Kit Musgrave's Luck

CHAPTER VIII
AN IDLE AFTERNOON

Kit looked up with an apologetic smile. "You imply I'm dull? Perhaps I am dull. You see, I was pretty strenuously occupied not long since."

"Catching fish for the captain's señora?"

"We did catch some fish, but we shipped some camels through the surf, and ran into bad weather coming home. To keep the animals alive was an awkward job. The sea came on board, the fodder washed about, and the scuppers were choked. The ship got a list, and two or three feet of water splashed in the angle between her deck and side. Camels can't stand getting wet, you know."

"I don't know," Olivia rejoined. "Besides, I don't see how the bad weather accounts for your absorption in the view."

"Oh, well! After a job like ours you want a rest, and there's something about Grand Canary that makes you satisfied to loaf. The Island of the Golden Apples, the old explorers talked about! Then I think the nicest spot in Grand Canary is Mrs. Austin's veranda. Anyhow, if I had talked, you might have got bored. You are bored sometimes."

Olivia laughed. "You are modest, but if you know when I am bored you are cleverer than I thought. However, when you first arrived you would have been hurt."

"One gets philosophical and no doubt I was very raw. I hadn't known you and Mrs. Austin."

"To know Jacinta is something of an education," Olivia agreed. "But you talked about the old explorers. Have you ever seen the island of San Borondon?"

"I have not," said Kit. "I'm a practical fellow and don't see things like that. All the same, our quartermaster declares he has seen San Borondon, and it's possible. Old Miguel's a mystic and the finest sailor we have on board. The sort of fellow they'd have made a saint in Columbus's days——"

He mused for a few moments and resumed: "Well, the story's curious. If you leave out a few desert rocks, there are six Canary Islands; the first explorers saw seven. The seventh was San Borondon, where it is always calm. When the galleons came back to conquer it, the island was gone, but now and then somebody sees the mountains against the sunset, in the same spot as you steam West to Hierro. A mirage, no doubt, but one can understand the sailors' weaving legends about San Borondon."

"I expect the monks wove the legends," Olivia remarked. "Their business was to point a moral, and the Grail story's old. It looks as if they could not find a knight-adventurer like Galahad. Yet you imagine your quartermaster——"

"Old Miguel is something like Galahad," Kit said quietly, although a touch of colour came to his skin. "Believes in his saints and keeps his rules. As trustful as a child, polite as a Spanish hidalgo, and brave as a lion! One does meet some fine gentlemen. Jefferson's another."

Olivia said nothing, but on the whole she agreed. Although Jefferson had some drawbacks and Kit's were numerous, their puritanical sincerity had charm. As a rule she had not found the type polite, but Kit was getting sophisticated. His touch of colour indicated this.

"I expect you are going back on board Mossamedes?" she said by and by.

"For another run. After that I don't know," Kit replied.

He did not know and was rather disturbed. When he was going to Mrs. Austin's he met Don Ramon, who stopped him.

"Has Wolf talked about his future plans?" the manager asked.

Kit said Wolf had not, and Don Ramon resumed:

"You see, the charter does not run long, and Mossamedes is an expensive boat for the Morocco trade."

Kit had thought this and was bothered about something else. He wondered whether Don Ramon knew about the cartridges. In a way, perhaps, the thing was not important, since the quantity was small, but Kit thought Don Ramon ought to know. Yet so long as he took Wolf's pay he was Wolf's man.

"Before you sailed on your last voyage I sent you a message," Olivia resumed.

"I got the message. You were very kind."

"But this was all. You thought I exaggerated?"

"No," said Kit. "You stated Wolf meant to use Captain Revillon. Well, I thought I saw his object."

"You mean, Wolf meant to cheat him?"

"In a way perhaps——" Kit agreed and stopped.

Olivia laughed. "You are very staunch. In fact, you have a number of qualities one does not at first expect. All the same, I don't think you ought to go to Africa often."

She was sincere, because she instinctively distrusted Wolf, but she wanted to keep Kit about Las Palmas; to some extent because Jacinta had planned to send him away. She did not know if she wanted him to stop for good. His firmness intrigued her, she liked his honesty and his physical attraction was strong. Sometimes she hesitated and sometimes resisted. Olivia was calculating rather than romantic, and frankly did not see herself marrying a steamship sobrecargo.

"I must go for another voyage," Kit replied. "I have engaged to go, and for another thing, Mrs. Austin got me the post. I want her to think I'm making good. It's obvious I owe her much."

Olivia knew he owed her sister less than he thought. Sometimes Kit was very dull, but he had given her an opportunity to experiment.

"Jacinta likes helping people and as a rule it doesn't cost her much. For example, when you told her about Miss Jordan, Harry and Jefferson wanted an English clerk. I think Miss Jordan's satisfied, but I doubt if she's as grateful as you."

"She's altogether satisfied——" Kit declared and stopped. Betty's gratitude to Mrs. Austin was not very marked.

"Oh, well!" Olivia resumed, "Jefferson's a good sort and I think he's lucky. Miss Jordan is a good clerk and an attractive girl. People like her, and Jefferson's patio is getting a fashionable spot in the afternoon. You can study the latest styles in men's light clothes."

"Do you mean the coaling and banana men pretend they have some business and hang about?"

"I don't know if they pretend, but they do hang about. Jefferson declares if he wanted coal he could get an extra bag to the ton, and Ritchie told him an ingenious plan by which he could cut down Cayman's fresh water bill."

"Ritchie's the theatrical fellow with the sombrero and brigand's sash?"

"He is theatrical," Olivia agreed and smiled. "Since he has neglected me, his theatricalness is plainer. No doubt Miss Jordan finds him amusing, but when Cayman is in port he goes to the office. Looking for orders, I believe."

"All the coal Cayman burns goes on the galley fire," Kit remarked with a frown. "A ton a voyage would see her out."

Olivia noted his frown. She admitted that her methods were crude, but cleverness, so to speak, would be wasted on Kit. In some respects, he was like a child.

"After all, I don't see why Miss Jordan should not marry a coaling clerk," she said. "One or two are rather nice."

Kit set his mouth. He had not thought about Betty's marrying and owned that it ought not disturb him, but it did so. His look was sternly thoughtful, and Olivia touched his arm. She had made her experiment and although she did not know if she wanted Kit for herself or not, she resolved he was not for Betty.

"You have no grounds for meddling, and Miss Jordan is not a fool; I think she's fastidious," she said. "When you come back we must try to get you a post at Las Palmas. If you get a proper start, you might go far, and perhaps the post can be got."

Kit's heart beat. Olivia wanted him to go far, and this implied much. He forgot Betty, and then looking up, saw Mrs. Austin and her husband on the steps.

"Hallo!" said Austin. "I imagined you were occupied on board. As a rule, you stick to your job tighter than I stuck to mine. Anyhow, since you have come ashore, you'll dine with us?"

Kit was somewhat embarrassed. He had seen Mrs. Austin give Olivia a keen glance; moreover she had left her husband to ask him to stop. Signing to Olivia, she went into the house.

"Why did you put on that dress?" she asked.

"It's light and cool," Olivia replied and added with a smile: "Sometimes you're romantic and let your imagination go."

"I'd like to think I was romantic, but I doubt. Anyhow, Kit is flesh and blood. Why can't you leave him alone?"

"My dear! You really ought to keep the conventions. The proper line is to argue I oughtn't to let the young man bother me. However, it's obvious you don't mean to be nice."

Mrs. Austin frowned and went off. She had controlled her husband and others, but Olivia baffled her. If the girl resisted from obstinacy, there was perhaps no need for disturbance; the trouble was, Mrs. Austin did not know. Besides, Kit was trustful. She had meant to be his friend and was angry because her plans had not worked.

Kit did not enjoy his dinner. Mrs. Austin was polite, but he felt she was annoyed, and when he tried to talk to Olivia she firmly started another subject. Olivia looked amused and her amusement jarred. Kit was young and if he were being punished, thought Olivia ought to sympathise. Soon after dinner he declared he must go on board and Olivia got up.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Austin asked.

"I'm going to the gate with Kit," Olivia replied carelessly, and Mrs. Austin knew her smile meant she could not meddle when the others were about.

Olivia went down the path with Kit and stopped at the gate. It was getting dark and some tamarisk grew between them and the house.

"You don't look very cheerful," she remarked.

"I'm not cheerful," Kit admitted. "I'm afraid I have annoyed Mrs. Austin."

"Jacinta has her moods," Olivia agreed. "However, if she wasn't very nice to you, she wasn't nice at all to me. Besides, you really ought not to have stopped when she was not at home. Jacinta is conventional, although she pretends she is not. We all are conventional, you know."

Kit looked hard at her and was hurt. Olivia, herself, had fixed the time for him to come, and had kept him when he would have gone. For all that he said nothing and she resumed in a gentle voice: "Well, you are going back with the steamer and I will not see you before you sail. You'll use caution, Kit?"

He thrilled, but said quietly: "I don't think much caution's indicated. We have gone twice and nothing has bothered us."

"Oh well," said Olivia: "you are obstinate and I suppose you must go. Perhaps I'm superstitious, but sometimes the third venture is unlucky." She touched his arm. "I don't want you to run a risk!"

Kit tried to seize her hand but she was gone. He saw her figure melt into the gloom among the tamarisk, and then, looking round, noted Wolf coming up the path.

"Hallo, Musgrave!" said Wolf. "Have you gone to the Commandancia for your papers?"

"I went in the afternoon and got the documents," Kit replied, and started for the road.

Wolf went to the veranda and talked to Mrs. Austin until some others arrived; then he crossed the floor. A chair by Olivia was unoccupied, and noting Wolf's advance, she gave a young man an inviting smile. The young man did not remark this and Wolf got the chair.

"Malin deserves to pay for his dullness," he said.

"Then you saw me signal?" Olivia rejoined. "All the same, you came!"

"One sometimes gets a humorous satisfaction from baffling people. Besides, I wanted to persuade you I'm not revengeful. It's obvious you don't like me."

"Oh well," said Olivia, "I don't claim my prejudices are always logical. Sometimes one likes people, and sometimes one does not."

"We'll let it go and I'll try to be resigned. However, I don't think you ought to prejudice my sobrecargo."

Olivia's eyes sparkled. It looked as if Wolf had seen her touch Kit; he was very keen.

"Do you know I have prejudiced Mr. Musgrave?" she asked.

"He has not hinted this; the young fellow is staunch, for all that, I don't imagine you approve his sailing on board my ship. Do you approve?"

Olivia said nothing, and Wolf resumed: "If it will give you much satisfaction, I'll discharge him after the next voyage."

For a few moments Olivia thought hard. She wanted Kit to leave Mossamedes, but she did not know yet if she wanted him to stop about Las Palmas altogether. Then she felt that Wolf was not the man to whom she would like to owe a debt. The fellow was cunning.

"Oh no!" she said smiling, "it's really not important, and I wouldn't like to feel accountable if he didn't get another post."

"Very well. If he wants to go, I'll use no arguments. If he wants to stop, you won't try to persuade him he ought not?"

"I agree," said Olivia, and getting up, waited until Wolf went off.

CHAPTER IX
THE THIRD VOYAGE

"Yon's Don Erminio taking the floor. He means naething and I dinna mind him. When the action kin' o' drags he shouts and gives the telegraph handle a bit pull. When ye think aboot it, temperament's a curious thing. Maybe ye have seen a big boat haul out on the Clyde? Noo an' then an officer lifts his hand, ye hear a whistle, and a winch starts. All's calm and quiate. She's away, ten thousand tons o' her, before ye ken what's gaun on!"

"You're a grim, efficient lot," Kit remarked. "Just now it looks as if the pilot meant to hit the coaling tug. I don't know if you can stop him; that's your business and his. I'll get to mine before she starts to roll."

He went to his room, pulled up his folding stool, and threw the documents on his desk, for he was rather puzzled about some cases of agricultural machinery and tools. Perhaps these were the boxes transhipped from the other boat, but, so far as Kit knew, agricultural machinery was not much used in Morocco. In fact, he thought the Moors' methods were the methods of Abraham. In the meantime, the shouts got louder, and Kit imagined Juan on the forecastle, disputed with the pilot on the bridge.

"Pero, Señor!" the mate's expostulating cry pierced the turmoil, and then Kit's inkpot jumped from the desk.

He saw a dark smear on his new clothes, Mossamedes trembled, and he felt a heavy shock. His stool tilted, and he went over backwards and struck his head against the locker.

Getting up rather shakily, he remarked that the ship had listed, for the floor of his room was sharply inclined. When she lurched upright with a jerk he seized the doorpost and then, since it was obvious she was not capsizing, put the cork in the inkpot and began to pick up his papers. He had something of the sobriety that marks the puritan temperament, and it was characteristic that he occupied himself with his proper job. The papers for which he was accountable must not get stained by ink. When he had put all straight he went on deck.

Not far off, the coaling tug circled back for the wharf. Her bulwarks were broken, some plates were bent, and she had let go the string of barges she towed. On board Mossamedes Don Erminio leaned against the bridge-screens and his face was very white. The pilot stated loudly the course the tug's patron ought to have steered, and the mate and a number of sailors ran about the deck. Kit did not think they were usefully employed.

Going to the forecastle, he found Macallister leaning over the rails. A plate was bulged and the stem was bent, but it looked as if all the damage were above the water. Lines of foam ran by and melted ahead, for Mossamedes was steaming stern-foremost out of port.

"She's no' much the worse; I dinna ken aboot the tug," Macallister remarked, and took Kit to a spot beneath the bridge. "Tell the captain to brace up and get away to sea," he resumed. "If he's no' quick, the Commandancia launch will come off and stop us to make reports. They'll forget a' aboot it before we're back."

Kit translated and Don Erminio, pulling himself together, advanced upon the pilot. A savage dispute began, but presently the captain stopped and spread out his hands.

"The animal is not satisfied. He will not go."

"Aweel, I'll come up and pit him off," Macallister remarked and climbed the ladder.

The pilot hesitated. His duty was to take the ship outside the mole, but the engineer's look was resolute, and he retreated to the ladder at the opposite end of the bridge. When Macallister reached the top the pilot had reached the bottom, and a few moments afterwards, went down a rope to his boat.

"Noo, if ye'll put the helm across, I'll give her a bit shove ahead and we'll get away," Macallister said to the captain and rejoined Kit.

"Nane o' it was my job and maybe on board a British ship I'd no' ha' done as much," he observed and vanished below.

Mossamedes circled, the engines throbbed harder, the mole dropped back, and Kit began to laugh. He agreed that Macallister would not have done as much on board a British ship. For all that, his rude but cool efficiency was rather fine.

Half an hour afterwards Kit took some documents to the captain's room. Don Erminio was stretched on a locker, and a bottle of vermouth and some Palma cigars balanced the swing-table. When he saw the documents he frowned.

"Another day. Just now I am ill," he said. "When one has an assassin for a pilot, to command a ship is not amusing. I bear much, but some time I take Enrique Maria Contallan y Clavijo by the neck and throw him in the sea. In the meantime, I have saved the ship and we will take a drink."

Kit refused politely and did not smile. He liked Don Erminio and the captain was not a fool. Kit had known him calm and steady when things were awkward, and sometimes his pluck was rash. All the same, he was unstable; one could not foresee the line he would take. The Spanish character frankly puzzled Kit. It was marked by sharp contrasts, and one could use no rules. Macallister and Jefferson were not like that. Their qualities, so to speak, were constant. When the strain was heavy one knew they would be cool.

Mossamedes steered for the eastern islands, and in the morning the parched rocks of Lanzarote melted in the glitter on the horizon. Then she headed for Africa and at sunset Don Erminio stopped the ship and used the lead. He got soundings on the coast-shelf, and Kit, passing the chart-room, imagined the mate and captain argued about the ship's position, but when Mossamedes went on again the compass indicated that Don Erminio had hauled out to avoid shoals. When the moon rose one saw nothing but sparkling water, the swell was long and measured, and the leadsman, making another cast, got no bottom. It looked as if they had left the hummocks on the coast-shelf astern, and Mossamedes went full-speed.

About midnight Kit lounged and smoked on a locker in the engine-room. He was not sleepy, and since Mossamedes sailed, had thought much about Olivia. On the whole, his thoughts were disturbing. When he was with Olivia he forgot his poverty; all he saw was her charm. She was beautiful, she was clever and now and then he got a hint of tenderness that gave him a strange thrill. The thrill moved and braced him; while it lasted all looked possible. Somehow he would mend his fortune and make his mark. Austin, who had held Kit's post, had done so and married Olivia's sister.

Afterwards, when Olivia was not about, Kit knew himself to be a fool. To begin with, he had not Austin's talents and must be satisfied to keep his proper level. Then supposing he did get rich? After all, he was not Olivia's sort. Kit was staunch and stopped there; he would not admit that sometimes he vaguely doubted if Olivia were the girl for him. Instincts he had inherited from sober and frugal ancestors were strong. Yet for the most part he resisted unconsciously. When one is young and carried away by an attractive girl one is not logical.

Lighting a fresh cigarette, he looked about. Mossamedes rolled and light and shadow played about the machinery. In front, the bright cranks flashed and faded in a shallow pit, the crossheads slammed between their guides and the connecting-rods, shining like silver, swung out of the gloom. Above, the big cylinders throbbed and shook with the impulse that drove the ship ahead. Men like shadows moved about with oilcans and tallow-swabs, but now and then a moving beam touched a face beaded by sweat. Macallister occupied the top of a tool box and smoked a black pipe.

Kit liked the engine-room. The steady beat of the machine was soothing. One got a sense of order, measured effort and strength that matched the strain. Force was not wasted but sternly controlled. In the engine-room Macallister was another man, quiet, keen, concentrated, and Kit understood the Scots' satisfaction when all ran well. They sprang from a stock that counted rule and effort to be worth more than beauty.

There was a crash, and Kit jumped from the locker. Mossamedes stopped and the shock threw him against a column. He seized the iron and held on, conscious that he trembled. The jar was terrifying because it was not expected. A sea broke about the vessel, she shook and water rolled across the deck. A greaser shouted and Kit saw Macallister on the grated platform above. He had not seen him go, but his hand was on the throttle-wheel. He did not look disturbed, and signed a man to the control of the reversing-gear. If the link were pulled across, the engines would go astern. The telegraph, however, was silent and Macallister did not turn the wheel.

The ship lifted, lurched forward, as if a sea had borne her up, and went on. Macallister waited for a few moments and then went up to the door with Kit. The door on the starboard side looked out towards Africa, but nothing broke the furrowed plain of glittering sea.

"I'm thinking she bumped a bit hummock," Macallister remarked. "She got a jolt, but the old boat was built by men who dinna scamp their job. Where ye see yon house's name, ye ken the work is good."

"All the same, you have started the bilge pump," said Kit, for a sharp throbbing pierced the beat of machinery.

"Pepe will let her rin a few minutes. Although I dinna expect she'll draw much water, ye keep the rules," Macallister replied and turned to Miguel, who came along the alleyway. "What do you think about it, friend? The third voyage has not begun well."

Macallister's Castilian was uncouth, but Miguel understood. "It is not good, Don Pedro! A bad coast and a treacherous people, but one is not disturbed. Some of the saints were fishermen, and mine is king of all. But I go to try the after well."

He went off, but Kit had noted that the line he carried was neatly coiled and the sounding-rod was wet. He thought it typical that the old quartermaster had tried the forward well a few moments after the ship struck. Moreover his talk about his saint somehow was not extravagant. One felt that Miguel knew and trusted his great patron.

"A most queer fellow," Macallister remarked. "A believer in wax images and pented boards."

"Pented boards?" said Kit.

"Just that," Macallister rejoined. "Ye'll no ken the Scottish classics. When the great reformer was a galley slave they gave him the image to worship. 'A pented brod, mair fit for swimming than praying til,' says he and threw't overboard. Weel, for Miguel, the images are not pented things, and I've met weel-grounded Scots I wouldna trust like him. He kens his job and his word goes. I alloo it's much."

Kit went on deck. The sea sparkled in the moon and long regular combers rolled up from the north. One could not see land and nothing indicated shoals ahead. Mossamedes dipped her bows to the knight-heads and showers of spray leaped about the rail. Then her stern went down and the rising forecastle cut the sky. For a time Kit forgot Olivia and mused about the engineer and Miguel.

Macallister's mood was sometimes freakish and his humour rude, but behind this was a stern, honest efficiency. The quartermaster was a mystic, but when the big white combers chased the cargo launch one could trust him with the steering oar. After all to know one's job was much.

CHAPTER X
SMOKE ON THE HORIZON

"All the goods we carry are consigned to the Greek merchant here and you."

"That is so, but I will endorse the bill of lading, and file a statement for the Customs officers that the cases of machinery will be landed at another port."

"Ah!" said Kit who began to see a light. "Then we are to carry the cases along the coast? I was puzzled about this lot of cargo; but we got it from a Spanish ship at Las Palmas. The cases were put on board in daylight when two of the port captain's men were on deck.

"The plan was good," Yusuf remarked. "When one does things openly nobody is curious."

"All the same, the Moorish officers know machinery is not used in the Sahara."

"It is not the officers' business. They are friends of mine, and in this country a present carries some weight."

Kit knew Wolf and his agent were clever, but began to think they were cleverer than he liked. He felt he was being used, and, so to speak, kept in the dark. He did not know the others' plans, in which he was involved, but if the plans did not work, he thought he ran some risk. Yusuf was subtle, and Kit's instinctive antagonism hardened. For all that, he was Wolf's servant and must carry out his agent's orders.

"I will endorse the bill of lading," the other resumed. "You will land the boxes at the spot you got the camels, and the owner will take his goods. Perhaps he will keep the document for a talisman. Some of these people have a strange respect for all that is written on paper."

"Very well," said Kit, who got up.

Yusuf went with him to the door, and Kit starting along the street, heard the heavy bolts shoot back. To know the business was over was something of a relief. Although Yusuf was inscrutable at his house one got a sense of fear and secrecy. In Morocco a Jew trader was perhaps forced to use caution, but Kit thought he would sooner deal with the wild Berbers who ruled the open desert. Yet he owned he had no firm grounds for doubting Wolf's agent. When he got on board Mossamedes he went to the chart-room and found Don Erminio playing cards with the mate. The captain had won two pesetas and was jubilant.

"Juan is clever and cautious. I am not clever, but I am bold," he said.

Kit noted the bottle on the table. When Don Erminio drank a few glasses of caña he philosophised. Kit narrated his interview with Yusuf, and the captain looked thoughtful.

"It is plain the boxes hold guns," he said. "The Moors do not carry guns to shoot the rabbit, and if we land the boxes somebody will get killed. However, it is not important. The Moors are numerous and all are bad."

"I was not thinking about the Moors," Kit rejoined. "The business is strange. The guns were on board a Spanish ship and if the Moors use them to steal camels, the camels will no doubt be stolen on soil that is claimed by France. There may be trouble afterwards. Our employer knows this."

Don Erminio picked up the cards. Spanish cards are not marked like English cards, but Kit thought the one the captain indicated stood for the ace of clubs.

"Bastones!" Don Erminio remarked and shuffled the pack. "I put it at the bottom. You see it is there? Now take three away and you will find it at the top. A trick, but clever. Señor Wolf plays a game like this."

Kit carried out his instructions and laughed. "Wolf is, no doubt, clever, but this is not the card."

Don Erminio frowned and swept the pack on to the floor. The swing-table tilted, but Juan stretched out his hand and seized the bottle.

"Señor!" he expostulated. "The caña cost two pesetas!"

"I have forgotten something. All the same, you see the moral," Don Erminio resumed. "Merchants are cheats and use cunning tricks. One thinks one knows their plan, but one does not. One puts one's money on the wrong card and it is gone. Sailors are honest and do not get rich. Well, we will carry out our orders. That is enough for me. I have drunk some caña and in the morning my throat is bad."

Two days afterwards Mossamedes hove her anchors and steamed south. As a rule, the Trade-breeze blows steadily, but now and then its strength varies. Sometimes a little rain falls and the day is nearly calm; sometimes the wind backs north and blows hard. Mossamedes' holds were almost empty and her rolling was wild. When she plunged across the long swell, half her screw came out of the water and one heard the top blades thrash. Don Erminio followed the coast, steering as near land as he durst. He wanted to avoid the traffic, and Mossamedes, going light, did not draw much water. She was built to cross the sands at African river mouths.

One morning Kit went to the bridge. The sun was not high and the air was fresh. The wind had dropped, and the faint haze that generally softens the light and glitter when the Trade-breeze blows had vanished. The sky was a harsh, vivid blue, and the tops of the long rollers cut the horizon with sharp distinctness. They did not break, but rose and subsided, leaving here and there soft streaks of foam. For all that, the swell ran high, Mossamedes lurched about, and Kit thought wind was coming. He was bothered about it. If the wind were fresh, they could not land their dangerous cargo. The mate leaned against a stanchion and searched the sky-line with his glasses. After a time he gave the glasses to Kit.

"Look!" he said.

Kit saw a faint brown smear drawn across the sky. It was rather like a thin cloud, but he thought it smoke. When the wind is light, a steamer's smoke spreads far and floats for some time. The strange thing was, the steamer was there, inside the proper track. He glanced at Mossamedes' funnel but the last coal they had got was good and diaphanous vapour rolled astern. Kit put down the glasses and went to the captain's room. Don Erminio came out, studied the smoke, and frowned. He wore pyjamas and a shooting jacket, torn at the back.

"The animals cannot see us, but a steamer ought not to be so near the coast," he said. "Then we will soon reach the spot where we land the guns."

"Perhaps the captain takes a drink," Juan remarked.

"It is possible. When I drink much caña, my calculations are not good," Don Erminio agreed. "All the same, to run a risk is foolish. We will stop and use the lead."

After he got a sounding he changed his course three or four points east and steered obliquely for the land. In the meantime the smoke vanished and Kit went down and told Macallister to keep his fires clean. To see smoke where smoke ought not to be was disturbing, and if the others had seen Mossamedes, they would speculate about her captain's object for navigating shallow water.

When Kit went on deck again the swell had begun to break and ran ominously high. The wind was not yet strong, but it strengthened and the sky in the north was black. At noon, a sailor in the rigging thought he saw smoke again. Don Erminio went up with his glasses, but saw nothing and gave the glasses to Kit.

"The Norther begins," he said.

In the distance, a brown fog obscured the horizon and Kit knew it was a dust-storm blowing off the coast. Spray leaped about Mossamedes' forecastle, her plunges were violent and to hold on to the rigging while the mast swung was hard. They went down and soon afterwards the look-out hailed. Kit was on deck and joined Don Erminio on the bridge. When Mossamedes lifted, two masts and the top of a funnel cut the horizon. Kit thought it ominous that he saw no smoke.

The sea had got up and long, white-topped combers rolled after the ship. When her stern swung out of the water the engines ran away and their savage throbbing shook the deck. With her rudder lifted, she did not steer, and while the helmsman sweated at the wheel she yawed about until her quarters sank and the screw got hold. One could not drive her fast, but much of her side was above water and the savage wind helped. For a time the other vessel's smoke vanished in the thickening spray. Then they saw her again, sharp and distinct. The ominous thing was, they did not, as they might have expected, see her on the quarter but abeam. It was plain that when Mossamedes changed her course, or soon afterwards, the stranger had changed hers.

"The French gunboat!" Don Erminio said and clenched his fist. "Somebody has sold us."

Going to the compass, he got the other's bearing, and Kit marked his coolness. When the strain was steady the captain did not tear his hair. He took Kit and the mate to the chart-room, and a few moments afterwards Macallister came up. The rules of the British liners were not used on board Mossamedes, and Don Erminio spread a chart on the table. Then he lighted a cigarette and indicated the steamer's course along, but converging on, the coast.

"The wady is not far ahead," he remarked and put a pin in the spot. "To cross the shoals might be dangerous and I doubt if our anchor would hold. However, if we do not cross, the animal will soon be nearer."

It was obvious when the captain sketched a triangle, of which the gunboat occupied the apex and Mossamedes' course was the base. In order to clear the shoals she must shorten the base and, steaming out, lessen the distance between them; if she turned and steamed the other way the gunboat would come down obliquely and cut her line. The long chase is the stern chase, but Mossamedes could not make off like this because she was jambed against the coast. Two things were plain: the Frenchman commanded the faster vessel and had well chosen her position.

"The Jew has sold us, but just now it is not important," Don Erminio resumed. "We cannot long run away from the French animal, but I have a plan. We will throw the guns overboard and wait for him."

He looked at Kit, who hesitated for a few moments. The captain's plan had marked advantages and some drawbacks. For one thing, the guns were valuable and if they were sacrificed Wolf must front a heavy loss. Moreover, if they were not delivered, the tribes with whom he traded would refuse to trust him again. This counted for much, but Kit was not altogether thinking about Wolf. His rule was to do what he undertook, and to do so now might baffle the man who had cheated him.

"I think not," he said. "Our business is to deliver our cargo. If Yusuf has plotted with the Frenchman, we must spoil the plot, and I don't know a better plan than to carry out his orders. He sent us south to land the guns and we will land them. It will soon be dark, and if we get across the shoals there is some shelter behind the sands. Revillon durst not cross."

"Buen' muchacho!" said the captain and looked at Macallister. "It will be dark at six o'clock. Can we keep in front?"

Macallister knitted his brows. "I'll no' say it's easy. When the screw's jumping oot o' water ye cannot get much grip to shove her along. For a' that, yon stump-tail gunboat will jump worse, and the old engine's good. If she does not shake off her screw, I'll keep ye ahead."

Kit began to translate, but the captain smiled. "Me, I know the English. Don Pedro good ol' sport. Bueno; muy bueno! I jump much en caballo; now I jump the sandbank. If the other thinks he catch us, we drown the animal."

Kit thought it possible. Mossamedes was built with heavy bottom frames to bump across African river bars, and was going light. He imagined the gunboat's draught was some feet more than hers. All the same, the thing was risky. If Mossamedes touched the sand she might not come off.

"It is good! I go for Miguel Sænz," Juan, the mate, agreed.

CHAPTER XI
MIGUEL TAKES CONTROL

So far, Miguel steered by compass. Don Erminio had changed his course and headed obliquely for the shoals. It was not the course the gunboat's captain would expect him to steer. Revillon, no doubt, imagined the line along which Mossamedes travelled inclined at a small angle out to sea, in order to clear the hammered sands, and he could steam down from his commanding position and cut her off. The line, however, really slanted the other way. Dark clouds obscured the sky, the light was bad, and the driving spray made accurate observation hard. Kit thought Don Erminio's plan was good, but longed for dark.

Sometimes he saw the gunboat's masts, and sometimes, when a comber lifted Mossamedes, he saw her hull. She was getting indistinct and dusk was not far off. Kit imagined she flew some signals, but one need not bother about the flags. Revillon could not launch a boat, and there was not much use in shooting from a rolling platform at a mark that for the most part could not be seen. Besides, Kit thought Revillon would not use his guns. Commanding the faster vessel, his plan was to pin Mossamedes to the coast and when the gale blew out come on board and search her. Then, if the cargo was not jettisoned, she might perhaps be seized. Kit did not know much about international rules, but if he threw the guns overboard, Revillon would after all win the game. Guns lying at the bottom of the sea could not be landed in Africa.

Kit felt his youth and responsibility. Standing for his employer, he had urged the captain to hold on to the cargo. Yusuf's treachery had made him savage; he felt he had been cheated like a child, but this was not all. Kit did not mean to let the cunning brute rob his master. He was Wolf's man and his business was to guard his interests. Moreover, he was moved unconsciously by inherited stubbornness. He had engaged to land the guns and was going to do so.

In the meantime he thought his luck strange. Not long since he was a humble shipping clerk, occupied by tame, conventional duties; now he was a smuggler, breaking rules ambassadors and men like that had drawn. All the same, in a way, the adventure was not romantic. There was no shooting, and for the most part one could not see the pursuing ship. Before long, Kit hoped, one could not see her at all. The risk was rather from the sea than the gunboat. For all that, Kit knew two men bore a heavy strain; Macallister on his reeling platform, guarding his engines from sudden shock; and Miguel at the wheel. When Kit looked into the pilot-house the quartermaster's pose was rigid, his mouth was hard, and his eyes were fixed on the revolving compass. Steam pulled across the rudder, but one must use nerve and sound judgment to hold Mossamedes straight.

By and by another man climbed the ladder and went into the pilot-house. Miguel came out and joined the captain. He looked slack, as if he felt the reaction now the strain was gone, and held on by the rails while he looked about. Kit saw his cotton clothes were stained by sweat; the wind blew the thin material against his skin. He wore a tight red knitted cap, and the spray beat upon his face. The captain talked, and gesticulated when the turmoil of the sea drowned his voice.

The light was going fast and the gunboat had melted into the gloom, but her smoke rolled in a thick black trail across the water. It looked as if she were steaming hard and Revillon did not try to hide his advance. Kit wondered whether he imagined he had pinned Mossamedes against the shoals and meant to shorten the distance in order not to lose her in the dark. Mossamedes made no smoke; Macallister kept his fires thin and clean and it was important that the gunboat's smoke was now on her quarter. This indicated that Revillon did not know she had swung off a few points and steered for the land.

Kit waited until the ship went up on a comber's back, and then looked ahead. The sea was angrier. Some distance in front were broad white belts where the rollers broke in savage turmoil. Between the belts Kit thought he saw a gap, in which the seas were regular. In the distance a brown haze indicated a dust storm raging about the point. One might find some shelter behind the point, but not much.

High-water was near, and although on the open Atlantic coast the rise of tide is not marked, the moon was new and one might perhaps expect an extra fathom's depth. Then, if Mossamedes could get across to the pool, when the ebb began to run the sands would lie like a breakwater between her and the sea. Kit rather doubted if she could get across. One could see no marks, the captain durst not stop for proper soundings and the hand-lead, used from a platform that constantly changed its level, was not much guide.

All the same, it looked as if old Miguel meant to try. For a few moments he stood with his eyes fixed ahead and his lean, upright figure at an angle with the slanted bridge; then he turned and went into the wheel-house. His slackness was gone, his movements were somehow resolute. The other man came out of the house, and Kit saw Macallister at the top of the ladder. Holding on by rails, the engineer looked about.

"If Miguel's saint is watching now we'll no' be independent and refuse his help." he said. "For a' that, there's a line in the Vaya that betther meets our bill——"

He misquoted from the sailing permit of the Spanish correo, but Kit knew the line and, with the raging shoals ahead, owned its force. When one fronted the fury of the sea, words like that meant much.

"The mill's good and running weel, but if Miguel's no' sure and steady, there's no much use in my keeping steam," Macallister resumed. "The bit spark o' human intelligence ootweighs a' the power that's bottled in my furnaces. I dinna see what's to guide him, but maybe the old fella thinks like a baccalao."

"Baccalao is salt fish," said Kit.

"It was swimming before it was sautit," Macallister rejoined. "Then ye dinna get fish in deep water; they seek their meat in the channels and the tides that run across the sands. Weel, Miguel has his job. I'll away to mine."

He went down the ladder, but Kit clung to the rails. He had not a job; his part was played when he urged Don Erminio to steer for the land, and now as he watched the white seas curl and break he knew his rashness. The steamer's course was a zig-zag; with the savage wind on her quarter, her bows swerved about. All Miguel could do was to let one divergence balance the other. In front was an ominous white crescent, running back into the dark, but broken by a gap in the middle. A man, strapped outside the bridge, hove the lead, but this was an obvious formality, because if he got shallow water Mossamedes could not steam out. If Miguel tried to bring her round, she would drive, broadside on, against the hammered sands.

There was no smoke astern. Revillon, no doubt, had seen the surf and hauled off, but Mossamedes went inshore fast. The horns of the crescent enclosed her and Kit no longer saw a gap. The sea was all a white turmoil and furious combers rolled up astern. One felt them run forward, as if they travelled up an inclined plane, and the ship rode dizzily on their spouting crests. Then for a time Kit saw nothing. Foam enveloped Mossamedes, her deck vanished, and he was beaten and blinded. He could hold on, but this was all; the spray came over the wheel-house like a cataract. Kit knew Mossamedes was swinging round because the wind now blew across the house.

The plunges got less violent and the spray was thinner. One saw the iron bulwarks, and the winches in the forward well, about which an angry flood washed. At the end of the bridge, Don Erminio's figure, looking strangely slanted, cut the sky. Mossamedes had run through the gap and was in deeper water behind the sands. Yet the water was not all deep. Another shoal occupied part of the basin and Kit tried to recapture its bearings as he had noted them when he went fishing in the boat. He found he could not. When the light was strong and the swell slow, one could judge distance and know the depth by the changing colour and the measured line of foam. Now there was nothing but foam that tossed in the dark.

Mossamedes forged ahead, and Kit wondered whether Don Erminio knew where he went. On the whole, he thought the captain did not know; sometimes one must blindly trust one's luck. She came round again, lurched by the turmoil on a sand, and steamed head to wind. Then Miguel came to the door of the wheel-house.

"We are arrived, señor!"

Don Erminio signed to the leadsman, who swung the plummet round his head and let go.

"Good! We have water enough," said the captain, and rang the telegraph.

The reversed engines shook the ship and the anchor plunged. She stopped, and but for the roar of the breakers all was quiet. Somehow Miguel had brought her across the sands. When she dragged out her cable the guns were hoisted up and put near the gangway, where, if needful, one could heave the boxes overboard. Miguel cleared the cargo launch ready for launching and they stripped the covers from a lifeboat.

Since they had brought their dangerous cargo to the spot agreed, Kit was resolved it must be landed. To carry out Yusuf's orders was perhaps the best plan to defeat his treachery, and Kit thought his doing so had a touch of humour. He felt he would like to see Yusuf again, but he need not bother much about Revillon. The Frenchman had chased Mossamedes and lost her; if he returned at daybreak, he would not venture across the sands. Anyhow, they could get rid of the evidence against them soon after they saw the gunboat's smoke. All the same, Kit meant to land the guns.

When all was ready he went to the engineers' mess-room and smoked. He was highly strung and could not sleep, but to wait for daybreak was hard. The gunboat might arrive and he doubted if the cargo launch could cross the surf. One must run some risk, but he was not going to drown his men. He heard the wind, although its roar was dulled by other noises. Then Mossamedes rolled, the water in her bilges splashed about, chains clanged on deck, and one heard hammers and shovels in the stokehold. Strange echoes rolled about the empty iron hull.

Now and then Don Erminio came down and talked about shooting rabbits; sometimes Macallister pulled back the curtain, lighted his pipe, and philosophised, but did not stop long. Barefooted firemen and sailors flitted along the alleyway; it looked as if nobody could rest. At length, when Kit's mouth was parched from smoking, he got up, shivered, and turned off the light. A pale glimmer pierced the glass, and putting on a thick jacket, he went on deck.

Day was breaking and it was cold. The wind was dropping, but the swell ran high, and the sand blew from the point like a brown fog. Under the fog were white lines of surf. By and by Don Erminio climbed the rigging and Kit joined him where the steel shrouds got narrow. The mast swung, carrying them with it in a reeling sweep, until they could have dropped into the sea. In the meantime the light had got stronger and presently Don Erminio gave the glasses to Kit. So far as one could see, nothing broke the horizon.

"It is good," said Don Erminio. "The animal is gone. We will get to work."

CHAPTER XII
THE RETREAT TO THE BOAT

When he had gone two or three miles, the Berbers, stating that they would bring the chief, left two of their party and vanished with the loaded camels among the stones. Kit rather thought the two who stopped were meant for guards. They carried long guns and refused to talk to the interpreter. After waiting for some time, Kit began to get disturbed. Since he had left some men on board the launch, his party was not large and carried no weapons but their long Spanish knives. Moreover the yellow haze round the sun and the pillars of sand that span about the wady indicated a dust storm not far off. If the wind freshened much, the launch could not ride in the surf. Kit resolved he would not stop long, and lighting a cigarette began to ponder.

They had not seen the gunboat. It looked as if Revillon imagined Mossamedes had got away in the dark and was searching the coast for her. He would, no doubt, come back, but since the incriminating cargo was landed this was not important. Perhaps Revillon had come back. The sea was hidden by the hot, stony banks, and Kit was tired and languid; to climb to the parched table land was too much effort. He began to think about the rifles. So far, the tribesmen had brought the sheep and camels they had agreed to deliver; now it looked as if they thought they had been cheated. This was strange, but Kit remembered that none of his friends trusted Wolf. He must see the chief and if possible satisfy the fellow. All the same, he would not wait much longer. Don Erminio would get disturbed, and the wind was rising. If nobody arrived when his cigarette was smoked, he would start.

"They are sulky fellows," he said, indicating the Berbers.

"The Moors are very bad people," Miguel agreed. "When a baccalao schooner is wrecked on the coast one does not see the crew again. It is possible all are not drowned, but they vanish."

Kit looked at the Berbers and thought their quietness sinister. Their dark faces were inscrutable, and they did not move. One could hardly distinguish them from the stones.

"This time they bring no sheep or camels," Miguel resumed meaningly.

"It is strange," said Kit. "We have brought them rifles, but perhaps they have already paid for the lot."

"Some day they will get the rifles without payment," remarked Juan, the mate. "So long as they expect another lot, they are honest, but when they get all they want they will cut your throat. They will not cut mine; I have had enough. Señor Wolf is clever, but the game is dangerous. If he cheats, you will pay."

Kit looked at Simon, who knitted his brows. "I do not altogether understand, but they are angry. Something is not as they had thought."

The haze about the sun was thicker. Puffs of fiery wind blew down the wady, a whirling pillar of dust broke and fell near the group, and the distant rumble of the surf got loud. It was very hot and the men were languid, but a sailor pulled a knife with an ornamented handle from his sleeve and began to sharpen it on his belt. Kit's cigarette had burned to a stump, and he looked at his watch. Juan got up.

"Vamos! We start now," he said. "Señor Wolf knows much; he stops at Las Palmas and if his customers carry us off, it is our affair."

One of the Berbers began to talk in an angry voice but they set off, and to start was some relief to Kit. Standing for his employer, he felt himself accountable for his party, and he had waited long enough. In fact, he wondered whether he had not waited too long, since the rising surf might force the launch to return to the ship. Now he was going, he wanted to go fast, but for a time did not. He was tired, the heat was enervating, and the path was rough. Big stones lay about the dry river bed, and the gaps were filled by soft sand, in which one's feet sank. Besides, it was prudent to use control. The others were obviously disturbed, and he must make an effort for calm.

For all that, when the sand began to blow down the wady his speed got faster. The dust stuck to his hot skin and gathered on his eyelashes. He could not see properly and his breath was laboured, but when a sailor in front began to run he kept up. He frankly did not want to be left behind. Perhaps it was imagination, but he began to feel as if somebody followed him.

Turning his head, he looked about. He saw big stones and clumps of tamarisk, but this was all. The dust might hide the Berbers' camels, and a camel travels faster than a tired man. The strange thing was, although he had gone up the wady to meet the Berbers, he now wanted to reach the launch before they arrived. Kit admitted he was not logical, but to know the launch might have gone bothered him.

At length the wady got wider, and peering through the dust-cloud, he saw the sea. The launch had not gone and the lifeboat was coming from the steamer. Kit thought this strange, since the launch would carry all, but perhaps Don Erminio had sent to find out why they had not returned. The surf was high and a man on board the launch stood up and waved his arms, as if he signalled the party to be quick. Then the dust got very thick and boats and surf vanished. Juan shouted, but Kit did not hear what he said. They were all running as fast as possible, slipping and stumbling across the stones.

They reached the open beach and the dust rolled by. For a few moments the view was clearer and Kit saw the man on the launch was not waving to him; he signalled to the lifeboat. Looking back, Kit understood. Camels were coming down the wady. Then the dust rolled up again and he saw nothing.

Breathing hard, he laboured across the beach. The sailors had paid out cable and the launch, with her bows to the breakers, tossed about in the surf. In a few moments he would reach her, but somebody behind seized him. He staggered and tried to turn; and then a sailor swerved and jumped. Kit saw the Spanish knife shine and next moment he was free. He plunged into the water and the launch's stern struck the sand close by. A broken sea rolled in and men jumped overboard. They carried oars and knives, for the baccalao fishers' quarrel with the Moors is old. Kit seized the launch's tiller, a thick bar of African oak.

Men with darker skins than the Spaniards were in the water, but so far as Kit could see, they did not shoot. It looked as if they meant to capture the party. Kit, however, could not see much. Dust and sand rolled across the beach and the spray was thick. The launch was half swamped and he thought the Berbers would hold her until the surf beat in her bilge. Long oars and stretchers swung, Miguel used an iron anchor-stock, and the mate, crouched like a cat on the stern, thrust with his knife. Perhaps the struggle had gone on for a minute when the white lifeboat rode in on a comber's top. She swung to her anchor and Don Erminio jumped overboard. To come ashore was not the captain's business, but Don Erminio was a sportsman.

For the next few moments the struggle was savage, but Kit did not know much about it. He was knocked down and washed against the lifeboat. His head hurt, he could not get on his feet, and the surf rolled him up and down the beach. Then, when he was going out with the backwash, somebody dragged him on board, and while he lay in the water under the thwarts he was dully conscious that the boat was off the beach. He knew this because she lurched violently, but did not strike the sand. Spray blew about and the tops of the seas splashed across the gunwale. She made slow progress and Kit thought all the oars were not manned.

Crawling aft under the rowers' feet, he seized a thwart and pulled himself up. Don Erminio lay on the sternsheets and groaned. His face was very white and his leg was not its proper shape. The launch laboured across the combers some distance off. Kit pushed a man from the tiller and told him to row. His head ached, but he could steer.

They were long pulling off to Mossamedes, and then were forced to wait for some minutes. She rolled, lifting her bilge-keels out of the water, and one must watch for a chance to hook on the tackles. At length a broken sea, smaller than the others, lifted the boat and Kit seized the swinging hook. The bowman was quick and got the other hook, a winch rattled, and the big boat went up. She struck the steamer's plates, but did not stop, and in a few moments the swivelling davits dropped her on the skids. Macallister and a steward lifted out the captain, and Kit went aft to see the launch hove up. Then he went to his room and for a time knew nothing more.

He was roused by Macallister's bathing his face, and gave him a dull look.

"I'm thinking ye'll no be very bonny for a week or two," the engineer remarked. "For a' that, ye're luckier than the captain."

"Is Don Erminio hurt?" Kit asked.

"His legs and some ribs are broken; maybe he was washed aneath the launch. But yon's no a'. When the boats came off Juan and Miguel were not on board."

Kit lifted himself awkwardly and leaned against the back of his bunk. His head ached horribly and his brain was dull, but he felt the throb of engines and heard water flow along the plates. Mossamedes was steaming hard and he must get up. He got his leg across the ledge, and then Macallister pushed him firmly back.

"Ye'll bide! Felix and I have work enough wi' the captain and two or three mair."

"But you must stop her. I'm going back for Miguel."

"Ye cannot go back. I dinna ken how we won out."

"Ah!" said Kit, who felt the steamer's regular rise and fall. "She has crossed the shoals?"

"It looks like that. When I stopped to use the big lead, we got good water."

"But who took her out? Miguel's not on board."

"Sometimes ye must trust your luck," Macallister replied. "Before the lifeboat went away Don Erminio hove the cable short, and when ye brought him off, unconscious, I broke the anchor out. There's no' a sound plank in the launch, the lifeboat's sternpost's smashed, and the sea was getting up. If Juan and Miguel are living, the Moors have carried them off. Weel, since the second mate is damaged, I reckoned my job was to get back to Grand Canary. I sent Salvador to the wheel, started the mill, and let her gang."

"You went across blind?" Kit exclaimed with dull surprise.

"Just that! She hit the bottom, but came off and we got no extra water in the wells."

The thing looked impossible; Kit had thought nobody but Miguel could steer Mossamedes across the shoals. For all that, her even movements indicated that she had reached open sea, and Kit tried to brace himself.

"But if the captain and second mate are knocked out, we haven't a navigator, and Grand Canary's small."

"Ye have a good engineer and a crew o' baccalao fishermen," Macallister rejoined. "I alloo Grand Canary's small, but it's high, and ye can see the Peak o' Teneriffe over a hundred miles. Weel, I ken where we started and put over the patent log. When ye steer for an archipelago ye needna bother about a few degrees."

Kit nodded. Six high volcanic islands rise from deep water, and Mossamedes' crew had manned the fishing schooners. On a short voyage one could navigate by dead-reckoning.

"I'll away and look at the captain," Macallister resumed. "If ye'll no promise to lie quiate until I let ye up, I'll lock ye in."

Kit promised, because he doubted if he could get out of his bunk, and when Macallister had gone he turned awkwardly and looked at the glass on the wall. A purple mark crossed his swollen forehead, and his jaw was cut. Somebody had knocked him down with a gun, or perhaps he had got under the plunging boat. All his body felt battered. For a few minutes he leaned against the side of his bunk, and then slipped back and went to sleep.