Leaving Protection by Will Hobbs Read Free Book Online

that’s what she wants, but she’s ten and doesn’t really know. My parents figure that I’ll probably find my way off the island, but I’m not so sure. I love Prince of Wales, and I’d hate to give up the fishing.”
    â€œThere’s no future in it.”
    â€œWell, it would just be a sideline, that’s what I’m thinking. If I had a regular job the other nine months, like teaching for example, then the fishing wouldn’t be do or die.”
    â€œLike that teacher from Craig does.”
    â€œExactly. Teaching might be the way to go. I get excited about learning stuff, and I like kids. Who knows, I might end up working with Julie.”
    â€œI don’t suppose your parents can send you to college.”
    â€œNo, but I could maybe get some scholarships and loans, and partly work my way through. I used to think I would come home from college in the summers and make big money as a deckhand. Maybe the prices will come back up.”
    â€œDon’t count on it.”
    Enthusiastic, the man wasn’t. “Hey, Tor,” I said, “you’ve hardly told me anything about yourself.”
    â€œNot much to tell. I catch fish, eat, sleep.”
    â€œI was just wondering about where you grew up, your family, that kind of stuff.”
    â€œNow you’re snooping again. Another time, maybe. It’s after ten. When I’m fishing, I’m in bed by nine-thirty.”
    â€œI was just curious, that’s all.”
    â€œI don’t pay you for your curiosity,” he growled, and lay down on his bunk. He was snoring before I’d even cleared the dishes. It was unbelievable, the man’s talent for falling asleep.
    I scrubbed dishes to the tune of his snoring. It was hard to stand at the sink. That knife I imagined in my back seemed to have its tip in my spinal cord. Thinking about the plaque distracted me some, and I kept trying to get a handle on my moody captain. One minute he could be laughing and hauling in kings, the next he was so gloomy it scared me.
    When the last dish was done, it was all I could do to climb down the ladder to my bunk.

8
    O N FOUR AND A HALF HOURS of sleep, I was fishing again. We were the first to pull out of the hidey-hole behind Cape Chirikof, the first to drop our gear. Early on we caught a few kings, but then the bite went dead. The wind was out of the west, pushing bigger seas than I’d ever been on. When a troller opposite us was down in the trough of a swell, all you could see was its mast and the tops of its poles. Welcome to the Gulf of Alaska, Robbie.
    I asked the captain if the big seas had anything to do with the kings making themselves scarce. Tor scowled. “The kings run deep. What’s going on at the surface has nothing to do with it.”
    Then he squinted, seeming to stare at my hands.“What’s that on your glove?” he demanded.
    On the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, there were smudges of black grease. “No wonder we aren’t catching anything,” he said.
    â€œMust be from the gurdy bushings,” I muttered. I didn’t know why he was so upset. “I’ll have to watch it closer.”
    â€œGet out of the way,” was all he said as he crowded into my corner of the cockpit. I had to squeeze past him and stand by helplessly as he began to pull my lines.
    I still hadn’t figured out why he was pulling them—I didn’t have a fish on—but I found out soon enough. He found a spot of grease on each of the lines.
    Tor wasn’t going to cut me any slack on this. He wouldn’t even look at me as he replaced the hootchies and cleaned the greasy spots off the steel fishing line. Then came the lecture. “Salmon can smell grease a mile off,” he said, his sharp eyes drilling into mine. “Keep in mind, kid, they can smell their way back to the exact stretch of whatever little creek they were hatched at, no matter that it’s a