to be struck. The giant leaned by
the bowsprit, his spectacled eyes seeming to gaze ahead into the gray of
the northern sky, and it seemed to Rainey as if he were smelling the
wind. The sun shone brightly enough, but it lacked heat-power, and the
sea had gone down, though it still ran high in great billows of dull
green. There was a bite to the air, and Rainey, fresh from the warm
cabin, wished he had brought up his sweater.

Lightly as he trod, the giant heard him and instantly recognized him.

"How'd ye make out with the hunters last night?" he queried. "I turned
in early."

"We had quite a session," said Rainey. "They got me in the game, all
right."

"Enny objections 'bout yore stakin' yore share in the gold?"

"Not a bit. I fancy they thought it a bit of a joke. More of one after
we'd finished the game. I lost two thousand seven hundred dollars," he
added with a laugh. "No chips under a dollar. Sky limit. And Deming had
all the luck, and a majority of the skill, I fancy."

"Don't seem to worry you none."

"Well, it was sort of ghost money," laughed Rainey.

"You've seen the color of it," retorted Lund. "Hear ennything special?"

"No." Rainey spoke thoughtfully. "I had a notion I was being treated as
an outsider, though they were friendly enough. But, somehow I fancy they
reserved their usual line of talk."

"Shouldn't wonder," grunted Lund. "Seen Sandy yet?"

"I haven't had a chance. I imagined it would be best not to be seen
talking to him."

"Right. Matey, things are comin' to a head. There's ice in the air. I
can smell it. Feel the difference in temperature? Ice, all right. An'
that means two things. We're nigh one of the Aleutians, an' Bering
Strait is full of ice. Early, a bit, but there's nothin' reg'lar 'bout
the way ice forms. I've got a strong hunch something'll break before we
make the Strait.

"There's one thing in our favor. Yore savin' Sandy has set you solid
with the hunters. They won't be so keen to maroon you. An' they'll think
twice about puttin' me ashore blind. I used to git along fine with the
hunters. All said an' done, they're men at bottom. Got their hearts
gold-plated right now. But--"

He seemed obsessed with the idea that the crew, with Carlsen as prime
instigator, had determined to leave them stranded on some volcanic,
lonely barren islet. Rainey wondered what actual foundations he had for
that theory.

"The sailors--" he started.

"Don't amount to a bunch of dried her