e
cabin, he squared his shoulders under the heavy pack he bore and joined
in with the voices of Kayak Bill and Boreland who, with lusty
incongruity were singing the whaling song of the trading-post:

"Up into the Polar seas
Where ice is delivered free,
And a man don't have to hustle
Like a blooming honey-bee!"

Work was hard in this country of the last frontier, but men had more
time, more inclination to sing, he thought.

As he swung along the hard sand, in his heart was a sense of
expectancy--for what he did not know.

[1] Old-time Alaskan.

CHAPTER XVI

THE STORM

The following morning was sunless. The air was still and heavy with
foreboding. Leaden-colored waters heaved under a gloomy sky and though
the sea appeared smooth to the eye the hollow roar of distant surf
sounded louder than usual. There was a strong smell of kelp and salt
brine, and a new, wild note in the cries of the gulls.

"I say," Boreland called to Kayak Bill, who was tying back the flap of
the tent in which he slept. "It looks as if there's a storm brewing.
But I never saw the sea smoother. I think, if we're quick about it, we
can get a boat-load of grub down here before she breaks. What you say,
Kayak?"

Kayak spread his legs and leaned back to take a long look at the sky,
just as Harlan came down over the hill and joined them.

"I'm yore man, Boreland," he said at last. "But we'd better be spry
about it, for it'll be Davy Jones' locker for us if we get caught in a
gale off the reefs."

A hasty breakfast over, Ellen joined the men and the four left for the
West Camp to select the most important things with which to load the
whale-boat.

Arrived at their destination they worked swiftly, Ellen making her
selection of necessities while the men skidded the boat down to the
water's edge. It was soon loaded. A small pile of lumber from
Katleean for making sluice-boxes and furniture was made into a raft to
be towed.

"About three more trips with the boat, and we'll have everything down
at the cabin," said Ellen, as she tied the flap of the tent. She had
noted that while he worked, Shane had glanced uneasily from time to
time at the grey sky. It was rapidly taking on a purple tinge, though
the sea was still as oily-smooth as it had been early in the morning.

When the last sack had been stowed away and the raft made fast to the
boat, Ellen saw Harlan call her husband aside. In a low voice she
heard him