d blown from the south cliffs; a sound that was,
yet was not of the storm; a hollow reverberating roll that was deep and
mellow, thrilling and strange. Boreland and Kayak rose simultaneously
and looked questioningly into each other's eyes.

"What--" Boreland's words were cut off by the flinging open of the
door. White-faced and dripping Harlan staggered in, slamming it to
shut out the driving rain. He leaned heavily against it.

"God--Skipper," he gasped. "The whale-boat-- It's gone!"

At that moment, like a happening in a sinister dream, Ellen was aware
that the pigeon perched high on the packing-box, had suddenly come to
life. It was flapping its wings diabolically, exultingly.

CHAPTER XVII

THE MYSTERIOUS PRESENCE

The loss of the whale-boat was a calamity staggering in its magnitude.
It meant that every pound of provisions left at the West Camp must be
packed on the backs of the men to the cabin. Not only that, but they
were now without any means whatever of leaving the Island. Nothing but
the direst necessity could have forced Boreland to seek the mainland in
the frail craft, but, remembering that the Indians of the coast had
been known to journey the hundreds of miles from Sitka to Kodiak in
open canoes, there had been a certain feeling of assurance in the
thought that with the whale-boat there was at least a chance of
bringing help to the Island should it be necessary.

Boreland was the first to recover from the blow. The morning following
the loss the three men were discussing it.

"Well, these post mortems get us nowhere," he said at last as he rose
and prepared to stow the provisions away in the loft. "We'll tackle
the job on hand now. After all, Kilbuck will be here with the _Hoonah_
soon, and we can get another boat from him."

All that afternoon while the gale tore at the corners of the little
cabin and the sea beat with increasing violence on the beach and reefs,
the men worked with hammer and saw, putting up shelves, making a table
and a bedstead, and erecting two bunks for Jean and Lollie, one above
the other in the adjoining room. Because he would so soon be leaving,
Kayak Bill decided to pitch his tent again in the lee of the house as
soon as the storm permitted, and occupy it until the _Hoonah_ came.

The storm lasted three days. The second day the roof began to leak.
The third day the rickety little porch blew down on one end and much of
the chinking came out from betw