t there was nothing--nothing but
breakers. . . . A sob tore itself from her throat. She started to
turn away. Then dimly, she saw. . . .

Low in the water, veiled by flying white-caps, they came--Boreland and
Harlan bailing desperately, and in the stern Kayak Bill, his hand still
on the tiller, keeping the oarless boat steady a-top the swift, rushing
wave that was sweeping them on to the beach!

With outstretched, welcoming arms Ellen waded out into the foam of the
spent breaker that grounded the whale-boat almost at her feet. . . .

That evening the adventurers sat in the warmth of the crowded cabin
living over again the events of the day. Every available corner was
piled high with the wet provisions that had been unloaded from the
whale-boat that afternoon, but contrasted with the gale outside the
place was satisfyingly snug and comfortable. Still lingered the savory
aroma of the duck mulligan that had been their supper. In the Yukon
stove the fire roared and crackled as if in defiance of the terrific
blasts that shook the cabin. The sense of kinship that comes to those
who have fought their way together through some great danger was strong
upon them all tonight.

"Holy Mackinaw, boys!"--Boreland emphasized his remarks with the stem
of his pipe--"I wouldn't have given a hoot in Hades for our chances
when that wave broke! Thought it was all day with us then. Kayak,
Harlan, a fellow never realized what small potatoes he is until he
looks _up_ from the hollow of a wave!" He stretched his long arms
comfortably and laughed. "But . . . after you've been up against a
proposition like that, and come through, it certainly makes a man feel
like a _man_!"

"It certainly does, Skipper!" Harlan's eyes glowed. He appeared more
alive than at any other time since his landing, beginning to
understand, evidently, something of the hard freedom of the North, for
which men must either fight or die.

Of the three men Kayak Bill alone had been silent concerning his
sensations. Ellen thought that the praise of the others had smitten
him with a strange shyness. Loll was sitting astride the old man's
knees, questioning him about that moment when the giant breaker had
engulfed the boat.

Determined on an answer, the boy was urging for the fifth time:

"But, Kayak, what did _you_ feel like?"

"Wall, son,"--Kayak's hazel eyes twinkled--"I just couldn't' figger out
for a minute whether I was a clam . . . or a pond-lily."