I waited to ask no more questions but plunged into the forest at a run with Pierce following at my heels. There was no need for caution now and we went straight to the cave, to find Betty ruefully picking the bird I had shot. At the sight of Pierce she stopped and stared, while I took the bird from her hand.
“No need for this now,” I laughed. “Here’s Freddy, and he’s brought us some real civilized food.”
“Best I could do,” said Pierce, and opening his belt there clattered to the floor of the cave a quantity of the Wanderer’s choicest viands that made me gasp. “Wilson’s sweater,” explained Pierce, looking at the pile. “Big enough for two of me. Held quite a lot, didn’t it?”
“Food!” Betty clasped her hands and gazed in amazement at the collection.
There was potted turkey, paté-de-foie-gras, asparagus tips, veal-loaf, all in glass. There were packages of tea biscuit. There was a bundle which contained sandwiches.
“Food! Oh, you blessed, perambulating pantry! You—you angel!” she cried, and hugged Pierce in a way that left him red and stammering.
“Gee! Beg pardon—I mean, you’re all right, ain’t you, Miss Baldwin? Gee—I mean, that’s fine!”
“Freddy,” said I with genuine feeling, “as you say, ‘mitt me,’ once more. ‘Put ’er there.’ You’re a prince. You’re more than a prince; you’re a clever man.”
“Aw, c’m on now, Brains; don’t go kidding me,” he protested.
“Kidding you!” cried Betty, biting into a generous sandwich. “If you knew how we felt toward you at this moment—if you knew how like an angel you appear to us! Oh, but real food does taste good!”
“I ought to have got here before this,” said Pierce, as Betty and I devoted ourselves to nourishment, “but first Riordan had me locked in the engine-room, and then Brack had me there, and this was the first chance for a getaway I had.”
“Begin at the beginning,” I commanded, opening the asparagus. “We don’t know a thing except that when we came back the other night the yacht was gone.”
“And roll yourself a cigaret, do,” supplemented Betty.
“Aw—aw, I guess I can get along without smoking,” said Pierce lamely.
“Roll a cigaret,” repeated Betty. “Then tell us—about everything. And how is George—Mr. Chanler?”
XXXIV
“The boss is all right,” was Pierce’s prompt response, as he began to manufacture his cigaret. “Yes, sir, he’s all right, but he ain’t letting Brack know it. He’s a reg’lar guy, the boss is, after all.”
“Of course,” I said. “But begin at the beginning.”
“All right.”
He blew a puff of smoke toward the opening of the cave, fanned it away from Betty, and began:
“The first thing that happened after you and the boss went up the bay, Mr. Pitt, was for little Freddy to slip into the water and go after his rifle, here. I did a dive when Riordan was taking a lunch, got up here, got the gun and got back on board before he knew I’d been gone. I hid the gun in the oil locker, back of the tanks where nobody could see it. I got through just in time, too, ’cause pretty soon Riordan comes on deck and orders me down to start the auxiliary engine, while he and the nigger gets up the anchor.
“I start her all right, but I says to myself if Riordan turns her nose out to sea I’ll get my gun and start a little mutiny all by my lonesome. Well, he don’t do nothing of the sort; just starts right up the bay, running on the auxiliary. I think that’s all right, because of course I knew it was the cap’s orders, and we was going up the same way you went. Then after awhile we anchored, and then I knew it wasn’t all right, because I tried the engine-room door and Riordan had me locked in tight.
“The cap let me out himself in the morning, because Doc’ Olson had told him he wanted me to help him with the boss and the two guys that was shot.”
“Shot!” cried Betty. “Who was shot?”
“The two seamen that Dr. Olson said were hurt,” I said hurriedly. “Never mind now. Go on, Freddy.”
“The doc’ just got me out to get a chance to slip me the news about you and where you’d gone; but there wasn’t any chance for a getaway ’cause Brack was there, and Garvin was on guard all the time with his gun. Doc sent me running first to the boss and then to Wilson and the two other guys with dope and drinks, and so on, and pretty soon the boss got his noodle working and starts framing things.”
“Chanler began to think out a plan,” I translated to Betty.
“Eh-yah,” continued Freddy unabashed. “It was the boss that framed it all up. He’s a reg’lar guy. ‘Tell Wilson to pretend to be worse,’ says he. ‘I’ll do the same.’ Wilson was fit to get up, but the boss says, no; he and Wilson were to be like they was helpless. Then the boss says to Brack he’d give him any sum he’d name if he’d sail out of there and take him home.”
“What?” said Betty. “George wanted to leave us?”
“Naw! You don’t understand. Naw, I should say not he didn’t want to leave anybody. I told you he was a reg’lar guy. And there with the brains, too. He was just playing up to Brack. But cappy says he couldn’t think of leaving without—well, you know; he’s a pretty wicked guy.”
“I understand,” said Betty quietly. “Well?”
“So the boss pretended to have a fit, and did a lot of fancy stalling. You see now, don’t you: the boss is putting cappy off his guard and laying for a chance to jump the bunch and get control of the yacht.”
“But, great heavens!” I expostulated. “They’ve no arms, and they’re outnumbered.”
“Well, they ain’t outnumbered so bad,” said Pierce. “There’s the boss, and Wilson, and Doc Olson, and Simmons, and the big nigger. Oh, yes; we got the nigger with us. I know he wanted to get Garvin, and felt him out. He’s only waiting to be turned loose.”
“It’s impossible,” said I. “Brack and his men are armed to the teeth.”
“That’s the trouble. If we’d had a gun apiece there’d been something doing this morning while the cap was away. But the cap’s cleaned the boat of guns and got ’em in his possession, ’cept one Doc’ Olson copped off one of the men who was shot. So Wilson told me what to do, and I sneaked an iron bar into his room and two into the boss’s, one for him and one for Simmons, and the nigger’s got a knife down one pants leg and a club down the other. When the chance comes they’re going to try to put cappy out of business while the nigger gets Garvin. The rest of ’em don’t amount to much. The trouble is the chance don’t come.
“The boss was worried about you last night. He said we’d have to try to get some grub to you since we didn’t have a chance to get the yacht. The last thing he says to me last night was, ‘Remember, we’ve got to get some grub to ’em tomorrow no matter what happens to us.’
“Well, when the cap went away this morning after he heard that shot, he set Barry to watching the boss and Simmons, and Doc’ all in the boss’s room. Garvin was set to doing a watch aft, and Riordan was set to pacing the deck to watch everything in general. The two guys who was hurt had guns, too. I knew Barry’d get the boss if we tried to start anything, so I just put on Wilson’s sweater and stuffed it full of food, and got my gun and waited for a chance to get away without being seen. But there was Garvin aft, near the shore I wanted to make, and Riordan doing the rounds. But I remembered what the boss’d said about getting you grub, and when Riordan was forward I took a chance.
“Garvin turned around just as I was getting ready to clout him and he got the butt right in the temple. Then I did a dive, and if I’d had ten feet farther to swim it would have been a ‘good-by Freddy,’ because the grub and rifle was pretty heavy, and Riordan took one shot at me just as I made the brush. Then I hiked it and swam the river, and I was hiding when you stood up and swore at cappy.”
“Did you swear?” demanded Betty, turning to me. “Did you really swear at him? Oh, I’m so glad; I was afraid you never did it.”
“And don’t you worry,” concluded Freddy, “the boss is all there and wide awake, and there ain’t going to be any fall-down: when the chance comes he’ll put the trick over and we’ll be out of the woods. He’s just living for that now.”
And Betty and I said as one—
“Good old George!”
“There’s only one thing worrying me,” resumed Freddy, peering out apprehensively. “The cap’ll be wise that I made a getaway to join you, and he’ll see my tracks where I crossed the river and come this way looking for the bunch of us.”
“That’s nothing to worry about,” I assured him. “Two of his men were within fifty feet of the cave a short time ago and didn’t see it.”
“What I’m worrying about,” said Betty, “is that you left George.”
“Hah? The boss? Why, how could I get the grub to you without leaving him? And he says we got to do that no matter what happened to us.”
“We could have got along without the food,” Betty continued, “and by leaving the yacht you weakened George’s plan. If he attempts to overcome Brack now he—why, he may be in danger of his life.”
“Sure thing. That’s understood. The boss knows that, but that ain’t what’s worrying him, not at all. If he can fix things right with you, that’s all he cares about. He told me so.”
“Chanler is himself again,” I said. “You remember I said he would be.”
Betty sat with her chin in her hands, thinking. Her eyes were turned in my direction, but she was seeing beyond me without noticing my presence. Suddenly she spoke the words that brought upon us the great crisis.
“I won’t have George risking his life on my account. I can’t bear that. I won’t have it.”
XXXV
For a moment after she spoke I experienced a sensation as if the sound, comfortable earth had dropped away from beneath me, a sensation of a great fall into a void. Then followed the impression that after all, Betty was a stranger; that I did not know her at all.
“I won’t have George risking his life for me,” she repeated quietly. “I—I’ll go back on board before that.”
I went from cold to warm. Freddy tried to speak and I silenced him with a look. When I spoke, my voice was hoarse and heavy.
“Miss Baldwin, you will not go aboard until Brack is beaten, and the yacht is in our possession. I am responsible to Chanler for your safety.”
There followed a trying period of silence.
“Why—why, Mr. Pitt!” Betty finally tried to laugh, but the grimness of my expression must have convinced her that laughter was out of place. “That was the first rude speech you have made. Do you realize how rude it was?”
I did not speak. Her solicitude for George had awakened in me an anger, adamite and smoldering, which grew with each minute. George must not risk his precious life! Freddy had risked his. I had risked mine. But George must be protected at all costs! And why? Why, because he meant so much to her that the lives of others, and her own safety, were insignificant in comparison? I made an attempt to smile.
“Mr. Pitt! Gardy!” she cried, shrinking. “Don’t look at me that way. What are you going to do?”
“I beg your pardon; I didn’t realize that I was looking at you in an offensive manner.”
“What—are you—going—to—do?”
I looked at the ground. It did not take me long to make my plans. I said—
“I’m going to pray that it’s a very dark night.”
From that moment the hearty camaraderie which had existed between us was gone. We seemed to have been moved far apart. Betty once more was Miss Baldwin; I was not Gardy, but Mr. Pitt. She literally drew away from me and from a distance cast puzzled glances in my direction.
Then we became formally polite to one another. When we spoke it was as if we had been but recently introduced, and we spoke only when it was necessary. And Freddy wrinkled his freckled forehead and glanced from Betty to me, frankly puzzled.
It was a long day for us all in the cave. When darkness finally began to fall we greeted it with relief. Freddy, peering out at the darkening sky, said:
“Well, your prayers have been answered all right: it’s going to be dark enough to suit anybody. Now put me next, Brains; what’s your stunt?”
“Brack doesn’t know that I’ve got this pistol,” I said.
“What of it?”
“As he thinks I’m unarmed—helpless—he won’t be on his guard—when I go aboard tonight.”
“Oh!” It was Betty who exclaimed, but she smothered the exclamation with her hand.
“What you going to do when you get on board?” asked Pierce.
“You’ll stay here with Miss Baldwin,” I continued, paying no attention to his query. “If everything goes as I hope, George will come down and bring you to the yacht.”
It was dark now and I prepared to leave.
“Hold on,” said Pierce. “What’s the use of your going swimming in that cold water? You’d have to swim the river, and then out to the yacht, and by the time you go on board you’d be so cold and stiff you wouldn’t be any good. Tell you what let’s do; let’s paddle up in the canoe, you ’n’ me. It’s so dark they’d never see us. Then you can get on board, warm and supple, and fit to do something.”
There was much sense in his argument, and after discussing it for awhile I agreed to it. Brack, of course, must not suspect Pierce’s presence.
“As soon as I go over the side you’re to paddle off and be ready to return to Miss Baldwin.”
“Sure. Anything you say, Brains.”
“Thank you,” said Betty stiffly, “but there will be no need for you to come back here for me. Mr. Pitt, just as surely as you go away without me I’ll leave this cave and go to the yacht alone. I mean it. I will not be left here. You can take me in the canoe, too. I will be as safe as Mr. Pierce.”
“You will stay right here,” said I.
“Will I!” she slipped past me, bounded through the brush, and stood outside the cave, ready to run. “I can find the yacht. You can’t catch me. Now, Mr. Pitt, what shall it be?”
Pierce promptly relieved the situation.
“We can land her at some point up there. That’ll be all right, won’t it?”
“Ask her,” I said.
“Yes; that will be all right,” she replied promptly.
With this understanding we carried the canoe down to the water, and with Betty in the middle, started up the fiord. As Pierce said, my prayers for a dark night seemed to have been answered.
So complete was the darkness that twice we grounded, having run into land which we were not able to see. The sound of the river current warned us when we had reached the head of the bay, and carefully following the shore we glided through the opening where I had seen Brack’s boat disappear.
“There—there she is, right ahead of us,” whispered Pierce, and in the inchoate darkness we made out a series of tiny lights, the gleam from the Wanderer’s cabin windows.
“She’s laying bows out with her stern near the shore on our port,” whispered Pierce as we backed water and lay still. “Her starboard’s toward us. There’s one ladder down at the stern and one at the bow, port side. Better take the bow one; the cap’s more’n likely to be aft. And there’s a good place to land Miss Baldwin, right here.”
We lay without moving or speaking for many long, distressful seconds.
“Mr. Pitt,” whispered Betty finally, “do you insist on going through with your mad plan?”
“Yes.”
We were silent again.
“All right,” said Betty.
Pierce silently moved the canoe to the shore on our port side, the shore toward which the Wanderer’s stern was turned, and without a word Betty stepped out.
“Pierce will come back here as soon as he sees me go over the side,” I whispered.
She made no reply. Then we paddled silently away, steering for the Wanderer’s bow.
I was conscious now of nothing but a spirit of elation. There was not a pang, not a fear in my thoughts. The old fright-chill along the spine, which hitherto always had come to me when approaching danger, was gone. I was like a boy turned loose for a holiday. All the considerations which cause men to fear danger I had put away. All the responsibilities which hold men to a cautious rôle in life had gone from me. My responsibility toward Betty would be discharged when I had removed for her the danger of Brack. And Betty cared so much for George Chanler that she wouldn’t have him risk his life for her, and consequently there was no reason why anything in the world mattered much to me.
“Faster!” I whispered, digging viciously at the water. “Hurry up; I want it over with.”
“Easy, Brains, easy.”
Pierce silently backed water. We were four or five lengths from the Wanderer’s starboard side, and though we were invisible in the darkness the lights and white paint of the yacht revealed her outlines and superstructure.
“There’s a boat in the water at the stern,” whispered Freddy. “Mebbe it’d be a good thing to cut her loose in case we have to make a getaway.”
“Cut nothing loose,” I whispered contentedly. “Move up to the bow ladder and let’s have it over with quickly.”
He took a stroke forward then backed again.
“Hey! There he is; walking aft. See him? By the last light aft.”
“Yes,” I breathed, as I made out Captain Brack’s figure where Pierce had indicated. “Now hurry and put me aboard, and I may surprise him.”
The canoe moved forward again. Pierce paddled in a semi-circle, heading away from the Wanderer’s side and curving back toward the bows. The yacht was all dark forward, save from a single gleam from a port-hole in George’s stateroom. Leaning well forward in the canoe I held my hands thrust out before me, and presently my finger-tips rested against the Wanderer’s sharp bow.
“Here’s the ladder—right here,” whispered Pierce. I moved the canoe backwards with my hands, and presently held the rope rungs of the ladder in my grasp. I reached up high above my head and gripped a rope rung firmly.
“Now hurry back to Miss Baldwin,” I whispered, and swung myself up.
Pierce did not answer at once.
“Do you hear?” I demanded.
“Oh, sure.”
I was well up the ladder then, but his tone prompted me to turn and look down. Pierce, with his rifle under one arm, was tying the canoe to the ladder. When, looking up, he saw that I had stopped and observed him he started guiltily, then leaped resolutely onto the ladder below me.
“Get off! Go back to the girl!” I commanded.
“I won’t,” said he. And we were hanging so, against the yacht’s sides, when Betty’s voice called softly from the shore beyond the stern:
“Oh, Captain Brack! Quick, please. I’m tired and afraid. Hurry, hurry! Take me aboard at once!”
XXXVI
A moment of silence followed, silence as complete as the darkness of the night. On the ladder Pierce and I hung as if frozen to the rungs. The tone of Betty’s call seemed to permeate the air; its pleading, compelling notes lingered like a perfume. Oh, the power of woman! The might of so slight a part of her as the nuances of her speech! For the call of Betty was a command. Nay, it was a force, a law, as indubitable as the law of gravity. It was surcharged with the thrill and power of Nature’s will. It was Woman. And Brack would go. He must go, in response to it. And Betty knew it.
Brack’s laugh, short and excited, sounded aft.
“Ah! Yes, yes; one minute.” His voice was exultant. “I’m coming.”
He must have leaped at the last words, for instantly there was a clatter as he dropped into the boat. Then the creak of an oar as he swung the boat clear.
“Where are you, Miss Baldwin?” he laughed.
And then, when it was too late, I recovered from the shock that had congealed me. I cried out, an involuntary, agonized cry, and as if in response a man come running swiftly to the ladder and peered over the rail.
“Who’s dere; who is it? Speak, or I’ll shoot!”
Head and voice I recognized as one of the most vicious of Brack’s men, and it was too late to attempt to retreat.
“It’s Mr. Pitt,” said I, and climbed upward.
“Hold on; stop right dere.”
I had thrown one leg over the guard rail. The man was a yard away, a revolver pointed at my chest.
“’S all right, Joe.” From below the quick-witted Freddy sent up a reassuring growl. “’S all right; let ’im go.”
“Hah?” The seaman, startled, bent forward to look, and I leaped, sinking both hands into his throat and bearing him to the rail.
In the same second Pierce seemed to be on the rail. His rifle rose over his head and came down on my man’s arm, knocking the revolver from his hand.
“The gun—the gun! Get his gat’!” whispered Freddy.
I had it even as he spoke, and with a weapon in each hand I ran aft, madly, unthinkingly, wishful only to follow whither Captain Brack had gone. Riordan was the first man I met, and as he retreated at the sight of me and tugged at his hip pocket, I struck at him, saw him fall, and went on with scarcely a pause.
I heard Freddy pounding at George’s stateroom, but I ran past. Garvin leaped at me from aft the main cabin. I fired twice at his right arm and heard his weapon clatter on the deck.
On the after-deck Barry caught me about the hips and threw me down, the violence of the fall throwing my weapons from my hands. I was beneath him and the man was trying to stab me as I hugged him tight to my breast. I felt the knife enter my thigh. Barry was the stronger, and I cried out a curse of despair.
“Hang tough for a jiffy, sir,” came Wilson’s calm voice from a companionway. He, too, was fighting. I heard the sound of two bodies falling. “Hang tough!”
I put all my strength into a paroxysm of pressure, but Barry managed to cut me once more ere Wilson, hobbling on one leg, came to my relief.
I found myself on my knees feeling ill.
“That’s three down,” said Wilson.
He was at the rail, pulling the stern sea-ladder up on deck. Vaguely I realized then that Wilson, too, had heard Brack leave the ship. Afterward I learned that he had attacked his guards at the sound of my first shot, which he had thought to come from Dr. Olson’s revolver as a signal for the revolt. In that way only had it been possible for him to reach me in time to save my life.
The negro and Garvin were fighting near us, with a stamping and roaring as of two great animals locked in battle. Like the hissing of an over-driven pump came the negro’s:
“Got you now; got you now, bad man.”
Garvin in turn panted.
“You —— nigger! You —— nigger!”
They whirled from the darkness into the shaft of light from a port-hole. The negro struck with some weapon; the thick glass crashed in splinters. They whirled on, into the dark again.
“Swing him around, Sam, and I’ll club him for you,” said Wilson quietly, hobbling after them.
“Don’ touch ’im!” pleaded the negro. “’Foh Gawd! Don’ nobody touch ’im. He’s mah meat.”
Forward, at George’s stateroom, there was a tumult; then cries and shots. The door was locked, and as I came running up, Pierce and Dr. Olson were fighting Riordan, and the man who had detected me on the ladder. In the stateroom George and Simmons were battling to keep their guards from joining the fight on deck.
I leaped upon Riordan from behind and Wilson, with his iron bar, began to beat down the door. Barry had recovered consciousness and with one of my pistols came hurrying forward, dancing around seeking for a chance to shoot one of us.
Pierce was knocked down, and as Barry sprang toward him, Wilson turned, and hurled himself clumsily at the fellow’s legs. Barry fell, leaped up, and still holding the revolver, went over the side. The other seaman did likewise at the sight of Wilson, and Riordan, felled by the butt of Dr. Olson’s revolver, soon followed his example.
“—— ’im! He copped my rifle, too!” spluttered Pierce, Riordan having snatched the weapon from the deck as he went over the side.
In the cabin cracked a shot and there came a shriek which we knew to be Simmons’s. Three of us threw our weight with Wilson’s, and the door went in.
George was on his feet, throttling one of the guards over a chair. Simmons lay like a bundle of old clothes in a corner. Near by the other guard, on all fours, strove to rise and fell flat. Wilson’s right fist smote George’s victim senseless and Chanler stood up, gory and calm.
“They’ve hurt Simmons bad,” he said. “Poor old Simmons. My fault. But I’ll pay that devil, Brack, out if I never do anything else as long as I live.”
The negro had cornered Garvin in the dining-saloon. These two had ceased to resemble human beings. They were all but naked, and their nakedness was red, with spots of white or black showing through. Garvin was crouching on one side of the table with a knife, and at the sight of the negro’s empty hands we sprang to help.
“Don’t spoil it, white folks, don’t spoil it!” growled the negro, moving toward his victim. “I done got ’im; he’s mah meat—mah meat!”
He knocked the knife from Garvin’s hand somehow. Then they wrecked the room with their hurtling falling bodies. The roar of battle rose to a crescendo and began to diminish. Garvin was losing.
“Guahd dat do’h!” cried the negro, but it was too late.
Garvin had turned to flee. In a bound he was in the doorway, one more and he was at the rail, and the negro cried in real agony as the bruiser vaulted over into the water.
“You got ’im plenty, Sam,” said Freddy.
Wilson was hobbling here and there on deck.
“We’ve cleared ship, sir,” he reported. “Now we’ve got to hold her.”
Then I remembered why I had started aft. I was in a fog. Presently I found myself trying to climb the after rail while a cluster of arms held me back.
“Betty! Brack!” I was muttering. “Over there. Let me go.”
“No, no, Gardy, old man. Steady down, Brains; you can’t walk the water. Easy, sir, easy.”
George, Freddy and Wilson; they were all holding me, pleading with me. They drew me forward toward the staterooms.
Suddenly I tore myself free. The light from the open door of George’s room reached up to and illuminated the port bow rail. I had seen a head appear where the ladder reached the deck. It was a small, wet head. Then showed a wet, white face and much wet hair, and finally over the rail came a very wet young woman, pausing bewildered in the glare of light and calling:
“Mr. Pitt! Gardy! Where are you?”
The fog cleared. I was sane again. In the shaft of light Betty Baldwin stood balanced ready to run forward at my response. Her right hand was at her bosom, her head on one side in an attitude of anxious listening, but the darkness hid us from her sight!
There was not one of us but was hideous to behold. Wilson, who had done the most fighting in spite of his wounded leg, was the least damaged and he required water, bandages, and fresh clothes, before being presentable. I closed George’s door, leaving the deck in total darkness.
“Everything is all right,” I said as quietly as I could. “Now come straight ahead.”
I met her in the darkness, caught her wet sleeve and guided her swiftly to the door of her stateroom.
“Go in and shut the door. Quick!”
She obeyed without questioning.
“Where’s Captain Brack?” I asked through the keyhole.
“Over there—ashore, I suppose. I slipped into the water and swam out here you know, as soon as I heard him go crashing into the brush where he thought I was.”
“You—what? You called—you swam?”
“That was why I called to him, of course,” she said. “To get him ashore and slip past him and come aboard. Was it too treacherous to be decent?”
“You—you fooled Captain Brack?” At first the thing seemed impossible. “You fooled Brack!” I laughed wildly because the joke was on the captain.
“Gardy—Mr. Pitt, are you all right? Is——”
“George is all right!” I cried. “Rest easy; he’s all right. But stay where you are.”
I ran aft to break the news. There was no need for this, however. Brack’s boat was even then scraping at our stern.
“Throw down that ladder!” he was bellowing. “Riordan! You —— swab! The ladder!”
Chanler leaned on the rail and called down into the darkness:
“You lose, cappy, Riordan’s overboard, and Wilson is captain. Come aboard, cappy. I promise you that I’ll see you hanged if it takes every cent I’ve got.”
“Ah save you dat trouble, boss,” laughed Black Sam, and fired instantly.
We heard Brack fall on his oars. The boat drifted away out of sight. Then we heard him move again. Presently the sound of a faint laugh came out of the darkness.
“Poor shooting! Pitt, you there?” he called easily.
“Yes,” I said, stepping forward.
“My only mistake was in underestimating you, Pitt. One tiny mistake in an otherwise perfect plan. You haven’t won yet, but—my compliments, Pitt.”
I saw the flash as he fired, a roaring, brain-splitting streak of red, which hurled me like a blast into the pit of oblivion.
XXXVII
Of what took place on board during the rest of that night I had only the vaguest of knowledge. Once I had an indistinct impression of consciousness, such as one may have through the film of opiates. Dr. Olson was explaining to some one that it was a pretty close call, considering that it wasn’t going to amount to anything. Brack’s bullet had struck me under the angle of the left jaw, had ranged upward through the muscles of the neck and gone out squarely above the occiput.
“Those cuts in his leg will give him more trouble,” the doctor was saying.
My next impression was of hearing the same sharp report as had ushered me into unconsciousness. I smiled. My senses had cleared now and I was sure that what I fancied I heard was simply the echo of Brack’s shot in my disordered mind.
I sank gratefully back toward the slumber that invited me, and then— Crack! Crack-crack! Crack-crack-crack! Up on the after deck a perfect splatter of shots which seemed echoed from a distance, drove the sleepiness from my head.
I opened my eyes and sat up. I was in bed in my own stateroom, and the gray light of dawn was coming through the port-hole. From a distance far off came two more reports, and on the steel plates of the Wanderer’s after cabin resounded two heavy, dull blows.
I was out of bed and on my feet ere the two shots from our stern spat out their reply. I understood the significance of those sounds now. Brack and his gang were attacking at the first light of dawn, and they had not caught our men napping.
My legs bent weakly under me as I stood up, the thigh which Barry had cut seemed numb and helpless, and my head whirled till I nearly fell. With my hands hugging the wall for support I made my way to the door. I wished to step out on deck, and so, naturally, in my tumbled mental condition it was the door leading into the cabin saloon that I found.
I opened the door but slightly and stopped. Betty was sitting before the door. Her back was toward me, there was a book in her lap and her hair was hanging down her back in the disordered condition of a woman who has kept ceaseless vigil, regardless of appearances, through the night.
Softly as I closed the door she heard and was up in a flash.
“Gardy! Mr. Pitt! Are you up?” she called, her hand on the knob. I had slipped the catch as I closed the door so she could not come in. “Do you want anything? I’ll get it for you. You mustn’t move, you know. Are you—are you feeling stronger—Mr. Pitt?”
“I am all right,” I said.
“Oh! Are you really? Are you able to get up?”
“Certainly.” I was flinging a dressing gown about me. “What is happening aft?”
Another volley of shots from the shore was answered from the yacht.
“Brack and his men shot Mr. Wilson, and now they’re trying to shoot the rest of us.”
“Badly? Is Wilson hurt badly?”
“I don’t know. I—I’ve been sitting here. You—you have been so terribly quiet for such a long time, Mr. Pitt.”
“And who’s back there? Who’s doing the shooting on our side?”
“All of them. Pierce, and the negro, and Dr. Olson, and George.”
I opened the door and stepped out.
“Oh! Oh, you mustn’t,—Mr. Pitt! Really you mustn’t. Go back—what are you going to do?”
I laughed.
“George mustn’t be allowed to risk his life, you know.”
She recoiled with a sudden wilting, as a child before an unexpected blow.
“Oh!” she moaned. “Oh! How can you?”
My weakness forced me to clutch the wall for support.
“I can’t,” I said, “unless you get me some whisky.”
She was still shrinking, her hands to her breast, and her face white.
“Oh! I didn’t know—I couldn’t believe—there was anything like—like this in you.”
“Hidden country,” I laughed, stumbling along the wall. “There’s hidden country in all of us.”
My hand was on the door of George’s stateroom. I pushed it open. Simmons was lying in George’s bed, a horrified expression upon his wooden-like countenance as he viewed his surroundings.
“Not my fault, sir,” he apologized as I betrayed surprise at seeing him there. “I was put here, sir; I couldn’t help it.”
“Glory be, Simmons! You’re looking sound.”
“Oh, I’m doing nicely, thank you, sir. A bit shot off the bottom of my liver, sir, the doctor says. I’ll do, says he, thank you.”
A revolver was lying on a table and I picked it up. It was loaded.
“Whisky, Simmons! Where is it? I’ve got to have some, quick.”
He grimaced guiltily.
“I—I had a tiny bottle in my coat, sir. It’s lying over there. If the bottle isn’t smashed—ah! The master’s silver flask, so it was. I—I had a bit of cold, sir, and there was no other bottle——”
I drank the stuff like water. My veins, which had felt empty and slack, seemed to fill with warm blood.
I drank again. My legs stiffened and grew firm. My head was in a whirl, but I had strength enough to move easily now, and I went out of the room with a rush. Betty tried to stop me as I went through the saloon, but I lurched on.
The sound of firing came to me as if from far away. In the whirl of my head it seemed first in one direction then in another. I steadied myself for an instant as I came out on deck. The yacht seemed to be heaving and falling, and presently it felt as if it were whirling in a maelstrom.
Where was the aft? Where was the firing? I held my head to steady it. The firing broke out afresh. There it was! It was in front of me. No, it was behind me. A non-drinker shouldn’t take so much whisky. Ah! There it was. I lurched forward, intending to go aft. It was not strange that I should cross the fore-deck on my way aft. Nothing was strange in my present condition. Not even the fact that Brack and Garvin were climbing over the rail at the bow, as I came forward.
I was very steady.
“Hello, Brack.”
At the sound of my voice and the sight of the revolver in my hand Garvin gave a spring backward and splashed into the water. Brack smiled and vaulted on to the deck. There was a wound on one side of his head where the negro’s bullet had marked him, but he bore himself as confidently and masterful as ever. He had two revolvers in his belt, but as I made ready to shoot him when his hands moved toward them he desisted and smiled again.
“So I didn’t quite get you, eh, Pitt? Well, it was pretty dark, though you did step out into the light like an accommodating lamb to the butcher. Well, what are you going to do?”
“Put up your hands.”
He looked at me, smiled, and calmly folded his arms across his chest.
“Putting up one’s hands is undignified. I do not do so. What are you going to do about it?”
I was nonplussed. Here I was, the victor. I was armed, he was helpless; and yet he had taken the upper hand. What did one do under such circumstances?
“This revolver is loaded, Brack,” I warned, but I knew that my speech was futile.
“I know it is: I can see the lead in the cylinder. That doesn’t make any difference. To be of any danger to me said loaded revolver must be in the hands of a man who is capable of shooting another man. You can’t do that, Pitt; you know you can’t. You’re too civilized. Try it. Just try it. Pick out a certain spot on me—my forehead, for instance—point the gun at that spot and pull the trigger. Try it. You’ll find that it’s a very hard thing to do—impossible for you, in fact.”
He laughed low.
“No, Pitt, you can’t shoot me.” With imperceptible movements he began to approach me. “Do you hear me, Pitt: You can’t shoot me—you can’t shoot me.”
Suddenly he stopped. His countenance seemed to break into flame. I heard a light step behind me and understood.
“Go back, Betty!” I said, keeping my eyes on Brack. “Go back!”
I was retreating slowly. For the moment Brack was invincible, he was great! His colossal will was mastering us. With it he was driving me back, helpless in spite of my weapon, and he was holding Betty fascinated to the spot.
“Go back!” My shoulder had touched hers. I turned to look at her.
“Gardy!” she gasped, pointing.
I turned. Brack’s mighty spring had carried him on to us, and I sprang between him and Betty. He paid scarcely any attention to me, merely struck with his right arm and smashed me to the deck. Then he had Betty in his arms, kissing her, sweeping her to his breast like a struggling child, and retreating toward the rail, the girl held as a shield before him.
I sprang up and ran toward them. My weapon had been knocked from my hands, and as Brack crouched to spring over the rail with his burden I threw myself on him. He shifted Betty to his left arm and with his right drove me back with a single blow.
“Never fear, Pitt,” he laughed, tugging at his revolver, “I don’t intend leaving before I’ve settled you.”
I rushed again as his weapon came free. I struck him between the eyes and tore Betty from his grasp. My blow staggered and blinded him for the instant. He was at the rail brushing his hand across his eyes when two rifle reports sounded far across the bay and Brack fell flat on the deck without a struggle.
“But you’ve got to admit he was game—game as a mad ol’ silver-tip,” said the patriarchal Slade when a boat had brought him and Harris aboard from the point from which they had shot Brack. “A devil he was, with a twisted laugh, but too game to live if he was licked. Me ’n’ Bill we was hiding up in the hills and come down to take a peek when the shooting begun. We see him and the other fellow crawling up the anchor-chains, and Brack was driving the other fellow with a gun.
“We couldn’t believe it was him at first; didn’t seem any man’d try anything so desp’rit; but when we see you scuffling with him, Mr. Pitt, we knew it was him, and savvied how he’d had his gang to start shooting from the other shore to draw everybody aft so we could take one desp’rit whirl at you. Me ’n’ Bill we put the sights on him then, but we was afraid of hitting your young lady. So I prayed a little for a clear shot, and the Lord answered my prayer pretty pronto. Amen.”
XXXVIII
Then the Wanderer for days became a hospital ship, for with the end of Brack, his crew, including Garvin and Riordan, fled promptly out of the Hidden Country into the vast Alaskan wilderness that lay beyond the gap in the mountains, and with the sudden release from danger came the inevitable collapse of the wounded members of our company.
Wilson now had a bullet-wound through each leg and another through his great chest, and for the time being was helpless. Pierce told me afterward how Wilson, suddenly shot down on the after-deck, had borrowed a chew from Black Sam and, lying flat on his back, had reloaded the rifles in the fight that followed.
Pierce, now that the excitement of danger was gone, discovered that Riordan’s boot had broken one of his ribs in the battle at Chanler’s state-room; Black Sam had lost so much blood that he collapsed and was content to sit basking in the sun like a sick bear; and Dr. Olson was a nervous and physical wreck. Only Chanler had escaped disablement. He was scarred and bruised, but he was up and around while the rest of us lay helpless.
Dr. Olson ordered me back to bed and filled me up with opiates. My affair with Brack had not been good for my wounds, and absolute quiet was necessary to repair the damage which had been done to them. Slade and Harris remained on board, making themselves useful with the skill and adaptability of pioneers. And George, in his right mind, and Betty were together.
My days and nights for a space then were a series of semi-lucid moments alternated with nightmares. In the former I was at times conscious that Betty was sitting at my side. Occasionally I caught her studying me anxiously. When I returned her scrutiny she looked away. Next it would be Slade or Harris who was with me, then George. Always there seemed to be some one.
The nightmares were rather trying. Two things ran through them consistently: the sound of Betty’s voice as she had cried out passionately for Captain Brack, and the spectacle of Brack dragging her to the rail. Then I would wake up raving and presently some one would be holding me down, urging me to be quiet.
On one of these occasions, after midnight, it was George who held me in bed and soothed me.
“It’s all right, Gardy old man; it’s all right, I tell you,” he was saying. “She’s all right; safe and sound asleep in her room.”
“Brack—Brack’s got her!” I moaned.
“No, no, no! Can’t you hear me? She’s all right. Gardy! Old man. You know me, don’t you?”
I returned to sanity. Chanler was grimly trying to smile.
“What have I been saying?” I gasped.
“Oh, nothing.” He tried to pass it off carelessly. “Nothing—nothing at all.”
“Tell me.”
“Oh, just about Brack and Betty; you thought he’d got her.”
He looked away.
“What else?”
“Oh, shut up, Gardy! You were out of your head. D’you s’pose I paid any attention to what you were saying? Now drop that. How are you feeling?”
“Embarrassed,” I replied.
“Don’t!” he protested. “Don’t you do it. It—it wasn’t anything like that. It—it was all right. I knew it anyway.”
“Knew what?”
He looked at me for a long time. Then he appeared to change the subject.
“Everything’s all right, old man. We’ve come to an understanding, Betty and I. It’s all settled as it should be. I’ve had a lot of time for long talks with Betty.” He laughed. “She’s opened her heart to me, at last, and told me everything. We—we’ve been exploring hidden country, Betty and I. Good phrase of Brack’s, that.”
I raised myself and held out my hand.
“Congratulations, George. I knew it would come out all right.”
His brows came down in puzzled, skeptical fashion as he took my hand. There was in his expression a tinge of suspicion, and he smiled as one smiles when humoring a sick man.
“There’s hidden country in you, all right, old boy,” he said. “You ought to play poker.”
More sleep and more nightmares, the latter now complicated by the presence of George. Brack no longer was dragging Betty to the rail; she was standing by George’s side; and Brack and I were playing poker. Then at last came the sane untroubled sleep of normal condition, and I awoke one morning ravenously hungry and glad that the sun was bright outside.
“You can join the convalescent squad now,” said Dr. Olson, and under the awning on the fore-deck I joined Pierce and Simmons, stretched at ease in luxurious deck-chairs.
“Though it isn’t my fault, sir,” protested Simmons, “the master is not doing right by himself in putting me here.”