Читать книгу By Bursting Flash Bulbs - Roy J. Snell - Страница 4

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Ably supported by old Tim who knew “them Orientals, every mother’s son of ’em,” Jimmy went the rounds of the city. From small hand laundries he passed to restaurants where salmon, trout and reindeer steaks were served, and from there to a small curio shop presided over by an ancient Oriental.

Some of these brown men favored Jimmy with a stare, some were completely indifferent to his desire to see all the men in their places of business.

“Well,” Tim sighed at last, “there’s just one more place and it’s run by the boss of the lot, that’s Koto Koto. He’s rich, Koto is, and seems to hold some sort of power over the rest of the blinkin’ lot. We’ll go have a looksee at him.”

“Rich and powerful,” Jimmy thought as a thrill ran up his spine, “that’s my man!”

However, when he entered the gilded palace where the rich one served food to patrons who could afford to pay fancy prices, Jimmy found himself once more facing defeat. The features of Koto were sharp and shrewd enough, but they lacked the tenseness registered in the night intruder’s face.

“You’ve got some other fellows workin’ fer you here,” said Tim. “Trot ’em out.”

“Why?” There was a bland look of defiance on the small dark face of Koto.

“Inspection,” said Tim.

“Oh, yeah?” Koto knew American slang—last year’s vintage.

“Yes.” Tim spoke sharply. “This young man is from the Seminole, Captain Jack’s boat. He’s lookin’ over the foreigners in this bloomin’ port. See?”

Koto’s dark eyes half closed. “Captain Jack!” came in a hissing whisper from his lips. Pressing three buttons in a row, he caused three small brown men to pop out of three doors, for all the world as if they were on springs.

Jimmy looked them over with one sweeping glance. Then he said, “Is that all?”

“No more,” replied Koto.

“O.K.,” said Jimmy. A moment later they were out on the board walk once more.

“Well,” Jimmy sighed, “that beats us. The man we’re looking for doesn’t seem to be in town. But he sure was last night. And how!”

“We’ll go see Bill Bowman,” said Tim. “He’s mighty near boss of this country. Owns a tradin’ store an’ most a million reindeer, I reckon. Knows everybody, he does. Might be some Oriental I’ve missed.”

Ten minutes later they entered a long, low building smelling of smoked fish, raw furs, bacon and kerosene. This was Bill Bowman’s store.

A girl with smiling blue eyes greeted them from behind the counter.

“Hello, Tim,” she exclaimed. “You back in town? How’s the Sally Ann?”

“Shipshape an’ ready to sail,” was Tim’s quick retort. “Come on down. We’ll fire her up an’ go fer a ride.

“Look, Molly,” Tim dropped his bantering tone, “this is Jimmy Drury.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Molly.

“Thanks, I—the pleasure is all mine,” Jimmy managed to stammer. Why was he always fussed by strange girls?

“This is Bill Bowman’s girl,” Tim explained to him. “The finest dog musher in the country, an’ mighty near the best sailor. Calls her boat the Eider, she does. An’ it’s the right name. It sure is a graceful bit of craft.

“But, Molly,” his voice was all business again, “where’s your dad?”

“In the loft,” said Molly. “Wait. I’ll call him.” Stepping to the foot of a rough flight of stairs, she shouted:

“Who-hoo! Who-hoo!”

After a brief pause there came a muffled “Who-hoo.”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” said the girl. “Won’t you sit down?” She indicated well-worn chairs beside the huge stove.

Just then a native woman entered, held up five fingers, then muttered “Capseta pee-luk.”

“She wants sugar,” Tim explained to Jimmy, “five pounds.”

A few minutes later Bill Bowman, a big, gruff, red-faced man with a ready smile and a low voice, came in. He greeted Tim as an old friend and gave Jimmy a hearty welcome because he was kin to Captain Jack.

“You’ve seen them all,” he stated emphatically when Tim had called off the Orientals they had inspected. “That is,” Bill added dryly, “all that I know about. We’re only a hundred and fifty miles from Bering Straits, you know. The Straits are the crossroads between two worlds, always were and always will be. This whole continent was populated in the early days by little brown men crossing the Straits. Red men! Thunder! Scientists tell us they’re all yellow men, Orientals.

“All the same,” he added, “I shouldn’t wonder if you’d seen them all this time.”

“All but one,” Jimmy corrected. In a low, quiet voice he told Bill Bowman of his experience in Tim’s cabin and the theft of the letters.

“Whew!” Bill whistled between his teeth. “That’s important. I’m glad you told me. We’ll all have an eye out for some stranger. You know, Jimmy, we’ll do everything we can to help—excuse me,” he broke off. “There’s Sinrock Mary. She’s got a brace of fine white fox skins to trade for eats. I’ll be with you again soon.

“And by the way,” he flashed a look up the rough wooden stairway, “ever see a trader’s storeroom, Jimmy?”

“No, I——”

“Go on up,” he invited. “You’ll be interested. Good as a museum.”

“Yes, do,” Molly Bowman urged. “I’ll come up and show you some of the special things, ivory carvings, native bowls, and the like, soon as I weigh out some flour and sugar for Attatak.” She nodded toward a dark-eyed native girl.

“I—I’d like to go up,” said Jimmy, little dreaming that in that same breath he was letting himself into a strange new world of mystery and great enchantment.