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Show 161 "I just figured that out, Pa," I said, aloud. "Just did." I almost lost my treasure that day in Dawson City, and not ray bags of gold on the freight deck of the Northern Maid. My treasure was up on the second deck-a toothless old man and a skinny fourteen-year-old girl in a white fur coat with her grandmother' s impossible name. I ran down to the river, frantically waving my arms. "Stop, stop the boat!" The steamer was in midchannel, its orange paddle wheel splashing water. "Help," I yelled. "Stop! Help!" Caribou and Tip were leaning over the rail, gesturing hopelessly. Suddenly Caribou grabbed his moosehide ooke hanging from his belt and ran up the narrow stairs to the pilothouse. I was a crazy fool yelling and waving at that riverboat. But I was also lucky. The steamer slowly turned and eased itself back to shore. It puffed black smoke and blew its shrill whistle- and dropped its gangplank. And I ran aboard. Fassengers crowded around me, staring and asking questions. "What happened, young man? What happened?" I did not say. I was too breathless. Finally when the crowd fell away and the three of us were alone, I said, "Thanks. Thanks for stopping the boat." "Took half his poke," Tip exclaimed. She >:as fanning |