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Updated: May 27, 2025
When dusk was falling, Charly went on deck to say that Wyllard, who seemed perfectly conscious, insisted on seeing the skipper, and with some misgivings Dampier went down into the little cabin. The lamp was lighted, and when he sat down Wyllard, who raised himself feebly on his pillow, turned a pallid face to him. "Charly tells me you picked the boat up," he said. "We did," answered Dampier.
A few minutes later, however, it seemed to him that a shadowy form appeared out of the gloom among the firs and faded into it again. This struck him as very curious, since if it had been one of the Kamtchadales he would have walked straight into camp, but he said nothing to his companions, and there was silence for a while until Charly rose softly to his feet.
They set out again early next morning, and, as it happened, found a little depôt of provisions that Dampier had made, but it was several days before they met Charly and the Indian, and another week had passed before Overweg reached the appointed meeting-place. The scientist listened to Wyllard's story gravely, and then appeared to consider. "You have some plans?" he asked.
I guess you're for pushing on as fast as you can?" Wyllard nodded. "Of course," he said, "you'll look for an opening, and work her in as far as possible. Then, if it's necessary, Charly and I and another man will take the sled and head for the beach across the ice. If there's a lane anywhere I would, however, probably take the smallest boat.
"They'll treat us as pirates if they get hands on us and I've been lashed in the face with a sled-dog-whip," he said. Charly made no remark as he loosed the long seaman's knife in his belt. Wyllard could not utter a remonstrance, for there is, as he recognized, a point beyond which prudence does not count.
The girl's hands were wet and stiff with cold, but she quietly laid another plate upon the table before she answered him. "Charly is busy in the slashing, and I don't want to take him away, but there are those logs in the wet patch that ought to be hauled out now the ground is hard," she said. "I suppose you don't feel equal to doing it to-day?"
The lamp was lighted, and when he sat down Wyllard, who raised himself feebly on his pillow, turned a pallid face to him. "Charly tells me you picked the boat up," he said. "We did," said Dampier. "She had three or four planks on one side ripped out of her." Wyllard's faint grimace implied that this did not matter, and Dampier braced himself for the question he dreaded.
"Your man is sure it was only one white man who buried him?" Overweg spoke to the Kamtchadale, who answered him. "There was only one white man," he said. "It seems he went inland afterwards at least a year ago." Then Wyllard turned to Charly, and his face was very grave. "That makes it certain that two of them have died. There was one left, and he may be dead by this time."
As we passed through a small agglomeration of houses that one might hardly call a village, I recognized several familiar faces on the doorsteps, and presently comprehended why Charly was so dark and silent the night before. It was empty evacuated and the greater part of its inhabitants were here on the roadside, preparing to continue their route. Where were we going?
"Still, right or not, I'm for pushing on." Then Charly, who held the wheel, broke in. "I guess it's north," he assented. "They'd have no use for fetching up among the Russians, and there's nobody else until you get to Japan. No white men, anyway. Besides, from the Behring Sea to the Kuriles is quite a long way." "If you were dumped down ashore there, which way would you go?" Dampier asked.
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