mptuous,
half-humorous smile at himself. Then restlessly he began to pace the
deck. If only he had something stinging--something stimulating to
drink! But the White Chief had seen to it that there was nothing
intoxicating aboard the _Hoonah_. It would be eighteen hours at least
before he could hope to be in Katleean where Kayak Bill had left a
generous supply of hootch stowed away in the top bunk of his cabin. In
the top bunk----

He stopped short. From some remote corner of his brain there had come
to him one of those inexplicable flashes of memory that revealed,
unbidden, the thing he had struggled so hard to remember! In a moment
he was back in Silvertip's top bunk the night of the Potlatch dance.
The voice of the White Chief came back arguing, commanding,
threatening. The whine of Silvertip protested, and finally assented.
As a realization of what this conversation portended dawned on Gregg,
his blistered hands clenched. Curs! Cowards! to lend themselves to
such a work of deception! . . . The aroused young man tossed back his
wind-ruffled hair and squared his shoulders. He must reach Boreland
immediately; must tell him what he knew before the Swedes left the
beach of Kon Klayu.

He sprang to the starboard side of the schooner and trained the glasses
on the shore. The men were gathered about the whale-boat talking. He
could see Silvertip's hand emphasizing some statement as he pointed to
the hills. Gregg knew that once the Swede left the beach, he would
never return to it. He had landed his party and his work was done.

Desperately Harlan longed for some kind of craft in which he might
reach the shore before the sailors left it. There was none. For a
moment he considered waiting until they came aboard. But could he,
single handed, force them to return for the Borelands? . . . No, the
outcome of such a course was too uncertain. Something must be done at
once.

There was only one other way in which he could get word to the
adventurers. His eye measured the heaving, foam-streaked distance
between him and the beach. Could he make it? A year ago in the
States, before drink had gotten such a hold on him, that half mile
would have meant nothing to him--but now . . . Temperature, unknown
currents, undertows must be reckoned with here. Again, shaking him
with its intensity, returned the intolerable craving for a drink.

His eyes once more swept the long line of breakers. If he would warn
the