With feet so badly used up from weeks of unaccustomed snow-shoeing that every step was torture, the deserted man at once realized the folly of pursuit, and with a heavy heart began to retrace his slow way to old Fort Adams. Reaching the mission completely exhausted, and unable to proceed farther, he had taken possession of the missionary’s house. Here, suffering, penniless, friendless, and almost hopeless, he was trying to form some plan for the future, when the door opened, and, as he afterwards quaintly said, “Ef the good little cherub what sets up aloft watching over poor Jack at sea had flowed in at that minute, I couldn’t been better pleased than I were to sight the blessed phiz of that precious young rascal, Phil Ryder.”
Such was the tale related by Jalap Coombs to Phil and Serge after the three had finished a dinner that included every luxury in the outfit of our young travellers, and between long, grateful pulls at “old comfort,” his pipe, which they had also provided with tobacco.
When the story was ended, Phil indignantly demanded to know the names of the two white men who claimed acquaintance with him and at the same time dared treat his old friend so shamefully.
“I might have known it――the sneak!” broke in Phil.
“The very scoundrel that I set ashore from the _Chimo_ for trying to blow her up!” cried Phil. “You remember, Serge?”
“I should rather say I did!” replied the young Russo-American, his honest face flushing with anger.
“But what are they going up the river for, Mr. Coombs?”
“To spile Cap’n Hamer’s chance of doing any trading at Forty Mile, as fur as I could make out,” replied the mate.
“Oh, the villains!” exclaimed Phil. “And they have got two days’ start of us, too, while you are almost unfit for travel. Hold on, though! I have it! We can do the trick yet, and give them a lesson in minding their own business. Hurrah for our side, after all! Serge, hurrah! quick, before I fling something at you.”
“Of course, Mr. Coombs, you can’t expect us to go back to St. Michaels now,” began Phil, as a preliminary to unfolding his scheme for the discomfiture of Simon Goldollar and his unprincipled companion.
“Why not?” demanded the sailor, who had not for a moment expected anything else. “As soon as I found ye I were to bring ye to St. Michaels, and keep ye there till your father comes. Them’s orders, and to disobey ’em would be mutiny, nigh as I kin make out.”