knew we weren't going to be able to go on dry dock, because there
isn't any dry dock here. So, while you were in Seattle, I had a
gasoline tug tow us up-river. We've been lying in fresh water four
days, sir, and that'll kill most of the worms on her bottom."

"Hereafter," said Matt Peasley, "you get ten dollars a month above the
scale. Thank you."

Mr. Murphy acknowledged his appreciation.

"Any orders, sir?" he continued.

Matt Peasley showed him Cappy Ricks' telegram and Mr. Murphy nodded
his approval. He had been in port nearly a week and the whine of the
sawmills and the reek of river water had begun to get on his nerves.
He was ready for the dark blue again.

"There's something wrong about our cargo, I think," Matt remarked
presently.

"Why, sir?"

"Why, down at the telegraph office this morning I met the master of
the schooner, Carrier Dove, and when I told him my orders he
snickered."

"Huh! Well, he ought to know what he snickered about, sir. The
Carrier Dove just finished loading at Weatherby's mill," Mr. Murphy
replied. "She's a Blue Star craft and bound for Antofagasta also. Her
skipper's Salvation Pete Hansen, and it would be just like that