The interpreter started, but delivered the message.

The Mongol, upon receiving this word, sprang from the furs like a jack from his box and hot words rushed rapidly from his lips.

When he had finished, the interpreter explained that he said Johnny was jesting with him. It was impossible that anyone would buy three hundred head of cattle with gold in the starving land of Russia.

The Mongol sank back to his place among the furs, and the bickering was continued. For two hours it waged, ending finally by the promise of the Mongol that, in the morning, the cattle should be at hand; that they would be better than those Johnny had seen; and that Johnny's "beggarly" price of one pound of gold for six cattle would be accepted.

Once the bargaining was over, the Mongol was transformed in a second's time into the most charming of hosts. Johnny and his interpreter must dine with him. Yes, indeed! They must sleep in his tent that night. They should talk long and of many things. It was not often that he had the honor of playing host to such a rich and clever guest. Indeed, it was not. But they should not converse so long together that Johnny and his most excellent interpreter should be robbed of their night's repose.

Several hours later, Johnny was buried to the point of smothering beneath rugs of fur that would bring the price of a king's ransom. His mind was still in a whirl. Perhaps it was the tea, perhaps the excitement of big business, and again, it may have been a premonition of things to happen.

Whatever it may have been, he could not sleep.

His racing mind whispered to him of treachery out of the night. It had been a wonderful evening. They had been treated to a feast such as he had seldom dreamed of. Surely these Mongols could concoct from beef, rice, sweet potatoes and spices the most wonderful of viands. And, as for tea, he had never tasted real tea before. The aroma of it still haunted his nostrils.

And the Mongol had told him many things. He had traveled far, had this trader; he had seen much. He spoke of Russia, of China, j.a.pan and India.

He told of matters that made Johnny's blood run cold, of deeds done in that border-land between great countries, each seething with revolution and bloodshed. Not that he, the Mongolian, had done these things, but he had seen them accomplished. And he had traded for the spoils, the spoils of rich Russians driven from their own land and seeking refuge in another.

He was a trader. It was his business. He must have profit. What should one do? If he did not take the riches, another would. But as for committing these deeds himself, Confucius forbid it; he had scowled to show his disapproval.

At the same time, as Johnny thought it all through, and felt the hard lumps about him that were sacks of gold, he found it very difficult to fall asleep.

His interpreter, lying not an arm's length away, breathed with the steady ease of one in deep slumber. The Mongol had drawn a curtain of ermine skins between them and his own bed. Could it be that this interpreter had made his way into the good graces of Mazie only to turn murderer and robber at the proper time? Johnny had only Mazie's word that the person could be trusted, and Mazie was but a girl, not accustomed to the deep-seated treachery in the oriental mind.

He had traveled far that day; he had talked long and dined well; he was a healthy human being; and sleep came at last.

How long he had slept, he did not know when he was awakened by an indescribable sensation. Had he heard something, felt something? He could not tell. He breathed on, the steady deep breath of a sleeper, and did not stir, but he opened an eye a mere crack. A shadow stretched across him. It was made by a person who stood between him and an oriental lamp which flickered dimly in the corner. His eye sought the place where the interpreter lay. The skins were too deep there and he could not tell whether he was there or not.

The shadow shifted. The person was moving into view. He could see him now.

He was short and brown of face.

"The interpreter!" These words formed themselves on his lips, but were not spoken.

The next second he knew it was not the interpreter, for there came a stir at his side as the interpreter sat up.

So there were two of them. Treachery! Well, he should not die alone. His hand gripped the cold steel of his automatic. He tilted it ever so slightly. Fired from where it lay, it would send a bullet crashing through the crouching interpreter's chest. He was about to pull the trigger when something arrested his attention.

A blade gleamed in the hand of the interpreter. Even in this darkness, he recognized the weapon as one he had taken from a would-be murderer, a Russian Chukche. He had given it to a very good friend, a j.a.panese lady--Cio-Cio-San!

A cold chill ran down his spine. Had he come near killing a friend? Was this one crouching in the act of defending him against an enemy? Cold perspiration stood out upon his brow. He made a tremendous effort to continue breathing evenly. He could only take a desperate chance and await the turn of events.

Hardly had Dave Tower discovered the imminent peril of drifting out over the ice-packed sea, than a ray of hope came to him. Scattered along the mainland of this vast continent there was, here and there, an island.

Should they be so fortunate as to drift upon one of these, they might be saved.

Hurriedly climbing down from his perilous perch, he hastened to inform Jarvis of their position.

"Blind my eyes!" exclaimed Jarvis. "Wot don't 'appen to us ain't worth 'appenin'."

Then Dave told him of his hope that there might be an island ahead.

"I 'opes so," said Jarvis, as he seized a gla.s.s and rushed outside to scan the broken surface of the sea.

In the meantime, the balloon was sinking rapidly. It was only a matter of time until the cabin would b.u.mp upon an ice-pile. Then it was doubtful if even the quickest action could save their lives.

They brought the stranger, who was now able to sit up and stare about him, to the outer deck. He gazed down at the swaying, flying landscape and was badly frightened when he discovered that they were in midair, but Dave rea.s.sured him, while Jarvis brought sleeping-bags and boxes of food to a position by the rail.

"If the worst 'appens, we'll at least h'eat and sleep on the floe until it 'eaps up an' buries us," he grumbled.

"Land ahead!" exclaimed Dave suddenly, throwing down his gla.s.ses and rushing inside the cabin. He was out again in a moment, bearing on his shoulder a coil of steel cable, and dragging a heavy land anchor after him.

"We may be able to save the old boat yet," he yelled excitedly. "Jarvis, bring out the rope ladder."

Jarvis hastened inside and reappeared almost immediately with the ladder.

"It's an island," said Dave, "and, as far as I can judge, we're only two or three hundred feet from its surface when we get above it. We'll throw over the anchor and if it catches somewhere, we'll go down the ladder. In time the balloon will lose gas enough to bring her to earth."

"You 'ave a good 'ead, me lad," approved Jarvis. "'Ere's 'opin' it 'appens that way!"

It did happen that way, and, in due course of time, the three men found themselves on the brow of a low plateau which seemed as deserted as the pyramids of Egypt, and quite as barren of life.

"One thing's sure," said Dave. "We've got to get the gas back into that old cloth tank and catch a fair wind, or get that engine to working, if we don't wish to starve."

"Aye," said Jarvis.

"There's a strange pile of rocks up on the ledge there. I'm going for a look at it," said Dave.

He returned in a few moments, mingled excitement and amus.e.m.e.nt on his face.

"Jarvis," he smiled happily, "we're not so badly off, after all. Here we are right back in old United States of America!"

"United States?" Jarvis stared.

"Says so in this message I found in a bra.s.s can. Says--"

Dave broke off suddenly. Something on the crest to the right of them had caught his attention. Grasping his automatic, Dave went skulking away in the shadow of the hill.

Jarvis, too, had seen it and awaited the outcome of this venture with eager expectancy.

CHAPTER XIII

CIO-CIO-SAN

Hardly had Johnny Thompson's finger lessened its pressure on the trigger of his automatic, than the interpreter sprang straight at the figure that cast the shadow.