"I'd like to know the inside story of Curtis Gordon and this
girl's mother."

"Why bother your head about something that doesn't concern you?"
The speaker rose and began to pace the cabin floor, then, in an
altered tone, inquired, "Tell me, are you going to land me and my
horses at Kyak Bay?"

"That depends on the weather. It's a rotten harbor; you'll have
to swim them ashore."

"Suppose it should be rough?"

"Then we'll go on, and drop you there coming back. I don't want
to be caught on that shore with a southerly wind, and that's the
way it usually blows."

"I can't wait," O'Neil declared. "A week's delay might ruin me.
Rather than go on I'd swim ashore myself, without the horses."

"I don't make the weather at Kyak Bay. Satan himself does that.
Twenty miles offshore it may be calm, and inside it may be
blowing a gale. That's due to the glaciers. Those ice-fields
inland and the warm air from the Japanese Current offshore kick
up some funny atmospheric pranks. It's the worst spot on the
coast and we'll lose a ship there some day. Why, the place isn't
properly charted, let alone buoyed."

"That's nothing unusual for this coast."