have tumbled lifelessly down the staircase. Deciding at the last minute that an encounter with those huge fists mi ghtn’t be profit- able, the fellow stopped short and glared at him. “And who,” he asked sarcastically, “would be waiting for monsieur?" Mark chuckled and clapped him so lustily on the shoulder he turned pale and staggered under the impact. “None other than Master ]ohn Mac- Laren himself.” For a moment the man in the red coat stared at him as if he couldn’t believe his ears. Then THE FUR BRIGADES 19 swallowing hard he stammered, “I shall an- nounce you immediately, Monsieur—er?” Mark grinned, “Abbot, Mark Abbot.” If a firecracker had exploded in his long-tailed coat the now thoroughly frightened flunky couldn’t have gone any faster. Darting up the long hall like a frightened rabbit he pushed through a door at the end, and with a last fright- ened glance over his shoulder, disappeared from sight. Still chuckling at the magic wrought by ]ohn MacLaren’s name Mark followed more leisurely. The door through which the man had disap- peared evidently led to the heart of the festivi- ties, because every time a servant opened it fresh sounds of mirth poured into the hall. Impatient at the flunky’s prolonged absence, Mark shouldered past a line of men with food- laden trays and pushed through the door to find himself in a great high-ceilinged room that was evidently being used as a banquet hall. A table, groaning with food, had been set up across the whole width of the room, and about it were seated big-framed men with bronzed faces, men he guessed were the leading fur traders of the country. Even in that company of giants, however, one individual loomed head and shoulders over the rest. He sat at the center of the table and was so 2o DARK TREASURE huge the chair underneath looked no bigger than a stool. He was bearded, and had the deepest blue eyes Mark had ever seen. Clearly scornful of the liquor that had turned half the company into maudlin simps, he sat bolt upright and glow- cred at his babbling companions. The meal appeared to be half over. Spilled wine stained the tablecloth, some of the diners already sprawled over the table, others slumped inertly in their seats, oblivious of the world, and still others argued drunkenly with antagonists far down the table. Meanwhile, the floor continued to shake under the ponderous feet of two gigantic Highlanders in swirling kilts and sporrans, who toed and heeled about a couple of swords, matching their capers to the weird music a third, as gaily kilted companion, drew from a combination of bladder and flutes which Mark faintly recalled had some- thing to do with Scotsmen. Wondering what pleasure grown men could find in such paganish behavior, Mark turned to inspect the room itself. Massive pillars, all covered with mysterious Indian characters, sup- ported a vaulted roof, from which hung enor- mous chandeliers of hammered iron, each hold- ing upwards of a hundred lighted candles. The walls, paneled in polished oak, were hung with THE FUR BRIGADES 21 life-sized portraits of men who, in their time, had probably sat at this same table. Suddenly aware that the dancers no longer pounded the floor, and that the screeching music had come to an end, Mark turned to meet the inquiring eye of the big man at the table. Un- consciously squaring his shoulders, he started towards him. “Captain ]ohn MacLaren?” he asked, bowing courteously. The big man’s sharp eyes swept him from head to feet. And if his size and breadth of shoulder brought a gleam of approval to them he quickly disguised it with a scowl. “That’s what they call me,” he said shortly. “I have a letter, sir, from Simon Abbot." The dark face brightened. “From old Simon P” he repeated, holding out his hand for the missive. Tearing the envelope open with strong, thick fingers the big man quickly absorbed the contents of the letter. “So you are Mark Abbot,” he re- flected presently. “Yes, sir, Simon’s son.” For a long moment the explorer toyed absently with the letter, then leaning across the table so that even his nearest neighbor couldn't catch his words, he asked sharply, “You know, per- haps, something of the expedition we plan?” Mark shook his head. “One hears little but 22 DARK TREASURE small ship talk on the month-long journey from Boston.” The explorer looked relieved. “You can han- dle a gun?” Instead of replying immediately Mark dou- bled up his fist and contemplated it gravely. “So far, this has served me well enough.” The big man snickered, then throwing back his head, roared with laughter, making the dishes on the table jump and rattle with mighty thumps of his fist. “ ’Pon my soul,” he gasped presently, wiping the tears from his eyes, “I could swear that my crotchety old friend, Simon, stood right here be- fore me.” Mark grinned hopefully. “Then you will take me on this—er—-—expedition you plan?” The big man frowned. “Not so fast, not so fast, my friend. Blacksmiths I need, and sorely, but ones that have courage to match their mus- cles.” Mark Abb0t’s heart sank at this, and he was about to declare that he imagined he possessed the necessary courage when a woolen-sashed voy- ageur shouldered through the servants at the door and sidled into the room with a naked knife in his hand. Shocked into sobriety by the fury in the fel- low’s swarthy face the drunken diners straight- THE FUR BRIGADES 23 ened in their chairs, while those nearest shrank away with muttered imprecations. His dark eyes blazing in his face the voyageur was bunching his muscles for a leap at the unperturbed ex- plorer when Mark launched himself at him so unexpectedly he caught him in the midrifi and sent him crashing to the floor. ’ Screaming with frustrated rage the French- man leaped to his feet like a cat and whirled on his interferer. But Mark was ready. Coolly waiting till he was almost on top of him Mark stepped deftly aside and socked him so neatly and expertly on the point of his chin the French- man lost hold of his weapon and doubled up like a jackknife. Pouncing on him like terriers on a rat, the servants dragged him, struggling, to his feet. “The next time you pick on me, Laberge,” ob- served the explorer quietly, fixing him with a cold eye, “be sure there isn’t a New England blacksmith around. . . .” “It was you I wanted, gr0.\' cochon,” snarled the man, “for losing my brother in the swamp.” A look of concern darkened the bearded face. “None regretted that more than I, Laberge. . . .” “You killed him,” screamed Laberge in ma- niacal fury. And wrenching himself free, he snatched a man’s knife from its sheath and lunged at the captain. =4 DARK TREASURE Of all the onlookers, Mark alone seemed ca- pable of action. Gripping the fellow’s wrist with both hands, he whirled around and brought the rigid arm down over his shoulder, the way he had learned back home, with a hard jerk that brought a scream of pain from the woodsman. Forced to dance about on tiptoe to ease the excruciating pain, Laberge was an easy mark for the blacksmith’s next move. Using his hip as a lever, Mark snapped him forward, clean over his head, so that he turned a cartwheel in the air, almost, and was brought up against the wall with a crash. Stunned by the shock, Laberge lay there for a moment, drooling like some savage, beaten ani- mal. And when he finally attempted to struggle to his feet Mark coolly gripped his wrist again. His face a mask of fury, the Frenchman braced himself, and with his free hand on the floor, was setting himself to deliver, with his feet, the most dreaded blow in backwoods’ wrestling, la savat, when Mark jerked him forward, caught him about the back of the neck and the crotch, and dropping to one knee, brought him down heavily across the other. It was too much for flesh and blood to endure. There came the sickening sound of breaking ribs, and Laberge, his bravado gone, writhed on the floor. CHAPTER Two COUNT STOVOSKI TELLS OF THE DARK TREASURE T0 SAY that the company assembled in the big room was dumbfounded by Mark’s amazing dis- play of strength, would be putting it mildly. And for a moment or two Frenchmen and Scots stared at him in frank and open admiration. Capable men themselves, they recognized, and appreci- ated, the tremendous strength in his arms. And after a surgeon had been summoned, and the groaning voyageur whisked away, the buzz of excited conversation filled the cavernous room. A sheepish grin on his face, and still breathing heavily from his exertions, Mark found himself being pushed into a chair beside the explorer. “A good trick, that,” chuckled the big man, “in a pinch.” Mark grinned. “You know it too?” The other nodded. “Old Simon and I used it many a time.” “It’s all a matter of timing,” reflected Mark. “To say nothing,” added the man dryly, glanc- =5 26 DARK TREASURE ing down at Mark’s big hands, “of a little strength.” ' Having thus placed Mark at his ease, Captain MacLaren turned and plunged into an earnest conversation with a man further up the table, in which the words, Eskimos, Indians, whales, and seals, seemed to play an important part. Reminded of his hunger by the steaming plate of food set before him, Mark forgot the uncom- fortable position into which the encounter with the voyageur had pitchforked him, and concen- trated on taking the edge off his hunger. He was in the very act of disposing of the last mouthful when he looked up to meet his neighbor’s alco- holic eye. Evidently anxious for conversation, this fellow described, between hiccoughs, the more important personages about the table. And having rendered Mark this service, he subsided in his chair and was soon dead to the world. With the dishes cleared away, speeches were in order. And Mark, an inarticulate individual under the best of circumstances, was astonished at the fluency and ease of the Frenchmen’s talk. Being on their feet didn’t seem to phase them a bit. And they punctuated their words of praise for their host with eloquent gestures. When the Scots rose to their feet it was with evident reluc- tance. Hemming and hawing, and obviously ill at ease, they stumbled through rather inadequate 28 DARK TREASURE he stared up at the stars and wondered what the future had in store for him. After the exciting events of his first day in the new land, sleep didn’t come easily. From far up- stream he could hear the mufiled shouts of late- arriving voyageurs, while close by the river sang and gurgled on its way to the sea. When he awoke, next morning, it was to find the little beach black with the canoes that had arrived while he slept. Most of them had been denuded of their cargoes, but some were still under the surveillance of beetle-browed Scotch traders. Anxious to learn what the rendezvous with the doughty explorer might produce in the way of adventure, he gave the boats no more than a pass- ing glance. Dousing his head in the river, he gulped down a sandwich providentially left in the bottom of his bag, and straightening his some- what touseled clothes, started eagerly up the hill. In the bright light of the early morning the river looked mighty and inexorable. There was something strange about it, too. Where the cur- rent had been flowing northeastward the previ- ous night, it was now going in the opposite direc- tion, forcing voyageurs just rounding the rock to paddle for all they were worth. Above him, the walls looked massive and impregnable. And he STOVOSKI TELLS OF TREASURE 29 could just catch a glimpse of the ramparts of the Point Levis forts. For some reason or another the hill seemed slightly less precipitous than on the previous night. And on reaching the top he caught his breath at sight of the verdant valley beyond the town, through which meandered a silver ribbon of a river. His thoughts still on the sharp-prowed fur canoes sweeping downstream, he was aston- ished to find the streets full of burly, unshaven men with huge packs on their backs that obvi- ously contained furs. Eager to dispose of their catch and enjoy a long anticipated debauch, some of these men actually sold their furs on the pave- ment to traders he wouldn’t have trusted out of sight. There must have been some law against such transactions because the new owner, after a suspicious look in Mark’s direction, bundled his new acquisitions quickly out of sight. After the level streets of his New England town Mark felt as if he was moving up and down the peaks of a mountain—-as he really was. Sud- denly waking to the fact that he had taken more time than he had anticipated, he quickened his pace and kept a sharp lookout for a sign that might indicate the whereabouts of the Cafe’ C/lien D'or. Finding any one spot in that maze of twisting 3o DARK TREASURE streets was like looking for a needle in a hay- stack. And when he finally caught sight of the battlemented top of the St. Louis Gate etched against the lavender sky he realized that he had taken a wrong turnsomewhere. Uncertain of what to do next, he slowed his pace and looked hopefully about him. Then deciding that open questioning of the Chien D’or’s location might not coincide with the explorer’s wishes, he re- traced his steps. Losing precious time, as he dis- covered later, in streets that turned out to be nothing more than blind alleys. Finally, hopelessly lost, he was about to cast discretion to the winds and inquire of the next man he met, when he stumbled on the café, a tumble-down little place, with a huge golden dog, carved in stone, over the door. In spite of the earliness of the hour, the front room of the café was filled with drinkers, rough men in woods clothes, who banged their mugs noisily on the tables and shouted unintelligible French oaths. Faintly surprised that Captain MacLaren, in view of his evident desire for secrecy, should have chosen such a public place, Mark was about to drop into the nearest vacant chair when a tall, distinguished-looking man he was sure he had seen at the previous night’s festivities, threaded STOVOSKI TELLS OF TREASURE 31 his way between the tables and disappeared through a door at the rear of the room. Mark was in a quandary. Should he follow the man into whatever lay behind that door, or should he remain where he was and wait for something to turn up? Unable to determine a course of action, he just sat and stared at the un- responsive barrier till a sudden feeling of reck- lessness swept him to his feet and across the room. Assuming a nonchalance he didn’t feel, he sucked in his breath and pushed through the door. The room into which he stepped held a goodly company and was blue with tobacco smoke. Thankful to note that everybody was too deep in conversation to take any notice of him, he edged his way to the back wall and stared about him. Apart from John MacLaren, who domi- nated the gathering as completely as he had the crowd in the house outside the St. Louis Gate, he recognized the tall, distinguished-looking man he had followed into the room. Beside him stood a short, thick-set individual with the mark of the sea stamped indelibly on his rugged fea- tures. Presently knocking the dottle from his pipe Captain MacLaren moved towards the fireplace, and standing wide-legged before it, turned an expectant eye on the tall man. “We are here, 32 DARK TREASURE Monsieur Le Marquis de la Bruyere,” he said, “to hear your proposition.” Being thus addressed, the other cleared his throat and proceeded to speak with an intriguing French accent. “Our proposition is simple. On an island off the coast of Alaska are hundreds of fur-bearing animals known to the world as sables. And so valuable are these furs Paris and London will gladly pay us large sums for them.” The explorer’s short laugh interrupted him. “Sables, I understand, are merely martens. And since this country teems with such skins it would seem folly to go so far and risk our lives, perhaps, for these of yours.” “But the animals of which I speak,” explained the Frenchman earnestly, “are really Russian sables, zibilene de Russie, straight from the Czar’s private preserves.” The explorer shrugged his shoulders. “Have you any proof that they really exist?” ' “Count Stovoski here,” replied the F rench- man, turning to the short man with a courtly bow, “is personally acquainted with the island of which I speak, and its dark treasure.” “You have been there?” The explorer’s direct question startled the Rus- sian so he forgot what he had intended to say, and stammered and spluttered unintelligibly. “I have been on the island,” he managed to gasp eventu- _--_-__.__v_—_ STOVOSKI TELLS OF TREASURE 33 ally, in fairly good English, “and have seen the animals with my own eyes.” The big man sucked absently at his pipe. “I would have to see a skin,” he said noncommit- tally, “to believe it.” The Russian broke into a sly grin. “I have here a pelt,” he said, drawing a long, brown, exqui- sitely-furred skin from his pocket, “to prove it.” It was clear to the absorbed American at the back of the room that sight of the gorgeous skin stirred the explorer to the very depths of his be- ing. And his hands trembled as he ran thick fin- gers through the fur, and blew into the sable depths. “I have heard of these skins,” he observed under his breath, “but had never expected to put my hands on one.” “The plan is a simple one,” interjected the Marquis eagerly, clearly anxious to capitalize on the other’s enthusiasm, “and we split three ways.” A far away look in his blue eyes Captain Mac- Laren rocked back and forth on his heels in baflling silence. “You are aware, of course,” he observed presently, “that we have no legal right to trade, or trap, there ?” The Russian shrugged his shoulders. Before he could give expression to the words that trembled on his lips the explorer checked him with upraised hand. “Nevertheless, I will undertake the expedition,” he declared, “on one condition.” Mark Abbot’s heart turned 34 DARK TREASURE over and the Frenchman arched his delicately chiseled eyebrows. “That your friend, Count Stovoski, accompany us.” The Russian laughed outright. “There will be no need of that. There are charts, plenty of them, and a map. . . .” The explorer shook his head stubbornly. “If you don’t come, we don’t go.” It was evident from the expression on the swarthy nobleman’s face that venturing in search of the island he had described was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, and he protested against the need of the contingency with all the eloquence at his command. The Marquis, too, pooh poohed the suggestion, at first, and declared that nothing could be gained by forcing his Rus- sian friend to accompany the expedition. In the face of the explorer’s obstinate refusal to budge an inch without him, however, he finally advised the loudly protesting Count to make the best of it, and agree. “And now that that is settled,” observed the Frenchman, turning to the explorer with what Mark took.to be a wink, “you will, no doubt, want to take stores and supplies aboard ?” “That,” grinned MacLaren, watching the sa- ble skin disappear into its owner’s pocket, “is for Jock MacTavish to say.” The broad-shouldered man Mark had sus- STOVOSKI TELLS OF TREASURE 35 pected to be a seaman threw out his hands in an expressive gesture. “We will take them aboard at once and be ready to sail with the tide.” “And while you are about it,” interpolated the explorer, “don’t forget some primus stoves. It will be mighty cold up there. . . .” “Cold?” repeated the Marquis. “Around South America?” The grin on the big man’s face spread and he reached into his pocket for his tobacco pouch. “It happens that we aren’t going around that way.” The Frenchman looked startled. “Then how, in the name of heaven, are you going?” “Straight north,” chuckled MacLaren, tamp- ing the tobacco in his pipe-bowl with a thick thumb. “North?” almost screamed the Count. The explorer nodded. “You see we’ve long had a hankering, Jock and I, to try out that Nor’west Passage. . . .” The effect of this dry announcement on the bronzed men about the room was electrifying. And when he saw them crowding eagerly about the big man, Mark realized that they were likely his own trusted followers, willing to joust with any adventure he might care to indicate. To Mark, the Northwest Passage meant just a little less than nothing. There were passages CHAPTER THREE THE THOR SETS SAIL A COUPLE of hours later Mark found himself balancing himself precariously on a narrow gangplank leading to a small, weather-beaten schooner named the Thor, mooredgto a wharf. That men had the nerve to venture into the bleak waters of the Arctic in such a diminutive craft filled him with astonishment and no little awe. Even his landlubberish eye told him, neverthe- less, that she was probably ideally suited to the buffeting of cold, rough seas. Everything about her—decks, masts, spars, bulwarks and deck- houses—were solid and substantial, giving a com- forting impression of strength and dependability. He hardly had time to notice all this when he was jostled aside by men slinging provisions and equipment aboard. Both ship and wharf seemed to sprout men, all working feverishly and noisily. Wedging himself in between a couple of cases he watched bales and cases swing aboard and dis- appear from sight below decks. Though all the toiling figures appeared to 37 38 DARK TREASURE I '-lL-.:- i-II‘! I,Tlfil. . ' 1- i " — work with a will, it was apparent even to his un- accustomed eyes that some were more adept than others at the job. And he presently discovered that the workers represented two different groups —seamen and landlubbers. And animated by a friendly spirit of rivalry, each group was evi- dently doing its best to work the other into ex- haustion. Mark was watching a great bale of new rope come aboard when, happening to glance into the ship’s waist, he saw a redheaded youth of about his own age and size attempting to lift a barrel of salt pork to his back. His awkward efforts to master the clumsy affair seemed to afford his companions huge enjoyment, and they paused in their work to encourage him with cheers and rib- ald suggestions. “Crawl under it, matey,” suggested one. “Knock in the bung,” said another. “Better wait till we’ve had a meal or two,” shouted a third. ' Tucking his bag into a convenient nook Mark picked his way to the spot. Feats of strength and displays of dogged courage always appealed to him. And as far as he could see the redhead had plenty of both. In spite of this, however, he wasn’t making much headway with his self- appointed task. The barrel seemed to be just too much for him. His face bathed in perspiration, THE THOR SETS SAIL 39 and a stubborn glare in his eyes, he fought the heavy cask as if it were a live thing he had to tame and master. But each time he got under it his legs buckled and both he and the barrel would roll on the deck to the delight of his com- panions. . On one such occasion the barrel clattered past Mark and would have crashed into the bulwark if he hadn’t brought it to a stop with an extended foot. Uncertain of what to do with it, he glanced questioningly at the redhead. And when the fel- low made no attempt to retrieve it Mark caught it up by the ends, and walking easily across the deck amid a stunned silence, settled it securely on the redhead’s shoulders. For a moment the fellow was so astonished at this display of strength he just stared at Mark. Then evidently making up his mind to do as much, he staggered away with the barrel to the accompaniment of a few ragged cheers. Suddenly conscious of the men’s admiring glances Mark hurriedly retrieved his bag and picked his way aft. From here he had a clear view of the full length of the little ship. As far as he could see her oflicers and crew consisted of the blufl‘ captain, a mate called George Findlay, half a dozen burly, two-fisted seamen, and a gar- rulous Chinese cook answering to the rather euphonious name of Sing McLoo. The landsmen 40 DARK TREASURE consisted of two leather-faced individuals called Quoghog ]ones and Sam McFeeters. And what this pair lacked in numbers they more than made up in a boisterous willingness to tackle anything and everybody. Mark’s hefting of the pork barrel must have swept through the schooner like wildfire because the seamen made way for him respectfully when he offered to lend a hand with the heavily weighted slings. For the rest of that day, then, the derrick creaked and swung incessantly. Great bales hurtled from wharf to ship, to be swallowed by the black maw of the hold, while the Thor tugged at her moorings, as if impatient to be ofl‘. The sun was setting behind the hills in a blaze of color when the Marquis de la Bruyere, accom- panied by the unhappy looking Count, minced down the gangplank. The explorer was deep in conversation with Quoghog Jones at the time, and if the Thor’s master hadn’t sized up the situa- tion and invited them below, they would proba- bly have had to cool their heels till the imper- turbable Scot had concluded his business with the woodsman. Up to this moment John MacLaren hadn’t given the slightest sign that he was aware of Mark’s presence aboard the ship. The latter was somewhat surprised, therefore, when he broke ofi‘ THE THOR SETS SAIL 4.1 his conversation with Jones, and motioning to Mark to follow, dropped below decks. Though Mark had imagined the quarters be- low as being more or less cramped, his first sight of them filled him with astonishment. Not only were the cabins surprisingly comfortable, but everything was fitted into place in the snug fash- ion he was to learn invariably marked a seaman’s way of doing things. The sumptuous appointments of the captain’s cabin fairly took his breath away. To begin with, it was paneled in some rare native wood he couldn’t, for the life of him, identify. Inside the panels were hand-carved heads of polar bears, walruses and foxes. A massive lantern, made of hammered brass, hung from a beam overhead, and the four portholes were curtained with a rich material that caught, and held, the bright beams of the lantern. A soft carpet covered the floor, and deeply cushioned seats ran around the en- tire cabin. A massive table, also decorated with cleverly carved heads, stood in the center of the room, and a well furnished wine cabinet was built into the side wall. The Russian was the first to speak. “Here is the map,” he said, extending a tightly rolled tube done up in oiled silk. “And since it is based on Admiralty charts you should have no difiiculty locating the island.” THE THOR SETS SAIL 43 he told of how rebellious serfs had smuggled scores and scores of the valuable little breeders out of the steppes, and liberated them on the lonely island in the Arctic sea with the intention of returning, later, and transporting them to Eng- land or France. Fortunately for them the smugglers’ plans mis- carried, and the whole caboodle, with the ex- ception of one man, had been apprehended and executed on the spot. And after languishing in a dungeon for years and years the survivor had finally managed to escape and reveal his secret to him, Stovoski. ~ “Sounds plausible enough,” agreed the ex- plorer when the Count had finished. “And un- less’,’-—here he fixed the Russian with a cold eye —“the secret has been poured into too many ears the sables are probably still there.” Stovoski’s face brightened with sudden hope. “I, I need not go, then ?” MacLaren smiled. “On the contrary, it will be more necessary than ever.” The Russian coughed and put his hand to his heart. “I am a very sick man. . . .” “The Arctic,” declared the big man with a wide grin, “will cure whatever it is that ails you.” Soon after this the Marquis, after wishing them all a bon voyage, took his departure. And Mark, for one, couldn’t down the suspicion that 4.4 DARK TREASURE he was vastly relieved at seeing, what he evi- dently hoped, was the last of his colleague. Accommodating the various members of the expedition aboard the Thor presented a problem that the undemonstrative skipper solved without fuss or excitement. As was to be expected, John MacLaren was given the cabin next to the cap- tain’s. The adjoining one—and Mark felt sure that this was by design-—was allotted to the Count. Mark, after a little hesitancy on the old seaman’s part, drew the last one, a veritable cubby-hole of a cabin, hardly bigger than a chain-locker. Having stowed his scanty belongings in his new quarters, Mark rejoined the men on deck and helped them swing the last of the supplies aboard. With the star-sprinkled heavens curving low over their heads, and the current slapping against the Thor’s stout planking, they seemed to be in a world of unreality. Close at hand could be heard the musical songs of freshly arriving voyageurs, while from high overhead came the melodious honking of migrating waterfowl. Dawn was streaking the sky when the last bale was heaved aboard and the ropes cast off. Swiftly, one after the other, the sails were hoisted, and the little schooner bore away on the great adventure. Too excited to think of resting, Mark watched the steep cliffs of Quebec fade rapidly away over -‘fig , __ .,,-_-_=- — THE THOR SETS SAIL 45 the stern, and wondered if he would ever see the frowning battlements again. At the wharf the Thor had appeared to be nothing but a mass of timber and a tangle of ropes and canvas, rising and falling sluggishly with the tide. Now that she was free of the frustrating hawsers, however, she became transformed into a thing of speed and beauty. Her sails bulging with wind, the foam curling out from under her forefoot, she raced seaward. His landsman’s heart turning somersaults at the way the seamen tight-roped along the tilted yards, Mark heaved a sigh of relief when they finally slid down the stays, like so many monkeys, and scampered for the fo’c’sle. The dark smudge that was Quebecwas still on the horizon when a shadowy hump of land loomed up on the port bow. “Orleans Island,” explained Captain MacTavish, who happened to be standing by. “And if your eyes are any good,” he added, “you will catch a glimpse of Mont- morency Falls on the mainland beyond.” Sure enough, a slash of silver presently ap- peared on the shadowy face of the tawny clifis beyond the island, and Mark could almost have sworn that he heard the roar of tumbling waters. The island palisade soon blotted the falls from sight, however, and for the next few miles they surged between towering cliffs. Presently the is- 46 DARK TREASURE land fell away, and the river widened so the blacksmith imagined that they had launched, suddenly, out into the sea. Convinced, under the circumstances, that he wouldn’t miss much if he stole a little sleep, he stumbled below and threw himself, fully-dressed, into his bunk. Try as he would, however, he couldn’t sleep. Everything, the hard bunk, the pitching of the ship, the unfamiliar noises, all conspired to keep him awake. And it was only after he had practi- cally filled the diminutive cabin with sheep that he finally drifted asleep, to dream of the little blacksmith shop back home and a whole army of shifty-eyed Stovoskis. CHAPTER FOUR MARK SIGHTS HIS FIRST SEAL THE next morning was nearly half gone when Mark appeared on deck again to find that the Thor had been so scrubbed and tidied he hardly recognized her. The odds and ends of rope and sail that had littered the deck the night before had been whisked out of sight and everything made shipshape. Ashamed of himself for having overslept on his first day afloat he was making his way for- ward with the intention of dousing his head in a bucket of seawater, when the shufile of feet, the ring of steel on steel, and the panting of over- taxed lungs brought him around the deckhouse on the run, to find the landsman Quoghog Jones, and the Russian Count, fencing savagely on the tilted deck. There could be no mistaking which of the two was the better fencer. Stovoski had it over his younger, and less experienced, opponent like a tent. His supple wrist movements and clever footwork making the woodsman look even more awkward than he really was. It was equally plain that the unhappy Jones had had enough of 47 MARK SIGHTS FIRST SEAL 49 gathered about the spot. And though few of them had ever witnessed a fencing bout they formed a ring about the pair and followed the swift change of pace, the clever thrusts and parries, with gasps of astonishment. The fact that the American blacksmith was one of the figures involved lent added zing and glamor to the occasion. That he should be a fenc- er, and capable of meeting the already unpopu- lar foreigner at his own game, with his own weap- ons, aroused their admiration, and they cheered him on to a man. It must be admitted, nevertheless, that things didn’t look any too rosy for the American. And during the preliminary stages of the encounter the Russian dominated the situation to such an extent he might easily have put an end to the battle if he had had enough courage to fling caution to the winds and go right in on his op- ponent. Mark fenced cautiously. It was years since he had last touched foils with his father, and he wanted to get the feel of the weapon again before carrying the fight to his more experienced an- tagonist. Evidently sensing this the Count pressed his advantage for all he was worth, slashing and hacking at his ungloved hands so savagely Mark’s plans went awry, and he began retaliating with long-armed thrusts that slowed up his attacker 50 DARK TREASURE .__.__.._. _._ ___ ._ = ,_,_ _. $,_ __ and finally, to the huge delight of the onlookers, drove him along the deck. Amazed at finding himself giving ground to what he considered was an inferior opponent Stovoski suddenly unleashed an attack of his own, feinting and thrusting with all the skill at his command. Chagrined at finding Mark still reso- lutely facing him with a wide-mouthed grin, he redoubled his eflorts to cut him down. And when the fact dawned on him that the American not only had a parry for every thrust, but was slowly gaining the upperhand, he turned white, then green, and looked around for a way of escape. Imagining, at the same time, that he saw Mark falter, he stepped sideways and made a savage lunge for his throat, only to feel his weapon being wrenched from his grasp and sent flying over the side. Hooting and shouting like wild Indians, sea- men and woodsmen crowded about the grinning Mark and were pounding him enthusiastically on the back when john MacLaren, attracted to the scene by the clamor, pushed his way through the throng. “What’s going on here?” he demanded sternly. Mark wiped the perspiration from his face. “A little lesson in fencing.” There was frank astonishment in the explorer’s eyes. “You fence, then, as well as wrestle ?” / Pr _ qua, fig Z‘;/4/_ to the huge delight of the onlookers, drove I I him along the deck.” MARK SIGHTS FIRST SEAL 53 H Mark grinnned. Not much, I grant, but enough, fortunately, to teach Count Stovoski here some manners. . . .” “He attacked me,” interjected the Russian breathlessly. “You touch that man again,” exploded Mark angrily, “and I’ll dump you into the sea.” Mark Abbot’s popularity after that unforget- table incident increased with the rapidity of the proverbial snowball. Grateful for his plucky de- fense of their companion the men aboard the schooner repaid him by easing him out of many a tiresome little job. And when details of that other fight in the explorer’s house began trickling through the ship he became one of the most popu- lar members of the expedition. The blacksmith took all this in his stride and thanked his stars he had learned the rudiments of fencing in his youth. He wasn’t rash enough to indulge in any more of the sport, however, and made it clear to all on board that he preferred fists and hammerlocks to all the dandified fenc- ing in the world. _ None knew better than he of the humiliated Russian’s bitterness. Quite certain that the fel- low would try to get back at him, sooner or later, he kept a sharp eye on him. In the meantime, the Count sulked and glow- cred like a bear with a sore paw. Being bested at 54 DARK TREASURE his own game by a fellow he had taken to be a muscle-bound country lout infuriated him, and he waited, impatiently, for a chance to get even. Much to Mark’s secret astonishment the ex- plorer never referred to the incident again. At the same time he made it abundantly clear that he wouldn’t tolerate anything that might upset discipline aboard the Thor and bring discord be- tween the various members of the expedition. Later, he warned Mark against antagonizing the Count. “Remember,” he said, “he is the key man in the entire undertaking. So long as he is on our side our chances of success are moderately fair. Cross him, and he might be vindictive enough to pile us up on the wrong island just from spite.” Making the most of their opportunity, it wasn’t long before the more energetic members of the expedition had fashioned a mat from old sailcloth and organized impromptu wrestling matches on the deck. Mindful of the explorer’s warning Mark kept aloof from the noisy and strenuous encounters at first, but was soon inveigled into taking part. So that hardly a day went by that he didn’t show the perspiring gladiators new holds and breaks. In the meantime, he did his best to attune him- self to a seaman’s life. A landlubber blacksmith knows little of ships and the seas they sail, how- MARK SIGHTS FIRST SEAL 55 ever, and he found it exceedingly diflicult at first. Then as he found his sea legs, and got accustomed to the constricted space, he explored the little ship from bridge to keel, poking about in out-of- the-way corners and even making a fair fist at boxing the compass. There was one thing that he balked doing, nevertheless. And that was the furling and reef- ing of sails. He would dearly have loved to cat- walk along the yards with the rest of the reckless seamen, but his heart came up in his throat when- ever he glanced up at the reeling spars and pic- tured himself suspended between sky and water. Fortunately, there were plenty of chores to be done about the schooner, chores that the agile seamen probably considered finicky and mo- notonous. Then just when he had concluded that there wasn’t anything more about the ship to learn, the skipper set the men to work fishing a huge, double-hooped barrel from the after hold. Giving the clumsy contraption a fresh coating of tar, he had them hoist it half-way up the fore- mast and lash it securely into place. “What in the Sam Hill is that?” Mark wanted to know. “A crow’s nest,” explained Quoghog ]ones, who, ever since that memorable day on the after- deck seemed to be always at his elbow. Mark laughed. “Can’t they nest on the yards?" 56 DARK TREASURE The Woodsman stared. “It isn’t for crows,” he explained, doing his best to keep a straight face. “It’s for the lookout.” “You mean somebody is going to sit in it?” The other nodded. “Night and day from now on.” Needless to say, the lofty barrel, looking fear- fully fragile and unsafe from the deck, hurled a challenge at Mark every time he raised his eyes. Assuring himself that only a fool would risk his neck in such a contraption, he would resolutely turn away. Finally, there came a day, however, when the temptation to view the sea from such a favorable perch proved too much for him. Pocketing his apprehensions, he made his way up the stays. And after surviving the sickening lurches that all but catapulted him into the sea he managed to drop into the barrel beside the lookout. Both the sea and the schooner seemed to have been waiting for just such an opportunity as this. White horses with flying manes began galloping over the swiftly mounting waves, and the Thor pitched and tossed so fearfully Mark, after an agonized glimpse of the plunging deck, clapped a hand to his stomach and leaned hastily over the rim of the barrel. Had he been made of less stern stuff he would undoubtedly have remained on deck after that. MARK SIGHTS FIRST SEAL 57 Aware that everybody aboard, including the Count, had their eyes on him he climbed pain- fully up the stays every day, and remained in the crow’s nest till both his stomach and his nerves got used to the feeling of being suspended be- tween sky and sea. He spent most of his waking hours in the fore- mast after that, watching the blue waters of the Gulf sheer away from under the Thor’s prow. This was another world, where things took on new values, and he was astounded at the new prospect he got of things. From that height, for instance, Count Stovo- ski wasn’t nearly as formidable as he appeared to be on deck. And when the Russian paced the waist, close to the starboard rail, as he often did, he didn’t look any more important that the poor- est seaman. Mark had barely dropped into the big pun- cheon one day, for his usual spell aloft, when he spotted his first seal and his first porpoise. As a matter of fact, he didn’t recognize either of them at first. Mistaking the first for an otter and the second for a whale. When the first one broke water, quite near the starboard rail, he stared at the smooth, round head in astonishment that an otter should ven- ture so far from land. The minute he caught sight of the long, cylindrical body, marked with -i_,_ _ 58 DARK TREASURE unsightly rings, he realized his mistake and guessed that he was looking at a seal. The animal had hardly disappeared, leaving scarcely a ripple behind it, when he caught sight of the creature he was positive was a whale. Slip- ping through the water without the slightest ef- fort the newcomer circled the ship twice before the seaman beside him identified it as being a porpoise. “Looks like a whale to me,” insisted Mark. The other laughed. “When you spot a real whale you will wonder how you ever imagined that that little fellow could be one.” “We will see them soon, will we?” Mark pressed. The other nodded. “Eighty feet long and as big as a house.” EM. CHAPTER FIVE THE THOR ALMOST FOUNDERS UP To now the weather had been so clear and fine Mark didn’t realize that a Gulf storm was one of the most treacherous in the world. Pres- ently, for no good reason at all, as far as he could see, captain and mate began scanning the heavens and testing the wind with moistened forefingers. “What is the matter?” he asked Captain Mac- Tavish at a propitious moment, “Is the wind changing?” The old seaman nodded. “And besides, the bottom is dropping out of the barometer.” “It beats me how you can tell,” declared Mark, glancing skyward, “about storms, I mean.” The semblance of a smile played about the corners of the captain’s mouth. “Second sight, I guess.” In spite of both the falling barometer and Cap- tain MacTavish’s supersensitivity, Mark just couldn’t convince himself that a storm was in the offing. The skies were as clear as ever and the wind was no stronger than it had been for the last few days, and he decided that the dour old Scot so 4 A 7 - 1 1 _ _ 60 DARK TREASURE =l_-k._._,. -_._v___._ __7 M was losing his nerve when he called the mate aside and ordered him to trim sail and batten things down for a blow. “Better work fast, Mr. Findlay,” the captain concluded, sweeping the heavens with anxious eyes, “we haven’t any time to waste.” The fact that the capable little mate had of- fered no objection to this procedure rather sur- prised Mark at first. Discipline being what it was aboard the schooner he concluded that Find- lay could hardly refuse to do the master’s bid- ding, no matter how reckless it might appear to be. As later events soon proved Jock MacTavish’s hunch about a probable change in the weather hadn’t come a moment too soon. Hardly had the seamen started up the rigging with the noisy clamor of picnicking schoolboys than a rising wind rattled the halyards and ruffled the hitherto placid surface of the water. Balancing themselves on the sharply tilted yards with the same reckless ease as cowboys riding bucking broncos the sail- ors took in most of the canvas and shook their fists at the wind. His bronzed face inscrutable, Captain Mac- Tavish stood at the wheelman’s elbow and watched the Thor instinctively gird herself for the fray. THE THOR ALMOST FOUNDERS 61 “Ease her a couple of points,” he growled, once. “Aye, aye, sir,” replied the man, doing as he was bid. “Steady.” “Steady it is, sir.” Holding the big wheel steady in the swiftly mounting seas, and keeping the schooner’s nose on the course, was more than the tar could do, un- fortunately. And if Mark hadn’t hurried to his help and gripped the sweat-blackened spokes in his great fists the schooner might have yawed and snapped off her masts. As it was, hurled for- ward by the terrific gusts, she buried her stem in a gigantic wave and kicked her stern in the air like a playful colt. With that, there was a deep rumbling below decks, and she responded sluggishly to the wheel. There was no need for anyone to tell Mark that the gallant little schooner was in a critical position. He could read it in everyone’s face. Were a wind-gust and wave to hit her simul- taneously she would, in all likelihood, take a dive to Davy Jones’ Locker. For a few breathless moments, moments that felt like hours, the Thor wallowed and pitched and rolled, her deckload straining at its lashings and her masts whipping the darkened heavens. _ . ._._ it -I —:.$1,_Z,Z_'________ -. 62 DARK TREASURE .._ ._._.' *:1--—~ -1_-=-___.__ 7- ~;._= , —_ _ , _ J1 ,1 Then a wave, as big as a mountain, came surging in over her bow to go cascading along the deck and into the waist with a thundering roar. Thankful for the support afforded him by the wheel, Mark tightened his grip of the spokes and eased, or turned it, as the helmsman bade. Notwithstanding his cool exterior his heart was in his boots and nothing but the captain’s sturdy, unflinching, figure kept him from giving way to panic. From that moment on the schooner seemed to be the target of all the wind-gusts in the world. They ripped and screamed through the rigging and twanged the stays like giant bowstrings. They filled the scraps of canvas still aloft till they were as tight as drumheads, and drove the distressed little vessel over on her beam-ends. Convinced that the T/zor’s hours were num- bered, Mark was wondering how long he could keep afloat in that world of tumbling water, when the explorer’s dripping figure loomed up in the wheelhouse door. “Hi, Jock,” he yelled through cupped hands, “don’t you want that canvas up there any longer?” The mariner grinned without taking his eyes off the forepeak. “We need it there for headway.” By this time there was as much water in the Thor’s waist as there was outside. And no hu- man could possibly have crossed the narrow deck THE THOR ALMOST FOUNDERS 63 and lived. Caught by the boarding seas, the sea- men crouched down behind the deckhouse and fought to prevent themselves from being dragged overboard by the backwash. It was clear from their frequent glances aloft that they shared the explorer’s nervousness. And while death danced on the jouncing yards they would willingly have risked life and limb if the stolid old Scot only gave the word. The imperturbable figure at the wheelhouse window seemed unaware, however, of their plead- ing looks. Absorbed in his ship’s desperate fight for life he gave no sign that he was even aware of their existence. Relieved some time later by the mate’s watch Mark eased himself through the door to where the explorer clung unashamedly to the bridge rail. For a moment or two the big man, looking gigantic in his oilskins, was too absorbed in the storm to notice him. Then catching sight of him from the corner of his eye he cupped a hand over his mouth. “This will teach you to stick to your anvil. . . .” Mark laughed feebly. “It’s rough, all right.” “Not as rough,” countered the other, “as it would be around the cape.” “It’s rough enough for me,” confessed Mark, gasping for breath as a huge wave broke aboard and soaked them both to the skin. I l 1 . 64 DARK TREASURE “Don’t worry,” laughed MacLaren, squeezing the water from his beard, “you will soon get used to it.” For all his supreme confidence in his intrepid leader’s judgment Mark was quite sure that he wouldn’t ever get used to the ship sliding sud- denly away from under his feet and doing a sort of dervish dance in the trough. Back home the storms had been pretty bad at times, unroofing barns and houses and uprooting trees. But there was never any danger of being conked on the head by a splintered spar, or being dropped to the bottom of the sea. In his judgment the little schooner couldn’t stand the terrific pounding much longer—her masts must be loosening at the bases, and her seams opening. The fact that nobody aboard seemed at all per- turbed at the prospect of a watery grave filled Mark with amazement tinged with admiration. Bravery, like fear, is contagious, and he found himself gradually accepting what the future might hold for him with the stoicism he saw pictured in the faces of his companions. Though the Thor’s skipper appeared to be in- sulated in some way against hunger and fatigue, remaining at his post on the bridge hour after hour, Mark couldn’t fight against the hunger pains that began assailing his vitals. Dropping down the bridge ladder he dashed for the com- THE THOR ALMOST FOUNDERS 65 panionway on the heels of a receding wave, and skidded down the stairs on his neck. Except for the mate, who seemed oblivious of the foul air, the dining saloon was deserted. One hand holding his plate, and the other wielding a fork, Findlay ate as if howling storms and lurch- ing ships were things of which he had never heard. Dodging a heap of furniture piled on the floor Mark had barely wedged himself into a seat when Sing McLoo, his round face split in a wide grin, came shuffling out of the galley with a plate- ful of food. “Better eat much, a lot,” he advised, laying it before him, “ ‘cause Captain MacTa- vish he say big storm coming up soon.” And cackling at his own joke, he zigzagged his way back to his cubby-hole. Notwithstanding Sing’s questionable taste as a jokesmith, his cooking was superb. And while the men frequently referred to birds’ nest and rat-tail soup, none believed for a minute that he ever made use of these ingredients. That he should be aboard a northerly cruising ship at all puzzled Mark and upset all his preconceived no- tions of orientals. Up to now McLoo, bland and inscrutable, had just been another member of the crew. But as Mark came to know him better he perceived the shrewd, calculating glance of the almond eyes 66 DARK TREASURE and decided that he was a lot wiser and more ob- servant than he was given credit for. Aboard ship, in bad weather, a man can do only one thing at a time. And preventing his food from dropping into his lap kept Mark busy for the next half hour. Keeping his knife and fork under control was comparatively easy, but bringing his coffee to his mouth, and down the right way, taxed his juggling powers to the limit. Elated at having escaped any major disaster, Mark raised his eyes to see the Russian glowering at him‘from the open doorway, and the look of hate in the fellow’s face brought cold chills rippling up and down his spine. His plate started for the edge of the table just then, and by the time he had retrieved it Stovoski had gone. This uncanny ability of the Count to move about without making the slightest sound had proved annoying to everybody aboard. Sneaking along on rubber-soled shoes he would appear un- expectedly at a man’s elbow and well nigh scare him to death. Mark had to admit, after mature reflection, that this, after all, was only what could be ex- pected from an individual so loathsome and treacherous. For the Count to walk, and stand, like a man, four-square to the world, would be quite unnatural. ' THE THOR ALMOST FOUNDERS 67 The fellow’s hateful face before his eyes Mark regained the deck to find the storm still raging furiously and Jones and McFeeters crouching behind a crate, miserably seasick. Secretly de- lighted at finding them succumbing to the lurch- ing motion before he did, he lounged ostenta- tiously in the wheelhouse window. Whereupon, the sea dropped away from under the schooner and he felt his stomach starting for his throat. Being seasick comes particularly hard to a landlubber. And for the next few hours Mark was the most miserable man aboard ship. At first he was afraid he was going to die. Then, later, as the pitching increased in violence, he was afraid he wasn’t. Soaked from head to foot, and as limp as a rag, he stumbled below and threw himself, fully dressed, into his bunk. The ship could sink or open at every seam. He didn’t care. Sometime during the night the wind died down to sporadic gusts, though the seas con- tinued to pound and smash at the schooner. Sprawling limply in his bunk Mark could hear the mate’s whistle and the patter of racing feet as the men raced to spread the sails. A sickly dawn smeared the heavens when finally he ventured on deck to find the Thor bowling along on a somewhat uneven keel. A heavy sea was still running. And at intervals she 68 DARK TREASURE would bury her nose in a comber and disdain- fully flip her stern at the elements that had con- spired to destroy her. Now that she seemed reasonably certain of remaining afloat Mark let his thoughts go back over the crowded events of the past few hours. Though he felt himself something of an expe- rienced traveler he was sure that he could never hope to face an emergency with the calm, cool courage of the two captains. The conviction that the cowardly Stovoski had remained below decks throughout the storm ir- ritated him no end. And the explorer’s readiness to accept Stovoski at his face value aroused Mark’s resentment to such an extent he made up his mind to warn Captain MacLaren against Stovoski at the first opportunity. Had Mark been more versed in the ways of ships he might have noticed from the first that the Thor not only listed badly to port, but sagged forlornly at the bow. His first inkling that any- thing was wrong came when the skipper sum- moned him below and indicated the shattered bulkhead the carpenter had spent long hours in repairing. “Another blow like that last one,” he declared, “will tear that thing to pieces and prob- ably stave a hole in our planking. . . .” “An angle iron here,” offered Mark, survey- THE THOR ALMOST FOUNDERS 69 ing the affair with a professional eye, “and a strap there will hold till doomsday.” The skipper nodded. “Go ahead, then, and put them on.” Putting his suggestion into shape wasn’t easily done, however. A forge was found easily enough. He had already spied it tucked away in the hold, but locating enough strap iron, sufficiently strong for the purpose, was quite another matter. And he ransacked the ship from tiller to keel before finding what he wanted. The strap was easy enough to make, and bore, for bolts. The angle iron, however, required the welding together of two great pieces, and the twisting and hammering of them into shape. Now that he had a smithy’s hammer in his hand again Mark felt happier and more confident. Making iron obey his will was, after all, the thing he knew best. Once his big hands closed about the handle, things that had seemed impor- tant before sank into insignificance. Even Stovo- ski, and his secretive ways, became less important than a well-tempered fragment of iron. - CHAPTER SIX THE STRAIT OF BELLE ISLE IF MARK had previously harbored any doubts as to his value to the expedition they disappeared under the skipper’s warm commendation. And after that there was work enough to keep him busy from sunrise to sunset. There were boom and derrick plates to repair, sled-runners to iron, and, finally, potsand pans from the galley to patch. The glowing of the hot coals in the forge and the deft way he handled the big hammer, now delivering mighty blows that seemed to shake the entire ship, now caressing the glowing metal with light taps, was a source of never-ending de- light to Sing McLoo. And Mark had a suspicion that the wily oriental damaged some of his pots just so he could see them being repaired. Mark reveled in the work. Now that he had got the feel of the hammer again he welcomed the break in the monotony. Fancy handles and hinges, cleverly wrought from odd bits of iron, began appearing on doors and windows till the 70 72 DARK TREASURE but fascinating. And just when he was sure that he had seen them all there was a musical bugling in the sky, and a host of trumpeter swans came sweeping across the heavens. The migration of waterfowl hadn’t seemed important back home, but here, on the fringe of the Arctic, it was indeed a matter of life and death. And it was incredible that some of these birds would fly thousands and thousands of miles merely to breed, and rear their young, in the land of their birth. Instead of breeding contempt familiarity deepened Mark’s interest in the feath- ered millions‘. And he never tired watching the big birds churn the water to foam in the desper- ate eflorts to flee from danger. It was just about this time that he learned, much to his surprise, that far from following an original course the Thor was sailing one that had been charted hundreds of years ago. The dis- covery that the schooner was following a well worn trail, so to speak, instead of blazing one of her own came as a bitter disappointment. And he spent long hours in the cabin, poring over the charts tacked to the table. On the bridge the Thor’s master was stern and cold and unbending. Here in his cabin, however, he was friendly and interesting and highly amused to find MacLaren’s protégé interested in navigation. A whimsical smile on his face he 7., DARK TREASURE require more than all the skill and luck in the world; it would require courage. “Folks don't change as much with the passing years as we like to think,” mused the skipper aloud. “After all these years it’s the same thing, furs, that is sending us hightailing it half way around the Western Hemisphere.” “Are these sables as valuable as the Count would have us believe ?” interjected Mark. The other shrugged his shoulders. “That is for John MacLaren to say.” Mark chuckled. “I gather that they must be.” There was a short silence after that, broken by the creaking of cordage, the muffled rattling of rudder-chains and the slapping of water against the hull. “There is something about the Arctic that gets you.” The skipper was musing aloud again. “And after a man has spent the best years of his life in it he is content just to stick around.” This happened to be so much in line with his own thoughts Mark couldn’t forebear a chuckle. It was a similar thirst for adventure that had lured him from his New England home into the bleakest and most inhospitable waters of the world. He had already learned the fascination of the Arctic. And he had nodifficulty visualiz- ing the tenacious hold it could exert on a man. Adventurers like the grizzled seaman across the T HE STRAIT OF BELLE ISL .._ w~_... _ _.- _........._,..._.-a.,_ _-- ,-_»=¢a:~=_qIr_ 1- ¢-A.’-.--T’. E table from him had to go on and on till ulti- mately gathered to the bosoms of their fathers. “Count Stovoski,” he said softly, “says that a good Russian sable is worth a thousand dollars in New York?” The veteran smiled dryly. “He ought to know.” “But I don’t believe him,” declared Mark. “It’s fortunate for me, then," interjected the Russian’s thick voice from the open skylight, “that you aren’t the leader of this expedition.” “If I was,” retorted Mark heatedly, “I’d clap you in irons for the rest of the voyage.” Laughing sardonically, the Count bobbed out of sight, but his harsh cackle hung in the air long after he had disappeared. A little while later, his ears burning from the names Captain MacTavish had called him for giving way to his feelings, Mark clumped to his cabin and flung himself into his bunk. Sleeping being out of the question, he just lay there and stared up at the shadowy ceiling. He assured himself, at first, that he had done the right thing in letting the treacherous Russian know what he thought of him. Later, however, after more ma- ture reflection, he wondered if he hadn’t been just a little too quick on the trigger. The ex- plorer’s insistence that the Count accompany them on the voyage could mean only one thing-— I v¢~ -—__q_fl:- , I 11'“ :‘_‘l: Q--I -1-rvu-‘I ~.-13. -lli ‘blu- THE STRAIT OF BELLE ISLE 77 was about to spit herself on the scimitar points, MacTavish snapped a command. Whereupon, the schooner promptly eased off on a more north- erly course that bore through an opening the lookout asserted was the Strait of Belle Isle. For a while, all of a dozen miles, about, the Thor raced along under full sail. As the strait narrowed and the shores converged towards one another, Captain MacTavish reduced sail and even stationed a man in the bow with sounding lead. This display of caution on the part of the skipper was surprising. So far he had shown himself to be a reckless sail-driver. That he could exercise care and prudence when the occasion demanded filled Mark with fresh admiration and respect. The strait was a dangerous and spooky place, bristling with hazards apparent even to the blacksmith. And everybody aboard the Thor heaved a sigh of relief when the jagged rocks fell behind and the schooner buried her nose in the long green rollers of the open sea. They were well on their way now, and nothing could stop them. Mark had studied the charts long enough to know, however, that their rightful course lay more to the west. And he turned in that night wondering just how far north the Thor would sail before putting over on the proper course. Hhfll mu In rw 0'-ruq1 '‘" ~rs WVPWV flflr“ Q 1 rrib wire 78 DARK TREASURE ii 1 ‘J: ' I 1|}, 1.,, W1,‘ .|H?,,‘{ 1.». ,- |||.||| INN‘. ‘fl; ii 1; .|I -1“ 1|1'.; " .,.L. .3 I|H: 1| ||Ill|||, iill.-an m::1;jj "in l1 mm. _, >| \, ~ The change must have been made during the night, when he was sound asleep. On mounting the bridge next morning, in the mate’s watch, he was astounded to discover that they were moving in a northwesterly direction. “What’s the trouble,” asked the mate with a snicker, “aren’t you satisfied with the course?” Mark nodded. “Only last night we were sail- ing due north ?” “Only till we got clear of shallow water,” ex- plained the oflicer. “Where are we, anyway?” “Somewhere over the starboard rail are Green- land and Iceland, while the north shore of the Dominion will be peeking out of that fog on the larboard bow in a few minutes.” “And ahead?” The mate sobered. “Who knows,” he said softly, peering over the wheelsman’s shoulder, “misery, death, even, or wealth.” The Quebec shore must have been a lot further away than the mate had anticipated because land didn’t loom up over the larboard bow till late in the afternoon. Absorbed in the fashioning of a bracket for the foot of the foremast it was a minute or two before he realized that they had lost way. Dropping his hammer, he dashed on deck in time to see the anchor splash into the shallow waters of ariver-mouth and hear the ll C \