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why that was.”
    â€œTwo of the plaques were hidden inside?”
    â€œNo, but something else was, in a false bottom.”
    Timing being everything to a fisherman, Torsen paused, then set the hook. “The trunk’s false bottom concealed a journal, a very old journal from Russian America. A journal that records where the plaques were hidden.”
    I couldn’t believe it. “This is amazing. And now you’ve got the journal?”
    â€œI’ve got the journal,” Tor said gravely.
    â€œYou must have had to pay through the nose for it.”
    â€œNot at all,” Tor said with a grin. “You see, I’m that antique dealer. That’s what I do with my winters down in Port Angeles. I sold Number 15 already.”
    â€œFor how much?”
    Torsen laughed. “More money than you’ve ever seen, but less than this one’ll bring, and the next one.”
    â€œThe next one?”
    â€œThat’s where you come in, Robbie. In addition to the fishing, of course. Are you up for a little adventure? These plaques aren’t so easy to locate, and you could help, especially if my back goes out on me. I found thisNumber 13 a couple of weeks ago. Number 15, I found that last year. Now listen carefully. If we find another one, I’ll double whatever you make fishing. That’s why you don’t want to quit me and go home to your mother.”
    There was more going on here than I could figure out. I held back, despite the pull of the plaque and the money.
    Torsen took offense. “Well?” he demanded. “What kind of fool are you? Aren’t you trying to make as much money as you can?”
    â€œThat’s a lot to think about, all right,” I managed. I was wondering if all this was legal.
    â€œIs this a finders-keepers situation?” I asked as carefully as possible. “I mean, the plaques are yours to sell?”
    â€œTreasure law,” Torsen said without hesitating. “Like finding gold from the wreck of a Spanish galleon.”
    Doubling my fishing money, that was a phenomenal offer, especially if we could catch a lot of fish. Tor was going to head north and try new water. The man was used to filling his hold. Here was my chance to make some real money. I had to keep my eye on the ball.
    â€œI’m game,” I announced, with a smile thrown in for good measure.
    â€œThat’s better,” Torsen said. “You make us some eggs and Alpo, I’ll steer for Kelly Cove. As soon as we sell, we’re on our way.”
    â€œAlpo?”
    â€œSpam, Robbie. Sliced and fried. Grab three of those big potatoes and make us some home fries. Fry everything in that bacon grease we saved from yesterday. You can cook, can’t you? Open a jar of salsa. Slice and butter some bagels, warm ’em, don’t petrify ’em. We’ll split a cantaloupe, and don’t forget the orange juice and coffee.”
    â€œYou’re on,” I said.
    This was going to be something new. Breakfast at breakfast time.
    We ate, and soon after that we cranked up the trolling poles. At nine knots, it wasn’t long until I was throwing the fenders over the side, and we were snubbing up to the Angie , a boat twice our size. I scrambled into the hold and Tor waved the big fish bucket down. I dug the salmon out by hand and laid them one by one in the wide bucket.
    The last fish off-loaded, we motored off so I could muck out the old ice. Then we cozied up to the Angie again and they lowered the ice hose down to me. The guys on the Angie recognized Torsen from years back and were surprised he had a deckhand. They kidded him about getting soft. “Is he worth his salt?” I heard the fish buyer ask.
    â€œThe kid does it all,” I heard Tor reply. “I’m just along for the ride.”

10
    B Y NOON WE WERE BACK on the outside water. Tor steered north by northwest. On the way out to the Pedro grounds off of St. Joseph Island, the