Brack’s boat was gone. That was good. But I looked in vain for some sign of life aboard. Apparently the Wanderer was deserted. I waited in hope that some one might appear on deck and in response to my hail send over a boat, but after half an hour I gave this up. I was rested now from the unaccustomed strain of hill-climbing, and I was determined to reach the yacht.
The Wanderer’s anchorage was probably two hundred yards from the shore on which I was lying and I had never been but a poor swimmer. But from an out-jutting point of the island it was but half that distance and to the island I turned my attention.
The channel separating the island and the mainland was about fifty yards wide. I swam it, after having divested myself of shoes and coat, ran along the island to the point nearest the yacht and plunged in again. The water of the fiord was like ice, and I had not swum far before my teeth were chattering. I was tempted to shout and call for help, but the caution which that day had instilled in me prevented this and I kept on in silence.
No one saw me as I came climbing up the Wanderer’s starboard sea-ladder. My flesh, my bones, my marrow, were aching with the torture of cold. I staggered stiffly across the deck and rounded the main cabin. There I came upon Freddy Pierce in a deckchair disconsolately rolling a cigaret.
We did not speak for some time.
At my appearance the paper fluttered from Pierce’s limp hand, the tobacco dribbled unnoticed from the bag onto the deck and by this I knew that the sight of me must have appalled him. He stared at me, his lips opening and closing, and I stared back, uttering no word, as men do in moments when words are too slow a means of expression. I was freezing; I was near to collapsing; but at the sight of Pierce’s appalled countenance my body seemed forgotten.
“Brains!” exploded Freddy at last in agony. “What the ——! Ain’t she with you?”
“No,” I said, “she is not with me.”
Pierce rose from the deck chair, his boyish, freckled face white and sickly for the moment.
“Mean to say—” he licked his dry lips—“mean to say you ain’t seen her?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
“He said—Cap’ Brack said—you’d stayed up there with the men, and that you suggested Miss Baldwin’d like to come up and take a look.”
“‘Brack said?’” My mind refused to comprehend fully the significance of Pierce’s bare words.
“Eyah. He said that the second time he was down—for lunch. Said you were up there. And Miss Baldwin got in the boat with ’em and went up there, thinking to meet you. Brains—Mr. Pitt!” he cried, springing forward and grasping my arms, “what’s come off? What’s Brack been pulling? Didn’t you send that word to Miss Baldwin at all?”
“No.”
I turned to go to my stateroom. I was like a man in a dream.
“Brains!” he whispered in agony, “didn’t you hear what I said? She went away with Brack in a boat, and he lied about your being where they was going.”
I released myself from his grasp.
“Yes, I heard. I must get a dry change.” I went straight to my room, Pierce following on my heels.
“Freddy,” I said, as quietly as I could, “you had better get up to your wireless and send word to any ship within call to relay word to the nearest authorities that we need help.”
He merely stared at me without moving.
“Go on,” I said. “Send that message at once.”
“Aw, Brains,” he said gently. “Where’s your thinker; you know better’n that.”
“Do as I tell you. Don’t wait to hear the story; start your wireless at once.”
“You’re up in the air forty miles,” was his reply. “If you wasn’t you’d know that Brack’d never leave me here on the yacht without putting the wireless out of business.”
“What!”
“Yep. When they all turned up missing this morning, you with ’em, and there hadn’t been anything said about it, I began to feel kind of cold below the ankles and I sneaked up to slip some juice into the air and try to put the revenue-cutter, Bear, hep to something doing here. She ought to be down this way just now. Well, nothing doing. The whole works are gone; Brack’s put the wireless outfit on the bum.”
Somehow I managed to be calm.
“Where’s Wilson?”
Pierce’s face clouded.
“A dirty shame! Wilson’s laid up. Garvin’s gun went off accidentally when they were coming on board and the bullet went through Wilson’s leg below the knee.”
“Riordan?”
“He’s left in charge; yep. Chanler’s keeping him in his room to talk to. The nigger’s here, too. He had a row with Garvin last night and they left him behind to do scullion work. Simmons is sleeping.”
“Chanler?”
“He’s coming around. Cold sober, but shaky.”
“Dr. Olson?”
“Went back with Brack on the second trip. Brack had him take his case and a lot of stuff, too.”
“You mean that the captain came after Dr. Olson?”
“Yep. And Miss Baldwin. He made two trips, you know. First he came back early in the morning for breakfast, and said they’d found the mine, and you were staying up there to look around. He said we’d all go up after awhile. Then they went away. At noon they came back again. Then was when Doc’ Olson and Miss Baldwin went with him. I tried to horn myself in but he details me to split the watches with Riordan and tells Riordan to see I stay on board. She—Miss Baldwin—asked if I couldn’t go along, and he said no. Then she got into the boat, like she didn’t know whether she wanted to or not, and they pulled away. And, Brains, I’m afraid—I got a hunch he’s got her going south.”
“Got who? Going where?” I asked, not comprehending his slang.
“Got Miss Baldwin—going south. You know: falling for him.” Then as my expression continued to betray my lack of comprehension, “Brack can fool any woman, and he’s got her charmed.”
The pistol which the old miner had given me came to sight at that moment as I undressed, and Pierce gasped.
“You—packing a gat’!” he exclaimed. “What’s happened? Where have you been if you haven’t been up there with the crew?”
I continued my dressing without replying. When completed I again placed the pistol out of sight within my shirt.
“We’ll go and see Wilson,” I said. “Then I’ll only have to tell my story once.”
XXIV
We found the wounded man lying in his bunk calmly dividing his time between a book and his bandaged leg which was stretched out before him. There was no look of pain or mental stress upon his bronzed face. It was all in the day’s work; he would not permit a little thing like a bullet through his leg to disturb his poise.
“I’m all right, sir,” he said. “Be up soon.”
“Wilson,” said I, “how much accident was there about that shot?”
“I don’t know, sir. Garvin was behind me when it happened. I don’t mind saying that I’ll settle personally with him for it when I’m on my feet again.”
“Garvin is merely the captain’s tool.”
“He’ll be a dull tool, sir, when I’ve paid him for his clumsiness.”
I told him all that I had heard, and what had happened to me that morning. When I came to my affair with Barry and my escape to warn the miners his eyes widened.
“The captain planned well, didn’t he, sir?” he said quietly. “The only thing—” he smiled a little—“the only thing he hadn’t charted right was you, Mr. Pitt. He was far on his reckonings of you, sir, and so was I. He never expected that from you. You threw him off his course nicely, sir. You may have spoiled the whole cruise for him, though that’s hardly probable. He always has a trick left.”
“And what do you think his plans are beyond this, Wilson?” I asked. “He certainly can’t intend to return with us to civilization after what he’s done today.”
“I’ve been thinking of that, sir,” he replied. “And I always get back to remembering that the Wanderer is outfitted for two years. I’ve a notion that the captain’s original plan was to rob these miners and then slip off to the edges of nowhere with the yacht.”
“And what of us?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Can’t tell, sir. As it is, you’ve put him off his course. If he doesn’t make out on his robbery he’ll have trouble with the men. He promised them a lot of easy gold. They’re a hard crew and he’ll have trouble handling them unless they catch those miners and make them give up the secret of where they’ve hidden the gold. If they catch ’em, the captain will get the secret out of them, you can bet on that. Then they’ll come piling back here to get away as soon as possible to where they can blow their loot.”
“And then we’ll have to look out for ourselves, you mean?”
Wilson nodded.
“Well,” said he slowly, “things like this ain’t so bad for men, sir, but there’s the girl.”
The conversation ceased abruptly. We sat silent, each troubled by the same thought.
“Did he say when he would return?” I asked at last.
“No,” said Pierce.
“How much grub did they take?” asked Wilson.
Pierce gulped.
“Not much. I heard him say there was enough up there for months.”
“And not a hint of when they were coming back?”
“No.”
We were silent again. Presently Wilson cleared his throat:
“Those fellows up there, the miners must have got away. The captain wouldn’t take her up there if they were there.”
“And he took the doc’ with him, too,” reminded Pierce. “Somebody must have got hurt.”
“Were they hard men, these two miners?” asked Wilson of me. “They were, eh? Well, the way it looks to me, they hurt some of the crew and got away, and the crew is still after them. They’ll be afraid to let ’em get away if they’ve had a fight. The miners would get word to the outside and they’d come back with help.”
“But Brack can’t be taking part in the chase if there is one,” I interrupted.
Wilson shook his head.
“He came back here. He wouldn’t be doing that if he was in the chase.”
“And he took Miss Baldwin with him,” supplemented Pierce.
“He probably sent the men on the chase as soon as he found that the miners had got away,” continued Wilson. “Then he’s alone——”
He caught himself; but we know what he intended to say.
“Chanler is better, you say?” I said, rising.
“Sure,” said Pierce. “He’s nervous and shaky, but he’s a human being again.”
“What are you going to do, sir?” asked Wilson as I stepped to the door. “Going up there? Well, there’s a canoe in the port storage-room forward, sir?”
“Good! Pierce, will you get the canoe out and put it in the water? I’ll go and have a little talk with Chanler.”
“You bet! Say, Brains, wha’d’ you do with the rifle you copped off Barry?”
I told him where I had hidden the weapon and went out. Chanler should have his chance. He must be a man now if ever. Riordan was with Chanler in the latter’s stateroom when I entered. Chanler had come out of his madness. He was nervous and looked ill, but his eyes were sane again. He was lying in a lounge-chair with Riordan at his side.
“Good gad, Gardy! I am glad to see you!” cried George as I entered. “Here, sit down and talk to me; talk to me, you hear? Say something. Riordan, you’re relieved. Take a rest, like Simmons. Gardy, say something. I’ve got to have somebody talk to me or I’ll—I’ll start hitting it up again.”
Riordan was regarding me suspiciously.
“How did you come aboard?” he demanded.
“Never mind how he came aboard,” interrupted George petulantly. “What d’you s’pose I care how he came aboard. He’s here now. Sit down, Gardy, and talk. You can go, Riordan; I’ll have you in when Gardy’s winded.”
Riordan went, scowling at me, and I seated myself in the chair he had vacated.
“Chanler, there is no time for me to talk to you for your entertainment,” I began abruptly. “You’re sober now, you’re yourself, and you can’t shirk responsibility on the pretense of being incapacitated. Brack got Miss Baldwin to accompany him up to the mine with the lie that I was up there and had suggested that she come up. He is up there with her—alone. And the devil only knows what his plans are.”
Chanler merely shuddered nervously.
“Darn you, Gardy! Here I was just coming out of a sinking spell and you come along and spoil everything. Why do you bring me news like that? It—it disturbs me, really.”
“No,” I said, “you can’t talk in that strain and have it accepted any longer, Chanler. You are a man again, not an alcoholic imbecile, and you’ve got to play the part.”
I told him the true purpose of Brack’s visit to Kalmut Fiord and of the day’s events.
“And now, by a lie he has Miss Baldwin go with him. Chanler, we can’t leave her up there with him, alone.”
Chanler writhed and groaned.
“Oh, Gardy! You’re terrible. What do you propose to do?”
“You are Miss Baldwin’s host. You and I will take a canoe which Pierce is getting ready and go up to the mine.”
“You’re mad,” he muttered. “What shape am I in to go anywhere?”
“The doctor is up there. It’s a short paddle.”
“But I’m not fit, Gardy; I tell you it will set me back.”
“You’ve got the choice before you, Chanler. Do you want to drop back into what you’ve been for the past week, or do you want to be a man?”
“I feel so rotten, Gardy.”
“You’ve got a chance now with Miss Baldwin. You’re almost your old self. Come, man; this is your chance to win back your standing with her.”
“I haven’t got a chance,” he said despairingly. “That’s all off. I know it.”
“And you’re quitting—leaving Brack to have his own way?”
“Brack? Brack! What do you mean?”
“While you’ve been lying in your room Brack has been doing his best to fascinate Miss Baldwin. You should know something of the man’s power. Well?”
“Brack?” Chanler was struggling to his feet. “Brack, eh? So he’s after Betty, and you—you say he’s made an impression?”
“You know the man,” I replied bitterly.
He straightened, struggling to tighten the set of his jaw.
“Brack, eh?” he repeated. “Brack and little Betty. Oh, no. We can’t have that. He doesn’t belong. Get your —— canoe ready. I suppose we’ll have to go up to this place, but I warn you, Gardy, I warn you I’m going to be awf’ly bored.”
XXV
Riordan was inclined to be brusk to me when he saw the canoe going into the water. He was captain for the time being; he had given no orders for using any of the yacht’s boats. Then came Chanler, grumbling and shuffling, and Riordan’s expression suddenly showed great elation which he tried hard to conceal.
“Pleasant trip,” he said sarcastically. “Captain Brack’ll be glad to see you.”
Neither of us said a word as we settled ourselves into the canoe. George was angry with me for causing him to go, and I was eager only to reach the mine and Miss Baldwin and the captain. I hoped—no, I felt confident—that Chanler’s appearance in his present condition would solve the most delicate and dangerous phase of the problem confronting us, which was a safe return of Miss Baldwin to civilization.
She had cared for George Chanler once, not deeply, she had admitted but enough to bring wistful moments at the thought of the change which had come over him. Now she would see him as she had seen him in those days when he had made upon her a favorable impression.
She would at once see the difference between Chanler and Brack. George was of her own kind; Brack was not. She would see this now; the spell which the captain had been weaving would be broken; and she would turn to her own kind. I felt that Brack’s sole purpose in getting Betty up to the mine was to weave his spell more firmly; he would scarcely frighten her by display of brutality for awhile at least.
We paddled on in silence. The perspiration began to creep out on Chanler’s forehead, but, though he swore at me beneath his breath, his paddle rose and fell steadily.
Evening came upon us with appalling suddenness. The snow-covered western mountains shut out the sun’s rays, and at once the narrow bay grew dark. With the sun gone a chill crept through the valley. The scene became one of depressing gloom and Chanler broke out into querulous protest.
“Paddle,” I said, when his words died out petulantly. “We’re almost to the river.”
We swung from the bay into the river and there the current took liberties with the light canoe. Chanler’s experience in canoeing was much greater than mine, and now for the first time he roused himself and asserted his knowledge.
“Shorter strokes,” he snapped. “Shorter and faster. Now! Drive her!”
In the struggle against the current he forgot his nervousness, and when we landed at the spot where Brack’s boat had beached that morning he sprang out with a vim which he had not displayed since we left Seattle. We went straight up to the mine.
From a distance we saw candle-lights shining from the open door of one of the cabins and we hurried thither. We did not enter. In the single room of the cabin Miss Baldwin and Captain Brack were seated at a table upon which was placed a substantial meal. The captain was eating heartily. Miss Baldwin was looking across the table at him with an expression in which surprise and anger seemed equally mingled; and George and I stopped as one just outside the open door without being seen or heard.
Miss Baldwin was speaking.
“I wish to return to the yacht, Captain Brack,” we heard her say. “Must I repeat that many times more?”
“No, no!” He did not look up, but we saw that he smiled. “It isn’t necessary. I have good ears.”
“Then why don’t you answer me?”
“Perhaps because it amused me to hear you speak. Your voice is a delight to the ear.”
By the flickering candlelight we saw that Miss Baldwin’s mouth and chin became very firm.
“I am quite certain you have been lying to me, Captain Brack,” she said quietly. “I don’t believe that Mr. Pitt suggested that I come up here. If he had he would have stayed here and not have gone on with the men into the hills, as you say he has done.”
Brack lifted his head.
“You hold a brief for Mr. Pitt, Miss Baldwin?” he laughed, looking at her closely. “Well, well; so there’s a certain interest in that pretty little head for Pitt, eh? Well well! Pitt, the writer—the ultra-civilized person! And I thought it was only Chanler I had to fear. But never mind.”
His playfulness vanished.
“You are in the North now, Miss Baldwin, and you will fall beneath the North’s just rule. Back there, in your civilized country, you have lived under a different standard. Back there the most handsome male, the best mannered, most prosperous, best dressed, might win you. Even a Mr. Pitt would have a chance. Back there women are attracted to a man because his head is carried a certain way, because he orders a dinner excellently, helps one into a cab in a pleasing manner. That’s not just, Miss Baldwin, not just. The nice man may not be the worthy man. But here—this is the North. The strong man wins here—only the strong man can win. Gold, women, everything. Life is primitive here, therefore just. And you are here now, and here you are going to stay. And here women fall to the strongest man. And that’s me, my dear, that’s me! Look at me.”
He rose and leaned over the table toward her. The candles flickered and nearly went out. Betty sat upright in her chair. Still leaning forward, his eyes holding hers, the captain with his right hand moved the table to one side. There was nothing between them now, and Chanler started forward, but I caught him by the arm.
“Wait!” I whispered. For in the candle-gleam I had seen a new look on Betty’s face. “Only wait!”
Brack was bending over her.
“Stand up!” he commanded, and she stood up in all the litheness of her slim young womanhood.
“Come to me.”
She did not move.
“Come. I am your Man. You are—you are——”
His speech suddenly collapsed. Betty was smiling. The smile broadened. There was a moment of struggle and then she threw back her head and the cabin rang with peal after peal of lark-like laughter.
“Oh, Captain Brack!” she stammered, struggling to control herself. “That’s too—too stagy! Too, too melodramatic!”
Again and again her merriment broke out, welling in gusts from compressed lips, like merry music that would not be suppressed.
“Forgive me, captain; it’s not polite of me, but—but, oh! If you could only see yourself as I see you now!”
Brack stood and glared, dumfounded, impotent. His arms slowly fell to his sides; he drew back. On his face there was the amazement and anger of a schoolmaster outfaced by a pupil.
“Huh-huh! What’s this?” he snorted. “It’s very funny, no doubt, but—explain—explain!”
“That’s just what you may do, cappy,” said Chanler, stepping through the doorway. “Hello, Betty. Everything all right, and all that?”
One thing stood out in that room as we entered, and that was the swift play of expression on Betty’s face as she beheld Chanler. First, it was surprise, then incredulity, then glad relief. And I read in her eyes that she was glad that George once more was fit, so she could care for him again.
“Why, George!” she cried. “You—you’re sober!”
Brack’s sharp laughter filled the room. He had recovered his poise; he was the captain again.
“Yes. A great surprise; so unusual for Mr. Chanler,” he said; but his eyes were studying me.
“Cappy, I’m through with you,” said Chanler. “You’re a dear, interesting fellow, but this—this is too much, you know. You’re fired.”
The captain laughed again, but not for an instant did his eyes leave me. He was trying to bore into my mind, trying to learn what he wished to know without resorting to questioning words.
“So,” he said softly. “I begin to understand. It was not Madigan who bungled it after all. Some one else warned Slade and Harris. I underestimated you, Pitt. Why, it has acted almost like a man.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I did warn Slade and Harris. I’m glad that I helped throw your devilish plans awry.”
“And talks almost like a man,” he continued with a touch of his old smile. “But as for interfering with my devilish plans, Pitt, you must not rejoice too soon. You have merely delayed the fulfilment of my plans, and you have made things very uncomfortable for yourself and your friends. When one acts like a man one must pay for it.”
“That’ll do, cappy,” said Chanler. He had taken Betty’s hand and was patting it assuringly while she looked up at him in wonderment. “I’ve told you that you’re fired. You’re not with us any more.”
“Not with you?” Brack appeared to notice George for the first time. “No? I am not with you any more, but you see—you still are with me.”
“Not at all, cappy. We leave you now. Sorry, cappy; enjoyed your society immensely, but, really, you know, this sort of thing can’t be done.”
To my great surprise the captain stood where he was, smiling tolerantly, while George and Betty moved toward the door.
“Miss Baldwin,” he said suddenly.
Betty stopped in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“It was a very funny joke—whatever it was?”
“It was rude of me to laugh, I know,” said Betty. “But I really couldn’t help it.”
“‘Really couldn’t help it,’” repeated Brack mockingly. “A matter of temperament. Typical of the American young woman—to giggle at big moments. I shall cure you of giggling. You may go now.”
“‘May go!’” stormed George. “That’s insolent, cappy. What do you mean?”
“I give you permission to go.”
“Well, hang you for your impudence!”
“Careful, Chanler. I might change my mind.”
“Let me assure you, captain, that that would make no difference,” I interposed. The pistol inside my shirt was pressing my ribs and I smiled with the confidence it gave me. “We will go when we wish, no matter what your mind on the subject may be.”
For the second time in a few minutes his eyes bored into mine, seeking to read my thoughts.
“So you have a hidden ace somewhere, somehow, eh, Pitt?” he laughed. “I see that plainly; but I can’t quite see what it is. You’re growing, Pitt. One of your ancestors must have been a man. Ah! Barry’s rifle—what did you do with it?”
“Wrong, captain, absolutely wrong!” I replied. “Barry’s rifle isn’t a factor in the present situation.”
He studied me for fully a minute in silence and gave up, baffled.
“I have said you may go,” he said curtly. “Go away. All things in their order; gold first, then woman.” He seated himself at the table and resumed his eating. “Go as quickly, as swiftly as you please. But,” he called as we went out, “I beg of you—as my guests, you understand—do not, please do not, go too far!”
Behind us as we hurried into the night we heard him laughing, his laughter some what smothered by mouthfuls of food and drink.
XXVI
“Hang him! What does he mean?” broke out Chanler querulously, as soon as we were out of hearing. “What does he mean, Gardy? What’s he got up his sleeve? He means something. Probably got some of the crew waiting to waylay us, steal our canoe, or something like that. Hang it!”
“I don’t think so, George,” said Betty. “There haven’t been any of the men about since we got here. They went straight on into the woods, and Dr. Olson and the captain went with them. The captain came back alone, something over an hour ago. He said the rest were hunting gold up in the hills and wouldn’t be back for some time.”
“Well, hang it! He’s got something,” began George again, but I managed to catch him by the arm and draw him back out of Betty’s hearing.
“Forget yourself for the present,” I whispered. “Think of Miss Baldwin a little.”
“I think he’s bluffing,” I said aloud. “As Miss Baldwin says, there can’t be any of the men around here. He was talking to frighten us. We’ll go straight down to the canoe.”
“Surely, surely!” said George, with an assumed laugh. “I see now he was bluffing. It’s all right, Betty. Jolly, little evening party, I call it.”
I dropped behind, letting them go on ahead, and I heard the rumble of George’s voice without hearing what he was saying. But from its tone I knew what it was: he was apologizing, explaining, promising.
“I’m sorry I said what I did when I first saw you, George,” Betty was saying as we neared the place where our canoe was tied.
“What was that? ’Bout my being sober? Ha! I deserved that, Betty; don’t let that trouble you. It’s all over now. Every thing’s turning out fine now, and—there’s our canoe. Nothing to that bluff of cappy’s, Gardy,” he called back to me.
“Of course not,” I said. “Now we’ll just paddle home and——”
“And live happy ever afterward,” he laughed.
Betty seated herself in the middle of the little craft without a word, and we remained silent while we shot down the river, into the bay, and turned our bow toward the yacht.
“Tell us all about it, Betty,” said George, at last. “By Jove! You made cappy look foolish.”
Betty waited several minutes before replying:
“Well, when Captain Brack came back the first time, in the morning, he said that you, Mr. Pitt, had decided to go with them when they left the yacht at daylight, and that you had remained up at the mine with the men. Then he went away again and returned about noon. He said that you were still up there, and that you’d suggested it would be a pleasant thing for me to come up when they returned. I don’t suppose I should have gone, really, but there wasn’t anything about that to keep me from going, was there?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “On the contrary it was quite natural that you should go.”
“I know it. But at the same time I had a feeling—a tiny, tiny feeling—that everything wasn’t quite right. There wasn’t any reason why I should, unless possibly it was the way he looked at me. I can’t explain what it was, but I had that feeling. I wanted to ask somebody, but—but——”
“Rub it into me, Betty,” laughed George. “I deserve it: I wasn’t fit to be asked anything.”
“I didn’t know then, George,” she said gently. “You’ll forgive me?”
“All my fault; make it up, though,” he said. “Go on.”
“Then I saw Dr. Olson getting into the boat, but still I didn’t feel quite right about going. Then the captain—” she hesitated a moment—“Captain Brack said: ‘Get in; you know you are coming with us. Don’t delay.’ And before I knew it I was in the boat and we were rowing away.
“There was a man waiting for us when we got up at the mine—that big, rough man.”
“Garvin.”
“And he spoke something to Captain Brack, and the captain and the doctor and the man hurried away into the hills on the other side of the lake. The captain said that you were out there with the men, Mr. Pitt, and that he’d tell you that I was there and you’d be back soon. Well, that’s about all. I had a lovely time roaming around that lake by myself for hours. And every minute I was getting more and more convinced that the captain had lied. When he came back alone I knew that he had.”
“Because he was alone?”
“No-o-o! Not only that. It was the way he looked at me. On the yacht I’d often wondered if he really was nice, or if he was just pretending. Now he’d quit pretending, and he—he wasn’t nice at all. You can’t guess what he did?”
I held my breath; I felt sure that George did likewise.
“He—he made me—cook that—dinner! He did. He said that he wanted to see me in the rôle of a real woman. I thought I’d better do it, to keep the peace. He sat and watched me and talked. He said that that was as things should be; said I’d be a real woman in time. I wasn’t frightened, but it was—oh, thrilling, you know. Funny, too. I laughed a little at myself, because I’d always fancied I’d like to live the adventurous life, and here I had, and it wasn’t nice at all.”
“How come you weren’t frightened?” interrupted George.
“I don’t know; I wasn’t, though. Well, maybe I was once, when I asked him when we were going back to the yacht and he said for me to put the yacht out of my thoughts. Then I had a wild idea of making a sprint for the boat and getting away, but I remembered they’d pulled it up in the brush. Then I thought of running down the bay and swimming out to the yacht, but I knew I couldn’t outrun him and outswim him. It was dark then, too, and I knew some of you would soon be up looking for me.”
“You knew? How? You didn’t know that Gardy,” began George, but I cut him short.
“Of course,” I said. “It was certain that somebody would be up soon after dark since you didn’t return. Then what?”
“Then we sat down to eat. With tears and woe in my tones I must admit it, I wouldn’t like to subsist on my own cooking. But Captain Brack has a better appetite. He fairly reveled in the fruits of my labors. Then he become personal, and then—then you came in and everything was lovely.”
We paddled in silence for awhile.
“And so you were rather disappointed in cappy, Betty?” said George slowly.
“Yes. He wasn’t nice at all, he was common, when he stopped acting.”
“Wonderful chap, though,” mused George. “Must say I enjoyed his company. Couldn’t put up with him any more, however. Well, we won’t have to. We’ll leave him here—we’ll sail tonight. Wilson can be captain. We’ll have to go some place and get a new crew, I suppose. Then we’ll go on to Petroff Sound. I—I’m really much better, Betty,” he added softly.
“Of course you are, George. You don’t know how glad I am to see you yourself again.”
“Really, Betty?”
“Of course.”
“It’s going to be all right now, Betty. I’ll make it all up to you.”
“Of course you will, George,” she said, and I splashed my paddle in the water so I might not hear.
I was an outsider, an incident. My mission had been to help straighten out a tangle for which George’s condition had been responsible. I had succeeded. Good and well. Now Betty would have George’s attention. She would see him as she had seen him when first she had learned to care for him; she would care for him again. She would forget Brack. She would forget this adventure. In her proper sphere back home it would become an incident; it would be something to laugh over—with George.
So I reasoned as we paddled down Kalmut Fiord, our eyes confidently searching the darkness ahead for the first flash of the Wanderer’s welcoming lights. So little did I know about women, and especially about Miss Beatrice Baldwin.
Presently George stopped paddling.
“Gardy,” he said in a strange tone.
“Yes?”
“Doesn’t it seem to you we’re pretty near there?”
I looked around. So absorbed had I been in my thoughts that I had not paid any attention to the distance we had traveled. Now I saw by the hills about us that we were nearing the foot of the bay.
“It’s funny we don’t see any lights,” said George. “Let’s sprint a little, Gardy.”
We paddled at top speed for several minutes, but we fell back to our former stroke. No lights were in sight.
A sinister silence fell upon us. Our paddles rose and fell methodically, but in spite of the exercise I felt cold and faint.
“Here we are,” said George anxiously. “Here’s the point just above where the yacht’s anchored. Soon’s we get around this point we’ll see her lights, sure.”
Our strokes increased in speed and power. Once around the promontory which loomed ahead in the darkness and the lights of the Wanderer would gleam out to us a hearty welcome.
“Got to get there soon; got to!” muttered George. “I’m all in. Need some of the dope the doctor left for me. Need it badly.”
We rounded the promontory. The mouth of the bay, down to the island which shut it in from the sea, was before us. And it was all dark, as dark as the bay behind us, with not a pin-prick of light disturbing the primitive night.
George stopped paddling.
“What—what?” he gasped. “Oh, oh, my God!”
I did not speak. I continued to paddle like an automaton. In five minutes we were floating over the spot where the Wanderer had lain. The yacht was gone.
XXVII
We had little time to speculate on the problem of the Wanderer’s disappearance. After the first moment of stunned silence Chanler broke down, promptly and completely.
“Hang it, hang it!” he cried, striking the bow of the canoe with his paddle. “This is too much. Your fault, too, Gardy. Now find the yacht.”
“Steady, George!” I warned, as the light craft rocked dangerously. “You’re in a canoe, remember. Keep still.”
“Keep still, keep still! How d’you expect me to keep still? Isn’t this enough to make a man nervous. Hang it! I can’t keep still, I tell you. This is too much.”
“It nearly was,” I agreed. “A little more that time and we’d have been in the water.”
“Then do something! Say something!” he commanded. “Where’s the yacht? What are we going to do?”
“First of all, if you’ll please sit still for a minute or two, we’re going to get to land without tipping over. Will you sit still that long?”
“Go ahead! You’ve got me into this mess; now get me out.”
“Only sit still,” I pleaded and carefully guided the canoe towards the nearest land. This was the little out-jutting point of the island from which I had swum to the Wanderer that afternoon, and I did not breathe fully until I had beached the canoe solidly and the danger of capsizing from George’s jerky movements was over. He stepped out hurriedly.
“My God! This is awful, awful!” he said hoarsely, looking around in the dark. “This is terrible! A fine mess you’ve got me into, Gardy.”
“Why, George, it can’t be so bad,” said Betty cheerily, stepping out beside him. “The yacht’s been moved that’s all. We’ll only have to find her new anchorage. It will be all right.”
“All right? All right! Hang it, Betty; I’m in no shape to stand this sort of thing. It’s Gardy’s fault. He got me into it. Now what are you going to do, Gardy? Eh?”
“Look around for the yacht’s new anchorage, as Miss Baldwin says,” I replied. “She can’t be far off.”
“Can’t be far off! Can you see her? Is she anywhere around? Don’t you suppose we’d see the lights if she was near?”
“Not if they had no outside lights and the curtains in the cabin were down,” said Betty soothingly.
“Rot, rot, rot! Didn’t they know I was coming back? Weren’t they expecting me? Wouldn’t they have the lights out so we could see’em? Rot! They’ve gone. The yacht’s gone. What are we going to do?”
“If you will just sit here quietly with Miss Baldwin,” I said, “I’ll take a look around. The yacht must be near, of course, and we can’t help finding it.”
The first part of this statement I felt to be true: the yacht must be near, for no stretch of imagination could picture Riordan putting to sea. On the other hand I recalled the countless crooked indentations of the fiord and knew there were a score of places where the Wanderer, with lights out, might be hidden. We might even have passed it without being aware of its nearness.
I pulled the canoe safely from the water and made my way in the darkness around the island to the open sea. But the sea was only a noisy waste with no light upon it. I went around the island, returning to my starting point, and no glimpse of the yacht or her lights did I have.
Betty now was sitting beside George, who had slumped down against a boulder, and was patting his hand and talking to him assuringly.
“I told you so,” he whined when I made my report. “Nothing doing. She’s gone. Now what in the world are we going to do? Eh?”
“The yacht must be somewhere in the bay. You mustn’t worry so, George; it will all come out all right.” Betty was speaking to him as one might to a frightened child. “Mr. Pitt has only started on his hunt, haven’t you, Mr. Pitt?”
“Of course,” I said, “I’ll take the canoe and run up some of these inlets. She’ll probably be there.”
I paddled away from the island with an appearance of confidence that I did not feel. By this time I had begun to appreciate the ironic humor with which Brack had warned us not to go too far. This was his work, and as I recalled the sly certainty of his smile, such hope as I had of finding the yacht dwindled to a minimum. Nevertheless I searched the inlets on both sides of the bay for the matter of half a mile before I returned to the island with my admission of failure.
Chanler by this time had passed into the furious stage of nervousness. He was pacing swiftly up and down the beach, clenching and unclenching his hands and breathing heavily.
“I don’t care—I don’t care where you did look and where you didn’t look!” he burst out as I stepped from the canoe. “You didn’t find the yacht, and you’ve got me into this, and I can’t stand it much longer; that’s all.”
He swung away and I followed and caught his arm savagely.
“If you would think of Miss Baldwin a little you might forget your nerves,” I whispered.
I found myself repeating Wilson’s words—
“These things aren’t so bad for men, but there’s the girl.”
“I know, I know, Gardy,” he replied hoarsely. “I—I can’t help it. Don’t throw me down, Gardy; don’t ball me out. I’m shaky. I can’t help anything else. You’ve got to get me to that yacht where my dope is, or—or you’ve got to get me back to Doc’ Olson.”
“What!”
“You have. I can’t stand it much longer.” His voice was raised, regardless of Betty. “I won’t, you hear? I won’t stand it any longer.”
He turned and rushed back to Betty, holding out his hands.
“You know how I feel, don’t you Betty? You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, George,” she said, taking his hands in hers, “I understand. But can’t you sit down and quiet yourself a little?”
“No, no, no! I can’t. Gardy, you’ve got to get me to the doctor at once. You understand, don’t you, Betty?”
“Yes, George. You shall go to the doctor at once.”
“What!” I cried. “Go back there now, when we’re so well rid of Brack?”
“What else is there to do?” she said. “Can we do anything but help him? Please don’t think of me. There isn’t the least bit of need of that.”
“I will do as you say,” I said. “Is it your wish we go back there?”
“We must. You can see there’s nothing else to do.
“You’ll stay here——”
“Certainly not!” cried George. “Takes two to paddle; I’m in no shape am I, Betty?”
I could have struck him for that, but Betty said soothingly—
“No, George, you’re not.”
She was right. Chanler was in no shape to paddle any more, so Betty took his place in the bow, and, with George crouched in the middle, the journey up the fiord began. Save for an occasional groan or exclamation from George and a soothing response from Betty, we spoke but little.
I was lost in admiration of the manner in which Betty tackled the task before us. She sat up, slim and straight, bending but little to her paddle, but by our progress I knew the force which her young arms placed behind each stroke. There was no hesitation, no faltering, though I knew that she, too, dreaded returning to Brack in this fashion. She seemed to have forgotten herself in the need to help George; and the Spring-like youth of her reached back to me, putting new life into my tiring arms, new confidence in my troubled thoughts. I had for the moment almost fallen into despair, accepting Brack’s will with us as invincible. Without Betty I would have felt that we were beaten. But there was the indomitable confidence of youth in the poise of her little head, there was inspiration in the swing of her young-woman body, and as we paddled on into the darkness my heart cried out:
“Bravo, Betty! Bravo, brave girl! We’ll beat him yet.”
XXVIII
The problem of the Wanderer’s whereabouts was one which offered no clue for its solution. One thing I felt certain: the yacht had not gone to sea. Whatever Riordan’s wishes in that matter might be—and I knew such a move would have pleased him as revenge upon Betty and me—Pierce and Wilson would never have permitted it.
True, Wilson was crippled, but if I had gaged the man’s character rightly it would have required more than a wounded leg to prevent his intervention in so colossal a piece of treachery. As for Pierce, with his terrible neckties and soul of gold, he would have died rather than allow Miss Baldwin to be treated in such fashion. More, he would be too clever to die; he would at least have escaped to join us.
The yacht must be somewhere in the fiord. Riordan would not have moved her without Brack’s orders. These orders probably had been given at noon, and Riordan had waited until George and I were out of sight before obeying them. With the yacht hidden we would be at Brack’s mercy in that wilderness, the only shelter and food being at the mine. The pistol in my shirt grated against my ribs as I dug viciously at the water.
Had Captain Brack been present when we reached the mine I am quite certain that we would have clashed.
The light was still burning in the cabin as we reached the mine-clearing, and with the pistol in my hand I walked straight up to the cabin door, leaving Betty to guide George, who now was staggering and groaning constantly. Brack was not there. In his place Dr. Olson was sitting, refreshing himself from the remnants of a meal and a bottle of whisky.
The sight of me brought a sudden end to his meal, for he promptly threw up his hands, crying:
“Don’t shoot, Pitt! Great Scott! What’s the matter?”
“Where’s Brack?” I demanded.
“Put that gun away!” he stammered. “Man, you’ve got murder in your face.”
I lowered the weapon and the doctor dropped his hands with a sigh of relief.
“Whew! I’m glad you aren’t after me. You certainly can look fierce, Pitt. What’s up?”
“Brack?” I repeated, but before he could reply Chanler lurched wildly past me into the room. His eyes fell on the doctor’s bottle and he rushed for it like a madman. The professional instinct rose in Olson at the sight of him and he whisked the bottle out of reach. In the end Olson resorted to a hypodermic injection, and presently George was dozing on a bunk in the corner.
“Whew! Close call,” said the doctor looking down at his patient. “You got him here just about in time.”
“Where is Brack?” I demanded. “And where’s the yacht?”
“The yacht?” repeated Olson staring stupidly. “Our yacht? Isn’t it——”
“No,” I interrupted, “it isn’t where it ought to be. It’s gone. Do you know where it is?”
He shook his head.
“How should I know? I just got back here with my patients about fifteen minutes ago. The captain went up with the men then——”
“Patients?” said Betty. “Are some of the men ill, doctor?”
Olson grew confused.
“Well, well, yes. That is, they had a little—a little accident up in the hills. Two of them got hurt.”
“Oh! Badly? Can I do anything?”
“Oh, no. No, no,” he replied quickly. “No, you couldn’t do anything for them, Miss Baldwin. It wouldn’t do any good for you to see them. I’ve got them all fixed up in the other cabin. They’re all right, I assure you.”
“And the captain?” I reminded him.
“Why, when I got down here with those two men the captain was sitting here eating and drinking. He went up into the hills afterwards.”
“And he didn’t say anything about the yacht?”
“Not a thing.”
I informed him of the evening’s happenings, and of the Wanderer’s disappearance. At that he gasped, and a look of comprehension came slowly into his eyes.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, so that’s it, eh?”
“What’s it?” I demanded.
He glanced at Betty, dropped his eyes to the floor, and looked at me significantly.
“Nothing at all,” he said. “Aren’t you starving, Pitt? You look it. As a physician I suggest you get some nourishment into your system at once, before you begin to suffer.”
The unexpected quickness of wit on his part took me slightly aback, but I responded promptly.
“I’m fairly famished,” I agreed, grasping at the remnants of food on the table. “You’re right, doctor; I must eat at once.”
It worked excellently. Betty, instantly solicitous, flew about to prepare a meal for me, and under the pretense of gathering fire-wood Dr. Olson beckoned me outside.
“Those men—my patients—were shot,” he said swiftly. “And two others, Madigan and a seaman, were killed.”
A day before such news would have shocked me inexpressibly. Now it seemed only a normal result of the circumstances which Brack had woven about us all.
“And Slade and Harris? Did they get away?” I asked eagerly.
“I don’t know anything about anybody by those names,” he replied. “All I know is what Brack told me: that our men were attacked by a couple of outlaws while hunting in the hills, with the results that I’ve told you. These outlaws shot our men.”
“And did those other fellows—the outlaws—get away?”
“For the present, yes. But Brack’s men are guarding the only pass by which they can get out of this valley, so they can’t get away. The captain says he’ll get them if he has to hunt all Summer. He’s managed to get roaring drunk.”
“And he said something about Miss Baldwin, too, didn’t he? What was it?”
“Well, he was drunk, you know. It makes him look and act and talk like a devil.”
“Go on.”
“He said, ‘I expect we’ll have company here tonight, doctor.’ Said you and Chanler had come and taken Miss Baldwin back to the yacht. ‘But I’ve a feeling they’ll come back here,’ he says. ‘She can’t resist me. Yes,’ he said, ‘they’ll be back, and this time they’ll stay.’ Then he took out a big knife and cut himself in the hand. ‘The blood of kings, doctor,’ he said. ‘I’m king of Kalmut Valley, and I’ll make cripples of Pitt and Chanler, and have them for my jesters, and—’ Well, he was drunk, you know.”
“Say it,” I commanded. “What else did he say?”
“‘And I’ll tie ’em up,’ he said, ‘and let ’em watch me make Miss Baldwin my queen.’ I told him he’d better let me tie up his hand, and he hit me across the face with it and went off into the hills. That’s all.”
“No,” I said, “there’s more to this.”
I told him why Brack was after Slade and Harris. He was skeptical at first; men didn’t dare do such things nowadays; Brack’s wild talk had been only the raving of too much whisky. In the end, however, he was convinced.
“Then this scientific expedition was only the captain’s way of getting an outfit for robbery on a big, piratical scale! By George! The man’s big, isn’t he? A regular pirate’s raid in this year of our Lord! And yet it’s all simple and easy up here when you think of it, isn’t it?”
“Devilishly so. But it became more serious than mere robbery when Miss Baldwin came on board. Now, are you going to help us, doctor, or——”
“Of course. I’m civilized, I hope. But what can we do, Pitt? The captain’s got the men, and he’s too strong——”
“Dinner, gentlemen!” came Betty’s fresh young voice. “Honesty impels me to warn you, Mr. Pitt, that I’m a horrible example as a cook, but such as ’tis, ’tis ready.”
I was in no frame of mind to be a judge of Betty’s cooking. I ate ravenously, because I was hungry, but my thoughts were not upon the food. Dr. Olson’s picture of Brack in his cups was of a piece with the impression I had gathered of him early that morning. He had thrown off the mask and his true nature, raw, rank, savagery, was in full sway.
“When do you expect the captain back, doctor?” I asked casually.
“I don’t know. He probably will be back tonight, though. He warned me not to drink up all the whisky as he’d want some when he got back.”
I turned to Betty.
“Captain Brack is intoxicated, Miss Baldwin,” I said. “The doctor and I do not think it would be pleasant for you to be here when he returns.”
“No,” said the doctor, “you mustn’t be here then, Miss Baldwin.”
Betty’s wide-open eyes grew wider, but there was no alarm in the quiet gray depths of them.
“I understand,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “I will do whatever you suggest, Mr. Pitt.”
There lay the trouble. I had nothing to suggest, nor had the doctor. Flight suggested itself first of all, but in that wilderness, with only a light Peterboro canoe and a rough sea as means of escape, the success of such a move seemed improbable. To bring our fate to a crisis by remaining there openly, defying Brack and appealing to the men for help, would have been suicidal. Had we been on the yacht strengthened by Pierce and Wilson, such action might have had a basis of reason.
Really thoughts of Pierce and Wilson kept me from losing hope at that moment. Though by now I had more confidence in myself than I had thought possible, I did not feel that I was capable of finding a solution to the problem confronting us. But there were Pierce, the shrewd, and Wilson, the brave, still to reckon with. What were they thinking at that moment of our failure to return to the yacht? What would Pierce’s sharp mind be doing but seeking a way to assist us, or, at least Miss Baldwin, to safety?
And then I looked at Betty, quietly serious, but not alarmed, and my spirits rose at the sight of her. It was no strength of mine that raised my courage then; it was the strength I drew from the courage of Betty. Once more, as in the canoe, I felt a desire to cry out:
“Bravo, Betty! Bravo, brave girl! We’ll beat him yet.”
It was well that I did not cry out. For in that instant, from out on the back trail, came a maddened bellow, scarcely human in tone, yet recognizable as coming from no one else than Captain Brack.
XXIX
I glanced instinctively toward the back of the cabin, at the large, sack-covered window cut in the logs.
“Out that way, Betty!” I whispered, tearing down the sacking.
It was the first time I had called her by that name. She obeyed promptly.
“George?” she whispered, as she stood ready to climb through the window.
“No,” said Dr. Olson. “He’s helpless—I’ll stay here. Hurry!”
I was stuffing my pockets with food, with a snuffed candle, scarcely conscious of what I was doing. Also, in the same instinctive manner, without any conscious thought, yet somehow realizing that it was a vital action, I snatched a blanket from Chanler’s bunk and threw it over my shoulder.
“We’re going to the cave where I hid the rifle. Tell that to Pierce, doctor; he’ll understand.”
“Yes. Hurry, for God’s sake!” he whispered. “Good luck.”
Betty went through the window with a lithe vault and a noiseless drop outside. I followed, dropped beside her, and, catching her hand, led as silently as possible away from the cabin until I felt sure we were out of hearing. Then we swung carefully back through the brush to the river trail at a point well below the mine clearing.
“Now for the canoe!” I whispered. “Come on!”
I ran as I had not run since a boy, and as I glanced back over my shoulder I saw Betty following closely.
We found the canoe where we had left it. Betty was in the bow before I had it untied. I pushed off, and, regardless of the rocks, we paddled furiously down-stream for the open water of the bay.
Not until we had entered the fiord and put an out-jutting cliff between ourselves and the river-mouth did we relax. Then Betty laid her paddle across the bows, bowed her head, and a tremor shook her slim body.
“Don’t—don’t, Miss Baldwin!” I pleaded. “On my word and honor I feel absolutely confident that we are safe now.”
To my surprise she replied—
“I feel safe, too.”
“You’re tired, then, and cold. Put the blanket about you, and rest. I’ll paddle the rest of the way.”
She shook her head, and resumed her paddling.
“It wasn’t that. It wasn’t that, please. I’ve camped out often. But George—poor George!”
Her words came as a shock to me. So George still occupied first place in her mind. I had been right: she had seen George as he had been when first she had learned to care for him; and she had realized that she still cared. Her first thought in the moment of our hurried flight from the cabin had been of him. Even though she had seen him go to pieces piteously she still cared. She thought of him before all others. Well, that was as it should be, as I had hoped it would be when I brought George up to the cabin, sane and sober, and in his right mind. It was right.
But Fate persisted with its tantalizing pranks, for here was I, an outsider, still necessary in the task of bringing George and Betty to the haven of safety and happiness. The doctor would look after George; I felt sure that Chanler’s condition would keep him free from any cruelty by Brack. I would do my best to look after Betty.
She would be very happy, too. She had the faculty of happiness. That faculty was saving her from the torture of fear now; it would be a guarantee of future happiness for her and George. Verily, when a man forecasts a woman’s ways he is as a child!
My reason for going to the cavern on the hillside was twofold. The place offered a fair shelter for Betty where she could lie hidden safely. I also wished to recover the rifle which I had taken from Barry.
I was certain that sooner or later Pierce would make an attempt to join us if it was possible, and with the rifle and my pistol we would at least be two armed men. If Pierce came, even though Brack was in possession of the yacht, we could strike out through the wilderness, keeping near the coast, in hope of finding a settlement.
In spite of the darkness we easily found the inlet where Barry’s negligent watching had given me an opportunity to escape. At first I thoughtlessly steered the canoe straight at the sandy beach, but an instant before our bow would have run up on the sands the same instinct which had prompted me to snatch food and blanket from the cabin, warned me to back water. Brack would have his men out by daylight searching the bay for signs of our whereabouts. If we landed on the soft sand of the beach the canoe and our tracks—especially the rubber heels of Betty’s outing shoes—would easily be seen.
On one side of the inlet a ledge of rock jutted into the water and toward this I now turned the canoe, explaining to Betty the reason for so doing.
“How did you ever think of that?” she exclaimed. “You haven’t done these things before, have you?”
“Not since I was a boy,” I replied.
“Did you play Injun then?”
“Of course. All boys do.”
“I’m glad.”
“So am I; it’s helpful just now.”
“Yes; but I didn’t mean that.”
“What then?”
“Because if you played Injun you must have been a regular boy, and regular boys have such a lot of jolly fun, Mr. Pitt?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you ever feel like playing Injun now? No? Too old and dignified? Never play Injun any more?”
I laughed negatively as I swung the bow toward the rock.
“Shucks! It’s too bad,” she said. “You play it so well it’s a shame you don’t like to do it.”
We ran alongside the ledge and found that its flat top was just out of reach above our heads. A canoe offers no safe foundation to leap from and for the moment I was nonplused.
Betty, her hand resting on the flat surface of the rocks, found a crevice. On closer examination it proved to be only a slight crack, not large enough to provide a foothold, but Betty was thrusting at the opening with the blade of her paddle.
“Ah! There we are!” she chuckled, as the thin paddle entered the crack. “There’s a step for us.”
“How did you ever think of that?” I exclaimed.
“I used to play Injun, too,” she replied.
With the paddle as a step I was able to reach the top of the ledge and draw myself up. Betty then passed me the paddles and the painter of the canoe. Lying flat down on the ledge I stretched my arms downward until our hands met. Her strong warm fingers gripped my wrists and I promptly imitated her grasp.
“Now!” I said, and as she leaped I pulled upward with all my might.
Her hair brushed my eyes as she came up over the edge, and when our fingers released each other’s wrists, I was vaguely conscious that something strange had happened, though I did not know what. We drew the canoe up together. It had been my intention merely to hide it in the brush out of sight of the bay, but now another idea presented itself.
I gave Betty the paddles and with the canoe on my back started up the hill for my cave.
“No, sir,” objected Betty. “That isn’t fair. If we’re going to play Injun I want my share of the game.”
I protested; the distance was short, the weight slight; but in the end the march was resumed with each of us sharing equally the weight of the canoe.
A seventy-pound canoe is no burden for two people in the open. But our way lay in the darkness up a rocky ridge, through brush and timber, and we tripped and fell, ran into trees, got caught in the brush, and suffered other minor mishaps until I stopped and insisted that Betty allow me to carry the canoe alone.
“No, sir,” she repeated firmly. “I’m not stumbling any more than you are. Be fair and let me play, too.”
We compromised by putting down the canoe, and, leaving Betty to wait beside it, I went on to locate my cave. I found it, as I had that morning, by stumbling into it.
I struck a match and glanced at the spot where I had hid the rifle. Then I stood staring dumbly until the match burned down to my fingers. For the second time that night I experienced the same shock; the rifle was gone; someone had been in the cave.