John Goldfrap - The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest

“Jack!” exclaimed Tom, as a sudden thought shot into his head, “that must be Bully Banjo’s schooner.”

“You think so?”

“Well, what other vessel would put in here? It’s true that we had to seek shelter, but a wind that would sink us wouldn’t bother a large vessel. This is a lonely place, and just the sort of harbor Simon Lake would seek.”

“But we are in here; surely he wouldn’t risk the chance of actual discovery?”

“But he doesn’t know we’re here. The sloop is painted black. It is unlikely that he sighted us beating in for shore this afternoon. We’d better tell the others.”

“That’s right,” agreed Jack, starting for the cabin door. But Tom laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t open it,” he said. “They’d see the light.”

“Then how are we to tell them of what we have seen?”

“Tap on the cabin roof and then speak down the ventilator.”

“Good idea. We’ll do it.”

“Mr. Chillingworth,” whispered Tom, after his signal had been answered, and he had hastily warned the occupants of the cabin not to open the door, “there’s a big schooner come to anchor not far away. We thought you ought to know about it.”

The boys could hear an amazed exclamation come up the ventilator. The next instant the light was extinguished, and presently the cabin door was swiftly opened. Mr. Dacre, his friend, and Fu were soon standing by the boys on the deck, hearing their story. It was perfectly safe to talk in natural tones as the wind was blowing on shore, and it was doubtful if even had they shouted they could have been heard on the schooner.

On board the larger vessel, however, the case was different. The group on the yawl could now hear voices coming down the wind. Lights, too, began to bob about on the schooner’s decks. Evidently something was going forward.

“Our best plan is to listen and see what we can find out,” advised Mr. Chillingworth, after they had discussed the strange arrival of the schooner.

“Looks as if they had come in here for some definite purpose,” said Mr. Dacre.

“That’s right,” was the rejoinder, “and I can guess just what that purpose is. Lake’s schooner has not been round here for some time till the other day. I believe that she has just arrived from the island in the Pacific, where they say he picks up his Chinamen. They may be going to land a bunch to-night.”

“You think so?” asked Jack, his pulses beginning to beat.

“I don’t see what else they would have sought out this lonely spot for,” was the rejoinder. “Listen!”

A squeaking sound “cheep-cheep” came over the water from the schooner.

“They are getting ready to lower a boat,” cried Mr. Chillingworth. “I was right.”

“And they are going to turn a lot of Chinamen loose ashore?” gasped Tom.

“Well, they won’t turn them loose exactly,” rejoined Mr. Chillingworth, and if it had not been dark Tom would have noticed that he smiled. “Their method, so rumor has it, is to borrow some rancher’s team and wagon and drive the yellow men through the woods to a mining district to the north. Things are run pretty laxly there, and nobody asks questions so long as they get Chinese labor cheap.”

“But doesn’t every Chinaman who comes into the country have to have a certificate bearing his picture?” asked Tom. “Seems to me I’ve read that.”

“Perfectly true,” replied Mr. Chillingworth, “but it’s easy enough for men of Lake’s stripe to fake such certificates. After the men have worked at the mines a while, they leave there and mingle with their countrymen in the Chinatowns of any large Eastern or Western city. If any one asks questions, all they have to do is to show their certificates. As for the pictures, I guess one does for all. Every Chinaman looks pretty much alike.”

“That’s a fact,” agreed Mr. Dacre, “but all this must take a lot of money to engineer. Who provides the funds?”

“Ah, that’s a mystery. I’ve heard that a big syndicate is in it. It must pay tremendously. You see, the Chinamen will pay all the way from two hundred to a thousand dollars to be landed safely in the country. Lake, if he manages things right, can bring in as many as two hundred at a time. You see for yourself what that means – sixty thousand dollars at one fell swoop.”

“Phew!” whistled Mr. Dacre, “no wonder desperate men will take desperate chances for such rewards. But you mentioned an island from which Lake brings the men. Where is it?”

“That’s pure speculation,” rejoined Mr. Chillingworth. “The only reason for presuming that there is an island on which the Chinamen live till they can be run into the country is this: It is not probable that a schooner like Lake’s can run over to China. Her trips, in fact, rarely occupy more than a month or so. But as for the location of the island, I am as much in the dark as you are.”

“Hark!” cried Tom suddenly. “Isn’t that the sound of oars?”

“It is,” agreed Mr. Dacre, after listening a minute. “They’ve got a lantern in the boat, too. See, it is coming this way.”

Sure enough, they could now perceive a light coming over the water, evidently borne in the boat the splash of whose oars they had heard. On through the darkness came the moving light. Presently it stopped not far from the sloop. The occupants of the latter could see now that three men were in the little craft. One, a tall man with a sailor cap on his head, another, a short, thickset fellow, and the third man was undoubtedly a Chinaman. It was too dark to make out features, but the lantern light shone sufficiently on the occupants of the small boat for their general outlines to be apparent.

The Oriental member of the party wore loose flowing garb. On his head was a skull-cap surmounted by a button.

But after their first surprise our friends on the sloop turned their attention from the craft and its occupants to the freight with which the little boat was loaded. So far as they could make out, these were big canvas sacks about five feet or more in length. There seemed to be more than one of them. The boat rode very low in the water, apparently; whatever the freight was, it was fairly heavy.

As the oarsmen ceased their motions and the boat came to a stop, the men in her arose and the two white men laid hold of one of the bundles at either end. They lifted it, and before the party on the sloop had any idea of what they were going to do, they had swung their burden two or three times and then cast it out into the water. It sank with a sullen splash. As it did so, the Chinaman raised his hands above his head and seemed to be uttering some prayer, or invoking some deity.

But a sudden noise in their midst caused the party on the sloop to turn sharply.

For some inexplicable reason the mask-faced Fu was groveling on the deck. His lips were murmuring oriental words in a rapid sing-song. In his voice, and, above all, in his attitude, there was every indication of abject terror.

Mr. Chillingworth stepped over to him and shook him not too roughly by the shoulder.

“Fu, Fu, what’s the trouble?” he exclaimed.

“Oh, Missa Chillingworth, me welly much flaid,” stammered the Mongolian, still evidently in the bonds of fear.

“But why, Fu – why? Is it because of what they are doing in that boat?”

“Yes, Missa Chillingworth. Dey be deadee men in dose sacks. Dey dlop them in the sea for gib dem belial.”

“They are burying them you mean?”

“Yes, missa. De Chinaman he allee same plest. He say players for dem. Plenty bad for Chinaman to see.”

“And for any one else, too, I should think,” commented Mr. Chillingworth. “It is evident enough now what those fellows are up to. Some Chinamen have died during the voyage and they are burying them in this cove. Packed together as they are, it’s surprising more of them are not killed.”