For a month the Susquehanna worked her way south, down Saginaw Channel into Stephens Passage, pausing at this island or that village. As planned, they touched a dozen villages where no traders had been in some time and soon the hold of the schooner was filled with prime fur. Occasionally they sighted some native canoe, but heard of no other vessels in the area. Yet Jean was nervous, for the channels were narrow, allowing no chance to maneuver, and steep mountains rose on either side to about fifteen hundred feet in solid banks of forest before giving way to bare rock or snow. The presents he had sent north were paying off, for everywhere he was welcomed as an old friend.
The seventh week of trading was ending when Kohl came to the cabin where LaBarge was busy adding more information to his books. “Cap,” Kohl said abruptly, “I’ve mastered my own ships and I’m not one to butt in, but the crew are getting nervous. We’ve been lucky this far; now let’s head for home.” “You know Kasaan Bay?”
“Sure.”
“That’s our last stop.”
Kohl dropped into a chair and shoved his hat back on his head. “I’m not one to show the feather, Cap, but this trip worries me. Maybe it’s the fool luck we’ve had, cutting that square-rigger so close aboard you must have scared them out of a year’s growth. I know you scared me. You done it deliberate, too … and she couldn’t have come around in a half hour, not to chase us, she couldn’t. But it’s fool luck we’ve had, every village loaded with prime fur, and no patrol ship in sight. You know what I think?”
“Let’s have it.” Jean tipped back in his chair. “They’re waitin’ for us, Cap. Zinnovy will be to the south, knowing we’ve got to go that way, and he’ll be lyin’ where he can cover the best routes. He’ll have both the Lena and the Kronstadt, and men staked out to cover every passage.” “I think you’re right.”
“Look.” Kohl bent over the crude chart on the table before them. “We’re heading down Clarence Strait. Once we cross the bay down here we’ll be in Canadian waters, but that won’t stop Zinnovy. Only right there some ships would head for open sea and a straight run to Frisco. So what does he do? He waits for us in the mouth of the Strait.”
“Just where do you think he’ll wait?”
“My guess is right off Duke Island, but maybe a little south so he can check both channels.”
Kohl had made a point that disturbed him. LaBarge was not sure that Zinnovy had even bothered to make a search, for such news travels from island to island and village to village by swift traveling canoes. It was likely Zinnovy was doing just what Kohl suggested, patrolling the outlets to the south. He did not tell Kohl that he had been, for days, worrying the problem as a dog worries a bone. “Barney, if you’ve got it figured straight, we’d better stand ready for action.”
“You’ll fight?”
“I won’t be taken. We’ll run if we can, but when we can’t run any more, we’ll fight.”
Kohl went aft with a small grin on his lips. He had begun the voyage in a surly mood, hoping LaBarge would get his belly full and decide that San Francisco life was better. But as the voyage progressed he grew to like the man more and more. He had nerve, and he had brains. He still did not understand LaBarge’s vast knowledge of the islands.
Later, they discussed the question again. “There are channels,” Kohl said, “but too many dead ends and some of the channels are filled with ice. A man needs local knowledge.”
The lantern above their heads swayed with the gentle roll of the schooner. Her timbers creaked and they studied the chart. It offered few alternatives. “This island?” LaBarge put his finger on a large mass of land ahead and to the east. “That’s Revjllagigedo, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh. You can call it an island, Cap’n, but nobody knows whether it is or not.”
“Ever see a Russian chart?”
“A dozen. On their charts it’s part of the mainland.” “Good.” He got to his feet. “That was what I’d hoped. Understand now, Barney, no fighting unless we have to. Until then we play hide-and-seek around the islands.”
Suddenly, there was a shout from aloft, and running feet on deck. Then the cry, “Sail, ho!”
“Where away?”
“Dead ahead, an’ comin’ up fast!”
“Well.” Kohl grinned at LaBarge and rolled his quid in his jaws. “Here’s where we start to run.”
Together they went up the companion to the deck and studied the oncoming ship through the glass. A flag was climbing the halyard and when it was caught by the wind it was easily seen. It was the flag of Imperial Russia.
18
The Susquehanna fell off before the wind. Standing in the waist, Jean LaBarge watched the oncoming ship. It was the Lena. Although a patrol ship she was only a middling fast sailer, quite fast enough for the average ship in these waters but not in the same class with the schooner.
He wanted to draw her deeply into Clarence Strait, for from her present position she could cover both the Strait and Revillagigedo Channel, a position fatal to his plans.
On the east side of the Strait, only a short distance off, there was the mouth of a channel opening between Gravina and Annette Islands, which in turn opened on Revillagigedo Channel. From there several openings offered themselves, but of five possible openings three were dead ends. If he could win to the head of Nicholas Passage and disappear, the Lena would have small chance of finding him unless Zinnovy was shrewd and patient enough to return to the former position and wait. And once the quarry was sighted, Jean did not believe Paul Zinnovy would be patient.
The sky was overcast, the sea gray. Lying close offshore he waited, hoping to draw the Russian ship deeper and deeper into the Strait. The shores were thick with forest except where cliffs of gray rock jutted out. White water broke over Hidden Reef. The wind was good and he allowed the schooner to loaf under reefed sails while the Russian ship came on. Jean waited, judging the distance. “All right,” he said suddenly, “let’s go!”
In an instant Kohl was shouting orders and the crew exploded into action. Eagerly, as if welcoming the chase and knowing what was demanded of her, the schooner answered to the wind. There was a low cheer from the crew as her sails filled and she started to run for it. From the Russian ship there was the dull boom of a gun, a warning signal, an order to heave to. She was much too far away for a cannon shot.
Jean took the wheel from Larsen and when the schooner was rolling along he put the wheel over and headed into the passage that led to Smugglers’ Cove. From behind them the gun boomed again, impatiently. Standing at the wheel Jean watched the shore line, and suddenly glimpsed the lightning-blasted pine of which he had been told. Three minutes later by careful count he put the wheel over and slid between Hidden Reef and another rock patch, unnamed as yet. Then he was in full channel and reeling off a good eight knots. “If we can make the head of the Passage before he rounds the point,” he told Kohl, “we’ll be all right.”
“I hope you know what you’re doin’.” Kohl was worried. “This is dangerous ground.”
“I know.”
He hoped he did. There was a chance despite his endless checking that the information in the little black book was wrong. Beside the channel the somber walls of timber closed them in, virgin timber, untouched by man or fire. Ahead of them the outlet was filled with dangers, and there would be little margin of safety, yet if he could make the turn…
He glanced back … nothing in sight. Sweat broke out on his brow despite the wind. If they were trapped in a cul-de-sac they would have no chance, for Zinnovy could stand off and shell them to pieces, and with the greatest enjoyment.
He stood with his legs spread to the roll of the ship, taking his time. Whitecaps dotted the sea, and a cold wind came down off the mountains. Nobody said anything until Larsen, glancing over his shoulder, said, “I think we make it.”
Momentarily, Jean resigned the wheel to him. He walked forward, scanning the sea and the marks on the cliffs. The distance was slight, but if the Lena had continued her pursuit she should be rounding into the Passage by now. “Head her toward the island.” He pointed. “We’ll get behind it and out of sight.”
Kohl was in the stern with a glass to his eye, anxiously watching the point on Annette Island beyond Hidden Reef, but there was no sign of the patrol ship. The dark green shores of the island were close aboard now, and he could make out details of the trees. There was a white streak of quartz in the rock at the island’s end and a cluster of bedraggled pines. Kohl called out suddenly. “She’s on our tail, Cap! She’s comin’!”