Unalaska—at last!  
The tortuous¹, narrow and even precipitous passage, winding² nearly two miles amid the rocks, lay behind, and now the good ship Pelican³ was swinging to her anchor in front of the little town hardly more than a village. In the little bight was no other large craft, although several fishing boats were rocking to their moorings.
 
The Arctic summer, intense and vivid as though to make up for its brief duration, was at an end. None the less, the breeze from the shore carried a sweet fragrance⁴ of flowers, the little town was still radiant with blossoming gardens, and all over the hills which lay banked around the town there were patches of gay flowers and the deep lush green of rank grasses.
 
With great care Miles Hathaway and his wheeled chair were lowered into a boat. Tom Dennis and Florence followed, together with Captain Pontifex, who had proffered⁵ his services in securing a place of abode⁶ for Florence and her father. Once upon the dock, Dennis took charge of the chair, and all three started up-town, Pontifex carrying Dennis' big suitcase.
 
"Feels good to have the solid earth underfoot again," said Dennis. "How long do you expect to lay up here, Skipper?"
 
"We'll go out with the tide to-night," returned Pontifex. "I expect to pick up a cook here, who was to reach Unalaska by one of the island steamers, and I want to get our mail and papers. If we can get Mrs. Dennis comfortably berthed⁷ this afternoon, there'll be nothing to detain us, beyond standing⁸ off her trunk."
 
"Besides," he added in a lowered voice, "I'm anxious not to let the news slip out of what we're after. Before we could get clear of the island we'd have schooners¹⁰ dogging us. In case Mrs. Dennis would like any ready money——"
 
"Thank you, Captain, I need nothing," said Florence quietly.
 
Little Jerry had not been allowed to come ashore¹¹, much to the disappointment of Florence, who had been bent¹² upon rescuing the lad. Dennis, however, had already formulated¹³ a plan of action, largely because he considered that the boy's testimony¹⁴ would be of tremendous weight in backing up Florence when she interviewed the authorities.
 
An hour later, with the afternoon half gone, Florence and Captain Hathaway were snugly¹⁵ ensconced as paying guests in a cottage not far behind the ancient Greek church. Captain Pontifex had departed on his own business.
 
"Dear, are you sure?" In the security of her hired room, with the immobile Miles Hathaway watching them from his chair, Florence sought the gaze of Tom Dennis. To him it seemed that her eye held a glowing probe of fire, searching his very soul.
 
"Remember, Tom dear, that I mustn't lose you. You're my one sure strong anchor in the world; your love and you are necessary to me," she said steadily¹⁶. "So are you sure? Are you sure that the best plan would not be to stop here ashore and have Pontifex placed under restraint—here and now?
 
"Are you sure that we had not best let the thought of money and salvage¹⁷ go for the present, placing our own lives and safety first of all? Are you sure you can come back to me, my dear?"
 
Despite the brave soul of her, at those last words her voice faltered¹⁸.
 
"Dear wife, I am sure," said Dennis simply. "I shall play the game safely, letting them suspect nothing of what I know, and before any crisis occurs you will have acted. Two weeks—remember!"
 
"And you think Pontifex will suspect nothing if Jerry disappears to-night?"
 
"He would not consent to leave you and your father here together, knowing that you can communicate, if he suspected anything. He will think that Jerry has run away, and will doubtless figure on picking up the boy when he returns—he'll be too anxious to reach the John Simpson to bother about suspicions. It has not occurred to him that you would ask your father any questions out of the ordinary, and certainly your father cannot tell anything of what has happened unless asked. You have the phonograph and records in that valise, so go ahead and don't worry about me, dear. I'll play my part."
 
"Agreed, dear." She leaned forward and held up her face to his. "Then let's leave father here, and go out to see the town; we'll spend our last hours together, before you go, and you can arrange about poor little Jerry."
 
 
 
An hour afterward¹⁹, a grizzled old fisherman was listening to Tom Dennis and shaking his head in stubborn negation²⁰.
 
"Not me, sir!" he affirmed with emphasis. "I dassn't run around the harbour without no light——"
 
"But your lantern might go out for five minutes!"
 
"Not mine, sir. Besides, helpin' a feller escape from a whaler ain't no jokin' matter! Fact it ain't. I'd like to earn the money all right, but I dassn't buck²¹ up ag'in the law."
 
Florence gave her husband a meaning glance.
 
"Tom, please let me speak to him in private a moment!"
 
Shrugging his shoulders, Dennis walked away. As he strode up and down, he saw that Florence was speaking very earnestly, and that the grizzled fisherman seemed very uneasy. But presently the fisherman grinned and nodded, shaking hands with Florence. He had agreed.
 
"What on earth did you say to him?" demanded Dennis, as they were walking away.
 
"Oh, I made it clear that he'd be doing a good deed—that's all." A ripple²² of laughter danced like sunlight across her face. "Why, from what you said, the poor man thought he would be compounding a felony!"
 
Dennis chuckled²³. "I guess a man would be willing to compound anything, if you'd smile at him and beg him to do it! Well, you're right about the good-deed part of it, and I'm glad it's settled. Let's look up some supper ashore; then I'll go aboard ship."
 
The skipper had promised to send a boat ashore for Dennis; so, when darkness was beginning to fall, he hailed the brigantine from the dock, Florence at his side. Five minutes later a whaleboat was pulling in, with Ericksen in the stern.
 
"Good-bye, my dear, and God bring you back safely," said Florence softly, as she kissed him good-bye.
 
Dennis answered with a reassuring²⁴ smile. "You've got my little flash-light, haven't you?"
 
"Everything as planned, my heart. Good-bye!"
 
Dennis climbed down into the boat which swept around and headed back to the brig. Florence stood on the dock, watching. She exchanged a final wave of the hand before the boat swept out of sight under the counter of the Pelican; then she turned and slowly walked in to the shore.
 
There, however, she remained, in the shadow of the long warehouses²⁵ already piled high with bone from other whaling ships. Darkness closed down upon the bay, and the lights of the little town began to glimmer²⁶ and gleam under the hills. Out on the water the lamps of the Pelican showed red and white in the gloom.
 
Had the cook, Frenchy, come aboard? Florence did not know. She knew that Tom Dennis was there, among men who indubitably meant him no good; whether his would-be assassin had reached Unalaska in time to join the ship, she knew not. She waited, shivering a little, until by degrees the red side-light vanished. Presently the lights showed green and white—and she knew that the tide was on the ebb²⁷, that the ship had swung about to her cable. There was a light breeze, but strong enough to carry the brig to sea.
 
 
 
Suddenly a flare²⁸ lighted up the forward deck of the whaler. The voice of Bo'sun Joe drifted over the water with strange sweetness, joined by the voices of other men and interjected by the guttural utterances²⁹ of Kanakas trying to keep tune³⁰; while the clicking pawls and the slowly shifting lights betrayed that the anchor was coming up:
 
"We cracked it on, on a big skiute,
    To me hoodah, to me hoodah!
We cracked it on, on a big skiute,
    Hurrah³¹ for the Black Ball line!
Blow, my bullies³², blow,
For California oh!
There's plenty of gold
As I've been told,
On the banks of the Sacramento-o!"
 
 
Meantime, the capstan chantey was being drowned by other voices—the steely ring of Pontifex, the roar of Manuel Mendez, the shriller tones of Corny and others as orders were repeated and the topsails were set. The confusion of............