Kit Musgrave's Luck

PART III
KIT FINDS HIS LEVEL

CHAPTER I
ILLUMINATION

Señora Diaz was comforted. Kit was young, but he looked very resolute and capable. Something in his quiet voice gave her confidence.

"Vaya con Dios!" she said and let him go.

Kit felt the señora had not used conventionally the polite good-bye; anyhow he had not given her an empty promise. He was going to find her husband, and Wolf was going to help. If it were necessary, Kit meant to force him, for he had noted that Cayman was in the harbour ready for sea. Wolf must charter her in the next hour or two, and she must sail before the Commandante knew about the fight on the beach. Responsibility had developed Kit and brought into action qualities he had not altogether known were his. He could front a crisis and saw he must front one now. Cayman was in port, and with the fresh Trade-breeze abeam, would soon reach the wady. A few resolute men might find and make some bargain with the Moors, but if a gunboat landed a strong party the tribe would vanish in the desert.

After the lonely anchorage and desolate surf-beaten coast, the noise and traffic in the streets were strange. Bright lights burned in the shops, people crowded the pavements, enjoying the cool of the evening, and Kit heard the band in the alameda. He felt he had nothing to do with the careless loungers, and their cheerful voices jarred. His load was heavy and he was highly strung.

To reach the quiet street where Wolf lived was some relief, but Kit went slowly, trying to think. He had taken Yusuf's selling them to Revillon for granted, but he doubted if this were all. Kit was satisfied Wolf had not carried out his engagements with the Moors, and since the fellow had cheated his customers he would not hesitate to betray his servants. He had used them unscrupulously, and now two might be forced to pay for his dishonesty, he must send them help.

For a few minutes Kit mused about something else. Mrs. Austin had got him the post, and it looked as if she knew Wolf was a cheat. Anyhow, Olivia knew, and she was not as clever as her sister. After he had seen Wolf, he was going to see Mrs. Austin. If there was any difficulty about Wolf's chartering Cayman, she must persuade her husband. Austin was Jefferson's partner and owned some shares in the boat.

Kit stopped at the arch that led to Wolf's patio. All was dark inside and the iron gate was fast. He rang a bell and a man crossed the flags and pulled back the heavy bolt. His face was near the bars, and Kit noted with some surprise that it was not Wolf's servant.

"What does your honor want?" he asked.

Kit said he wanted Wolf and would go to the office, but the other did not open the gate.

"Señor Wolf is not here."

"Not here! Then, where is he?" said Kit, with an effort for calm.

The other spread out his hands. "Quien sabe? Many are curious, but nobody knows. The señor went some days since. I am the landlord's servant and take care of the house."

"Ah!" said Kit sharply. "Did he leave a letter for his sobrecargo?"

"He left nothing, señor. The boxes in the office were empty. There was a heap of ashes, as if somebody had burned papers, but this was all."

Kit thanked the man and went off. He knew enough. Wolf was gone and one saw what his going meant. Numerous steamers touched at Las Palmas and the fellow had, no doubt, quietly got on board. Since he could buy his ticket from the purser, there was no use in inquiring at the steamship offices. Well, Kit must see Mrs. Austin.

The shortest way to the house was across the alameda. The band was playing, lamps burned among the dusty trees, and as Kit approached a group of people he stopped. Olivia talked to a Spanish lady, the lady's husband, two or three young Spanish girls, and some coaling clerks stood about, but when Olivia saw Kit she left the others. Going with him to a bench at a quiet spot not far off, she sat down. Kit leaned against a tree and a beam from a lamp touched his face. Olivia noted the dark bruise and the hardness of his mouth. He looked very tired and his eyes were dull.

"Why, Kit! What is the matter?" she said.

"I expect you know Wolf is gone?"

"Yes, I do know. But what does it mean?"

"For one thing, it means Wolf's a thief and I'm a trustful fool. In the meantime, perhaps, that's enough——"

"I wouldn't bother about it," said Olivia soothingly. "You look ill and you have hurt your head."

"I must bother," Kit rejoined. "I was Wolf's servant and have lost two of his men. Since I stood for their employer, in a sense the men were mine. The Moors have got them. Wolf cheated the fellows, they followed us to the boats, and there was a fight. I got on board, but all the men who'd gone with me did not. I was their leader; I ought to have gone off last."

Olivia was moved by his distress and put her hand gently on his arm.

"Oh, Kit, I'm sorry! But you're not accountable. If it had been possible to save the men you would have brought them off."

Her sympathy thrilled him. He was highly strung, and although he tried for control he was carried away.

"The voyage was disastrous; all went wrong from the start," he said. "You warned me and talked about bad luck, but I went. Perhaps I'm obstinate, but I think you knew why I did go."

Olivia turned her head and thought. She had known why he went, but it was plain the reserve he had used was gone. His control was broken and he would be frank. She liked him, but now he forced her to choose her line, she admitted this was all.

"I think you were rather ridiculous," she said, quietly looking up.

He tried to pull himself together, but could not. He had got a nasty knock.

"It looks like that!" he said in a hoarse voice. "All the same, you knew my ambition and didn't hint I was ridiculous!"

The blood came to Olivia's skin and her eyes sparkled.

To some extent she felt Kit's retort was justified, but she was modern and had pluck.

"I thought you lonely and we were pals," she said. "Did you expect me to warn you I didn't want a lover?"

"If you had warned me it would not have cost you much. Perhaps I am dull, but sometimes I do understand. I thought I might, like Austin, mend my fortune; he held my post and married your sister. You knew, and I expect you were amused. The thing was a joke! Well, sometimes I saw I was a fool, but I wasn't logical long. When you're about one isn't logical. I meant to mend my fortune."

"Are you logical now?"

Kit laughed harshly. "Oh, yes; my rashness is plain enough! You had long since resolved to refuse me all I hadn't the pluck to ask. Well, my luck is certainly not good. I have been refused before and in the meantime——"

She stopped him by a proud gesture. "You are breaking rules, Kit, and mustn't talk like this again. When you are cool you will know you ought not. What have your love affairs to do with me?"

He gave her a steady look and his face got rather white. The dark bruise was plainer and the blood left his lips.

"My rules are the rules of the humble folk to whom I belong. All the same, I might have tried to use yours had I been my proper self. Well, perhaps I deserve some punishment. I'm poor and have no talent to help me along; I let Wolf use and cheat me like a schoolboy. Then, when I met you a few minutes since, I forgot about the men I'd lost. However, I'm going back to look for them and if I find them and some time get a proper job, we'll talk about my rashness again. I'll go to Don Pancho and state I mean to ask you to marry me. You'll no doubt refuse, but my proposal will be regular, and to refuse an offer I've some right to make won't humiliate you."

Olivia thought fatigue and strain accounted for much. He had got a bad knock, and she had hurt him worse. She was half sorry and half angry, but her anger was keenest against Mrs. Austin, who had sent him on board the ship.

"You are ridiculous, Kit," she said gently. "But if you are in trouble about Wolf and the men in Morocco, go to Jacinta. I think she ought to help. That's all. You mustn't keep me. The others are curious."

She rejoined the party at the band and Kit went on to Mrs. Austin's. He agreed with Olivia, but did not stop where she stopped. Mrs. Austin was going to help. When he reached the veranda she was talking to Mrs. Jefferson, and nobody else was about. Kit remembered this was an evening on which she did not receive guests. She glanced at him with some surprise, noting his bruised face and disturbed look, and then indicated a chair.

"I don't know that you'll urge me to stop when you have heard my tale," he said. "However, is Mr. Austin or Mr. Jefferson at home?"

"Harry is at Teneriffe, and Jefferson has gone to Madeira."

"Then my luck is bad again," said Kit. "All the same, I've come to ask for something and meant to state that I expected your support. I meant to see you anyhow."

Mrs. Austin was surprised, but said nothing. Kit had not talked to her like this before. He was cool and very stern. Somehow he looked older and she wondered about the bruise.

"Very well," he resumed. "I met Miss Brown at the alameda and understand you know Wolf is gone. I did not know until I arrived, but begin to see light. It's possible his going did not surprise you. You knew he was a rogue!"

"You are taking much for granted," Mrs. Austin remarked quietly.

"Not at all," said Kit. "Your sister knew and warned me. People declare you're the cleverest woman at Las Palmas."

Mrs. Austin pondered. If Olivia had warned Kit, it was possible the girl herself did not know as much as her elder sister had thought. About Betty, for example.

"Well?" she said.

"I'll tell you my story," Kit replied, and narrated his adventures after landing the guns.

"I begin to see," Mrs. Austin remarked. Then, for her line of argument was sometimes not very obvious, she resumed: "You met Olivia not long since by the band?"

"That is so," Kit replied with some dryness. "All the same, you have no grounds to be disturbed; Miss Brown knows my drawbacks. In fact, when you persuaded Wolf to give me the post your meddling wasn't necessary. But you did get me the post, although you doubted Wolf. This is important!"

At Las Palmas Mrs. Austin was a great lady, and Kit had gratefully owned his debt to her. Now he took another line; a line that nobody she knew durst use. For all that she was sorry for Kit. He looked ill and worn; she saw that losing the men weighed hard on him.

"Suppose I admit I sent you to Wolf?" she said. "You feel you are entitled to blame me because your adventure was not fortunate?"

"Not at all; my object's not to blame you," said Kit. "When I took the post I thought you kind. To find out that all you wanted was to get me away from Las Palmas hurt. However, we won't bother about this——"

He paused. Mrs. Austin's calm was beginning to embarrass him. In fact, there was something very dignified about her quietness, although she admitted that her plotting had cost him much. Kit, however, braced himself.

"I meant to see you before I saw Mr. Austin," he resumed. "I'm going back for the men and must get a boat at once. If the Commandante knew I was going he wouldn't let me sail, and he will know soon. Cayman's ready for sea and you must lend me her."

Mrs. Austin smiled. "I don't think your argument is altogether sound. Cayman belongs to my husband and Jefferson and they are away."

"All that's Mr. Austin's is yours, and Mrs. Jefferson is here."

"I imagine I can promise for my husband," Mrs. Jefferson remarked.

"Very well," said Mrs. Austin. "You may have the boat. I will give you a letter for the captain."

She went off, and Mrs. Jefferson turned to Kit. "Have you seen Betty?"

Kit started. He had forgotten Betty; he was again a fool. She would understand his troubles and would sympathise. He was persuaded she would agree he ought to go.

"I'd like to see her, but I cannot," he said. "We must sail at daybreak, and I have much to do. All I can think about is getting back to Africa. But, if you will tell her why I didn't go to the office——"

Mrs. Jefferson smiled. Betty had qualities, but Mrs. Jefferson doubted if she would approve Kit's sending another to tell his tale. She said nothing, and Mrs. Austin presently returned and gave Kit an envelope.

"This is an order for the captain. Your adventure's rash, and I really ought not to agree," she said. "For all that, I wish you luck!"

Kit thanked her and when he went down the steps Mrs. Austin looked at Mrs. Jefferson.

"If he wrecks Cayman or the crew get hurt I shall have some trouble with Harry. Sometimes he is firmer than people think."

Mrs. Jefferson smiled. "On the whole I imagine Jake will approve. Perhaps Kit was rude, but in a way he was rather fine. He won't wreck the boat, and I expect he will get the men. Kit is good stuff. However, I suppose you're satisfied you were entitled to meddle?"

"About Olivia? Yes, so far as that goes, my plan was good. My father was a steamship steward and began business at Las Palmas by selling tobacco on board the ships. All the same, Kit Musgrave is not Olivia's sort. If she doesn't know this now, he and she would soon find it out. Well, I'm going to be firm."

"I doubt if firmness is indicated," Mrs. Jefferson rejoined with a twinkle. "Sometimes the best plan is to leave things alone."

CHAPTER II
"CAYMAN'S" START

"Your men will stop on board. They are Señor Jefferson's servants, and the job is mine. When I land three or four from the steamer will go with me."

"We will talk about this again. But you had anchored behind the sands and had lost Miguel. How did you get to sea?"

"I don't know," said Kit. "I was in my bunk and Don Erminio was in his, but we did get to sea. I understand Don Pedro took control."

The captain laughed. "El maquinista? Ave Maria! Señor, for a good sailor who is not a fisherman the thing was impossible! But I know Don Pedro. I have seen him dance, strange dances of the North, at the wineshop by the mole. Some say he is mad. All the same, the steamer is not wrecked. Ma!"

Kit stopped him. It looked as if Macallister's friends were numerous, but there was much to be done and he rowed the captain to the port office and left him to file his papers. One could not, without complying with some formalities, sail before daybreak, and Kit thought to send to the ayutante's house was risky.

Engaging a tartana, he went to see Don Erminio. The captain's small house smelt of salt fish, garlic, and burned olive oil, and Señora Martinez received Kit in the court. She was fat and her brown skin was thickly powdered.

"You will not excite my husband," she said. "When he is ill he is sometimes difficult, and he has had a dispute with the doctor."

She took Kit up the outside stairs and along a balcony to a small, hot room. Don Erminio occupied the old-fashioned bed, and when Kit came in looked up with a savage frown, but the frown vanished.

"I thought it was the animal of a doctor coming back," he remarked. "Me, I am a sailor, and he will not let me drink! The anisado was on the table, he put the bottle in his pocket, and I could not get up. Then he looked in the cupboard. The animal is cunning, but another time I put the bottle under the bed. However, the Moors have got Juan and Miguel. We must do something!"

Kit stated his plans and the captain signed approval. He was tightly bandaged and could hardly move his head.

"It is very good. But you will take Don Pedro?"

"I think not. In fact, he does not know I am going."

The captain urged, but Kit was firm. Caution and tact were indicated, and although Macallister was generally cool, his coolness often masked a freakish rashness.

"Very well," Don Erminio agreed at length. "Sometimes Don Pedro is humorous, but the Moors are not people with whom one jokes. I will lend you my gun."

He signed to Señora Martinez, who brought the old pinfire gun and gave it to Kit.

"The gun is good. If you are careful she will not go off before you want, but you must not shake her," he resumed, and frowned when he saw the mark on the box of cartridges. "What is this?" he asked his wife. "Bring the number B. Señor Musgrave does not shoot the rabbit."

Señora Martinez got another box and Don Erminio nodded. "It is good! If Pepe has used the proper measure, she will kill a Moor at twenty yards. But you must not shake her. The hammer-spring is loose."

Kit thanked him and soon afterwards went off. He had taken the gun in order to indulge the captain, since it was obvious that when he met the Moors he could not use force. For all that, he had not a pistol and to some extent the old gun might give him moral support.

When he was rowed across the harbour he heard a guitar badly played, and jumping down from Cayman's bulwarks saw Macallister sitting under the anchor light. The engineer held the guitar awkwardly, and the sailors sat round and laughed.

"Hallo!" Kit said, frowning. "Why have you come on board?"

"Ye're a dour, crabbit Englishman and no' as clever as ye think," Macallister rejoined. "Ye had not been gone ten minutes when I kenned what ye were after and reckoned I had got to see ye oot. Ye didna ken I talk Aver-r-rack?"

"I doubt it now," said Kit and Macallister beckoned the interpreter, who had come on board with him.

"Ye shall judge, Adjia Simonidas."

"Is this Arabic? It sounds like Greek," said Kit.

"Simon's from Aleppo," Macallister rejoined. "When ye trade in the Levant, ye use Arabic, Turkish, Italian and Greek, and whiles ye mix the lot. There's no' a sailor's café between Suez and Smyrna I dinna ken. But ye're a doubting creature. Weel, Simon——"

He began to talk and the interpreter leaned against the mast and laughed.

"He is truly droll," Simon remarked in French. "But I think he is safe with the Moors. Good Moslems believe that Allah guards such as him."

Kit lighted a cigarette. He had undertaken an awkward job and was sternly serious. Mack was, of course, a good sort, but when he was not engaged in the engine-room his talents were for something like comic opera. Kit would frankly sooner he had stopped on board Mossamedes. For all that, he had known Mack's reckless humour useful when sober thought was not, and he must be resigned. Mack was on board and would not go back.

When Kit had smoked his cigarette he got two of the men to wash Cayman's boat and rowed across the harbour to a coaling wharf. The clerks had gone, but Kit knew how the hose key worked and brought back the boat loaded with fresh water as deep as she would float. Then he looked at his watch and going to the patron's small cabin tried to sleep.

The rattle of chain woke him and he went on deck. Day was breaking and a cold wind blew off the land. Mist rolled about the mountains and in the background Las Palmas glimmered against dark volcanic rocks. Its outline was blurred and the white houses were indistinct; the town looked ghostly and unsubstantial. In the harbour, steamers with gently-swaying masts floated on the smooth swell. Nobody moved about their decks and all was very quiet but for the surf that beat against the mole.

Some of the crew began to hoist the mainsail. They moved slackly, as if they were half-asleep, their bare feet made no noise, and Kit liked to hear the thud of the canvas they threw off the boom. Then blocks began to rattle, and when the gaff was up the sail flapped in the wind. They left the peak hanging and went forward to hoist the jib. The noise of running wire and chain halyard was cheerful, and Kit tried to rouse himself.

There is something that moves the imagination about a large steamer leaving port. One gets a sense of organised effort, of force in man's control and the triumph of his inventions. Kit had vaguely felt that the correillo's sailing with the mails on board was, so to speak, a social function of some importance to all. To mark a mail-boat's departure by a gun or detonating rocket was proper. But Cayman's start was flat and dreary. She must steal out of harbour lest she be stopped; and Kit, shivering in the cold wind, was daunted.

He had left his ship without leave and Macallister had frankly run away. They had broken useful rules and would, no doubt, lose their posts, but this did not much bother Kit. He had undertaken a job that, so far as he could see, he could not carry out. In fact, the thing was ridiculous. The Moors were fierce and cunning desert thieves, and he was going to force them to agree with him. He knew no arguments they would admit, and his only protection was Don Erminio's old pinfire gun.

Kit felt his youth, but his inheritance counted for much. His code was the Puritans', and its rude simplicity had advantages. One must do this because it was proper; the other was not. There was no use in arguing when one knew what was right. Kit saw his duty and, if it cost him something, he must pay. All the same, he shrank. To do what he ought might cost much.

Cayman rode to a buoy and when the jib was sheeted they brought the mooring aft and let her swing. The patron went to the long tiller and wore her round, and the slack mainsail lurched across. Then all went to the peak halyard and Kit's spirits rose. The rattle of blocks was cheerful; he liked to see the straining figures rise and fall. The men's laboured breath and rhythmic movements gave him a bracing sense of effort.

Cayman stole between a big cargo boat and a passenger liner, and by contrast with their lofty hulls looked absurdly small. When she began to list the water was nearly level with her covering board. The list got sharper, she forged past the end of the mole and her bowsprit splashed in the high, green swell. The patron studied the mist that rolled about the mountains and turned to Kit.

"The wind blows up there and we will get it when we get the sun. Well, we must drive her off the coast before the Commandante knows why we have gone. I think we will not steer the usual course."

They ran up the staysail and set the mizzen. Cayman leaped forward and the spray blew from her plunging bows. Her white wake trailed across the tops of the seas astern, and the water that bubbled through the scuppers crept up her lee deck. For all that, the captain was not satisfied and he looked to windward, knitting his brows.

"One can see far with the telescope from the Isleta signal station," he remarked. "The mist is clearing. We will risk the topsail."

The big sail was hoisted and Cayman's list got very sharp. One could not see how far the water crept up her inclined deck, because a sparkling cascade splashed across her weather bow and swelled the flood. They had hauled her on the wind and her channels dragged in the foam. One heard the wire shrouds hum and the masts groan, and now and then a sea rolled aft and broke against the boat on deck. For all that, the captain held on, and when the sun rose Grand Canary had melted into the silver mist.

CHAPTER III
THE WADY

The country was strangely desolate, but was not the level, sandy desert Kit had thought. In fact, there was not much sand, and in spots it looked as if the soil was sometimes cultivated. The bank behind Kit's camp was sharply cut as if by an angry torrent, but since he had left the beach he had not seen water. There was not a rabbit or a partridge, although in the dry Canaries rabbits haunt the stony ravines and red-legged partridges run in the prickly pear. Nothing but a pair of buzzards, floating very high up, had crossed the sky.

Half closing his eyelids, Kit looked about. Strange reflections quivered across the stones and distant objects were magnified. In the foreground, the light was dazzling, and the hollow melted into a luminous belt of brown and yellow. A euphorbia bush with stiff, thick stalks, however, was harshly green and looked like a house, although it was but four or five feet high. The euphorbia puzzled Kit; in a country where one found no water, its stalks were tender with milky sap. He glanced at his companions. Their cotton clothes had gone yellow, their skin was brown, and he thought one could not distinguish them a short distance off. An hour since he imagined somebody had looked out from behind a stone. Although he wanted to meet the Berbers, he did not want to think they cautiously followed his track.

He mused about the barrenness of the country. At Lanzarote, sixty miles from the African coast, it sometimes did not rain for six or eight months, and then, when the concrete cisterns were nearly dry, it rained in floods. Perhaps it was like that in Morocco; sheep and camels could not live if it did not rain at all. Kit began to think about the good bishop who used all his fortune to send the people of Lanzarote water.

A sailor shouted, and Kit jumped up. A cloud of dust rolled down the wady, and in the dust, about sixty yards off, men on camels rode for the camp. Kit watched their advance with dull surprise. A few moments since he had seen nobody and a camel is a large object to hide. It looked as if the Berbers had sprung from the sand. Then he heard the humming flight of a stone and a camel swerved. A sailor laughed hoarsely and stooped to get another stone for his sling, but Kit stopped the man. He had come to meet the Berbers and they carried long guns. Had they meant to hurt him, they could have hidden behind the stones and shot the party.

For all that, when they pulled up a few yards off, his heart beat and coolness was hard. They were big, muscular fellows and the nearest looked scornfully fierce; Kit could not see the others' faces because they wore loose hoods. One or two of the Spaniards had drawn their knives, but nobody moved. The little party stood against the bank and looked at the Berbers. Then Kit braced himself and signed to the interpreter.

For a few moments Simon and one of the others talked, but the Berber's remarks were short. His pose was easy, but very still, and the long gun he balanced somehow emphasised his height. He was like a bronze and blue statue, and Kit thought his quietness forbidding. The camel moved its long neck and grunted.

"He says we must go with him," Simon remarked. "His chief is waiting. That is all."

Kit looked at Macallister, who calmly cleaned his pipe. "Aweel," he said, "ye wanted to find the Moors and ye ought to be satisfied. Yon fellow's no' for arguing. We'll just gang."

The Berber touched his camel and lifted his hand. His gesture was commanding, and when the others moved forward Kit told the Spaniards to put up their knives. The Berbers did not threaten; they pushed their camels against the bank, and the men must move or be trampled.

"Arrai!" said the leader, his camel grunted, and Kit's men set off, one behind the other between two rows of the clumsy animals.

The camels went fast, their necks moving backwards and forwards like engine piston-rods. At the bottom of the wady the heat was intolerable, and thick dust rolled up. Moreover, the ground was rough, but Kit pushed on as fast as possible. He did not think the Berbers would argue about the pace; it looked as if they thought his business was to keep up. He heard Macallister breathe hard and sometimes Simon coughed. The sailors went silently in their open rawhide shoes, the Berbers said nothing, and one could not hear the camels' feet. In fact, all was strangely quiet, and somehow flat.

Kit had started with high resolves, but owned he had not played a romantic part. Things had not gone as he had vaguely planned; the situation, so to speak, was not in his control. His party was driven along rather like a flock of sheep. Although he had meant to negotiate with the chief, it looked as if he was the fellow's prisoner.

The wady pierced a stony hill, and in the defile the heat got worse. Kit's skin was scorched; the dust got into his nose and throat. Sometimes he could hardly see; his eyes hurt and his head ached. Nevertheless, it was obvious that he must keep up and he laboured on.

By and by the Berbers turned and climbed the side of the defile. To climb was hard, for parched soil and loose stones rolled down the slope. The camels, however, went up, and Kit saw he must keep in front of the animals behind him. The track was narrow, and it did not look as if the Berbers would stop. He could not see Macallister. Gasping men and lurching camels moved in a yellow fog.

At the top they crossed a dazzling tableland where the soil was firm, and to feel the wind was some relief. When they went down again, a few miles farther on, Kit saw prickly pear, thorny aloes, and in one spot short, white stubble, but there were no tents. The hollow was wide and ran on straight in front, until stones and dust melted into the quivering reflections. Nothing indicated that a camp was near.

The sun sank, and the camels threw grotesque shadows across the parched soil. Kit began to lose the sense of feverish heat, and although he was worn out, walking was easier. When the sky was luminous red and green the wind got cool and the camels' pace was fast. Somehow he kept up, and at length the Berbers stopped.

Dark tents dotted the wady and sheep occupied a belt of dry stubble. In places an aloe lifted a tall shaft, tamarisk and prickly pear grew on the banks, but Kit saw no palms. A few ruined stone huts, hardly distinguishable from the background, occupied a bend of the hollow, and a broken heap that might have been a watch tower on the ridge cut the sky. Kit understood the Berbers were nomads, but it looked as if somebody had long since built a village.

No excitement marked the party's arrival. The leader shouted "Foocha!" and the camels knelt; the men got down and pushed Kit and the sailors forward. Indistinct figures appeared at the tent doors, and he smelt acrid smoke. In front of the middle tent the leader stopped and a man came out.

It was getting dark, but Kit remarked that the man was not as big as the camel drivers and his skin was lighter. His mouth and jaw were covered and his blue clothes were clean. For a moment or two he studied the group and his calm glance rather annoyed Kit. All the Berbers he had met were marked by an imperturbable calm. Then the fellow said something to a camel driver, who signed the party to go with him and took them to a hut. The front was broken and the roof had fallen, but the building gave some shelter from the keen wind. By and by another man brought them a bowl of stuff like porridge, some dried meat Kit thought was goat's flesh, and dates.

"What did the sheik say to the camel driver?" he asked Simon.

"He will talk to us in the morning; this was all. If he had meant to hurt us, he would not have sent the food. When you go, call him Wazeer. It is not his title, but he will like it."

Kit doubted if the Berber would be moved by flattery, but he said: "The food is good. This porridge stuff is better than the Canary gofio. What do they call it?"

"Cous-cous," said Simon. "From Morocco to Nigeria, all food that looks like this is cous-cous. It may be made with sour milk, palm oil, or water, and roasted grain, and some is very bad. In Africa they do not use many names."

"I'm thinking to talk much would hurt them," Macallister remarked. "A very reserved people, and yon sheik's the dourest o' the lot. For a' that, when I try him wi' Avar-r-rack——"

Kit turned impatiently to the interpreter. "We have got to negotiate with the man. Since we can't buy his friendship, I don't see my line."

"To be poor is not always a drawback," Simon replied. "Perhaps it is better he does not think us rich. In Africa, one gives a present and we have some wine left. It is not good, but when one has none——"

"But a Mohammedan is not allowed to drink wine."

Simon smiled. "I will use some caution. If the headman breaks the rules, his people must not know. Those who got no wine would be horrified. In this country one uses caution always. Frankness is dangerous."

"Do you know much about the country?"

"I know something," Simon replied. "A Levantine and a Jew may go where an Englishman cannot and a Spaniard would be killed. In Egypt I was an hotel servant, in Algiers a pedlar. I have sold wine to the Legion at the outposts, and in Senegal I was major-domo for a French commandant. A small, fat man, with a theatrical dignity, but the black soldiers loved him. When they drilled well, he gave them sugar. He did not send an orderly; the commandant went along the line with the sugar in his cap. Some French are like that. Your officers are just, but one doubts if the Africans love you much. Well, in Algiers one has adventures, but in Morocco, south of Casablanca, one is lucky if one keeps one's life. If you are not bored——"

Kit said he was not bored. To listen was some relief from his gloomy thoughts, and Simon told a romantic tale. The fellow was obviously a bold and unscrupulous vagabond, but Kit did not know when his narrative stopped. He was very tired and presently his head dropped forward and his shoulders slipped down the broken wall.

When he awoke the stars were shining and it was very cold. Two sailors lay beside him and all was quiet. Kit put his head on another stone and went to sleep again.

CHAPTER IV
KIT NEGOTIATES

"Tell him I have come for the men his people carried off from the boats," said Kit.

"You thought to take them from us?"

"No," said Kit. "We knew this was impossible."

"Yet you brought a gun!"

Kit had missed the gun, but when the headman signed one of the others brought Don Erminio's old double-barrel. The Berber studied it and Kit thought him amused.

"Then you mean to buy the men?" he resumed.

Kit said he did not; he had no money, but if the men were not released, it was possible the Spanish government would send soldiers to look for them. The headman let this go and asked what his and Macallister's occupation was. Simon replied, and the other was quiet for a few moments. Then he said: "I have a better gun than yours, but sometimes it does not shoot. If this man knows machines, let him mend it."

He clapped his hands and a Berber brought Macallister a big automatic pistol.

"I doubt my luck's no' very good," Macallister remarked. "A watch I ken. When ye can grip her in a vice and have tools to pick oot the works, she need not puzzle ye lang, but a pistol ye must hold on your knee is anither job. I'm thinking there might be trouble if I spoil her. For a' that, if ye have a peseta, I'll try t'."

Kit, with some hesitation gave him the coin. He had known Macallister spoil a useful watch, and return another bearing the marks of the vice-jaws. Experimenting with watches had a strange charm for him, but sometimes he made a good job, and if he mended the pistol it might help. Macallister got to work with the coin and his big pocket knife, and the headman turned to Kit.

"I seized the men because your master cheated me. If I let them go, I will not get the goods he owes."

"You will not get the goods," Kit agreed. "My master is gone."

The headman and one of the others talked, and Simon said to Kit: "They think it is so. They have found out that Yusuf is gone. I expected something like this."

"Not long since I would have sold the men; I might have sold you all," the Berber resumed. "Now, however, this is perhaps not safe. We are not afraid of the soldiers, but we have enemies, and sometimes our neighbours take the white men's bribes."

"He is frank, but it is like that," Simon remarked. "In Africa, the white man's power is not his native soldiers. One tribe hates the next and foreign money rules the desert." He paused and shrugged. "It is possible the fellow would have sold us. Baccalao fishermen have vanished. At the wineshops the Spaniards tell stories—— But he wants to know why you bother about the sailors. They are not your servants."

Kit hesitated. He did not know the Berber's code and if he claimed his object was unselfish the fellow might think he had another. Yet he was not going to make up a plausible tale. Kit's anger was quick and hot. The brute had pondered selling white men like camels.

"Tell him I saw somebody must look for them. When his people tried to carry me off, I think one put me on board the boat. That's all," he said.

"Then, they have no rich friends who would pay you if you brought them back?" the chief asked.

"You have seen them!" Kit rejoined and indicated his companions. "They are men like these. Rich men don't labour in a steamer's boats."

The Berber gave him a thoughtful glance. Kit was angry and his naive honesty was obvious. The Berber was subtle, but it did not look as if he doubted. Kit thought he weighed something; and then he looked up with a start.

He had heard a sharp report, and a thin streak of smoke curled about the automatic pistol. Sheep ran across the stubble, a camel got up, and Kit saw a small hole in the tent.

"Noo I ken what's wrang with his gun," Macallister remarked.

Holding the pistol in front he advanced towards the Berbers. None moved and the headman's look was imperturbable. Kit wondered whether the magazine held another cartridge and hoped nobody would move. He knew Macallister. The engineer stopped opposite the headman, and for a moment their glances met. Then he held out the pistol, with the butt to the other.

"For a camel thief, ye're a trustful person," he said dryly.

Kit had not seen a Berber laugh, but when Simon translated it looked as if the headman smiled. He signalled and across the wady a man with a modern rifle got up from behind a stone and another crawled out of the sand. Kit thought they were picked shots and had marked the range. All the same, he doubted if the headman knew there was a cartridge in the magazine. Macallister, stopping by the other, opened the pistol.

"Noo," he said, "ye see——"

His lingua franca was uncouth, but when he took some pieces from the pistol with his pocket knife it looked as if the headman saw. He was obviously interested, something of his reserve vanished, and presently he signed one of the others back and Macallister sat down on the piece of carpet by his side. The engineer gave Kit a smile he understood. It was as if he had said, "Ye dinna ken old Peter yet!"

Kit mused. He had borne some strain and was languid, and the headman was occupied. It was strange, but Macallister, by luck or talent, generally took the middle of the stage. Kit was not like that, but now chance had given him a leading part, the part must be played, and he weighed the arguments he had used. He had stated that he was poor and Wolf had vanished. If the chief were satisfied about this, there was obviously no use in his holding the party for ransom or to force payment of Wolf's debt. Then he had hinted that the Spanish government might send soldiers to search the country, and the Berber admitted that he had enemies who intrigued with the white men. Kit did not know another argument; perhaps he had said enough, and he waited.

By and by the headman talked to the interpreter, who said: "He wants to know why you landed the guns when you had not brought all."

"We thought we had brought all," Kit replied. "We didn't know until the French gunboat came that Yusuf had cheated us. But he hasn't heard about the gunboat yet. You must try to make him understand."

He narrated their escape from the gunboat. The story was long, for the Berbers were not sailors and translation was difficult. Sometimes Simon hesitated, but the headman did not look impatient. His face was inscrutable and one got no hint about his thoughts. The sun got hot and the wind began to blow the dust about the wady.

At length Kit stopped and for a few moments the headman pondered.

"You might have thrown the guns into the sea, but you did not," he remarked.

"The guns were yours," said Kit. "When we knew the Jew had sold us, we resolved to deliver them. You see, we had got the camels."

The headman gave him a searching look. "If I let you have the men we took, you will be satisfied?"

"Yes," said Kit. "That is all we want."

"Very well," said the other. "Your master robbed me, but he is gone and my debt will not be paid. I will let your men go; to keep them might be dangerous." He paused, and although he did not smile, Kit imagined he was amused. "All the camels with which I paid for the guns were not mine," he went on. "Some belonged to people who are friends of the French. I will send for your men. They are not here and you must wait for two or three days."

He sent off a man to the camels and then touched Macallister.

"If you will stop with me, you shall take care of my guns and you may get rich," he said, and turned to Kit. "If you can bring me the goods I want, I will trade with you." Then he indicated the interpreter. "If this fellow comes back, we will shoot him."

He got up, signed that the audience was over, and went into his tent. Simon's eyes twinkled.

"Perhaps he thinks I know too much, and I know something. All the same, I will not come back. In Morocco one runs risks and I have not got paid. At Cairo the tourists are curious about the East and some are generous. They know Simon at the big hotel. I will return."

Kit went off to the shade of the ruined hut. Perhaps it was strange, but he trusted the haughty Berber and he had not altogether trusted Simon. On the whole, he thought the fellow's plan was good. If the tourists at Cairo were like some at Las Palmas, Simon would be a useful guide about the town at night. Kit, himself, would sooner be a robber like the dark-skinned chief. Then Macallister sat down opposite and began to clean his pipe.

"If I kent where to steal a handy bit steamboat, yon headman and me would make a bonnie pair o' pirates, but I've no' much use for camels," he remarked. "Weel. I alloo ye took a very proper line wi' him."

"I didn't see the line I ought to take. I was frank."

Macallister's eyes twinkled. "Just that! I'm no saying ye were plausible, but the headman's no' a fool; he saw ye were a simple weel-meaning body. Onyway, it's done with. We'll get off when Miguel comes."

Three days afterwards Miguel and Juan arrived, riding in a frame hung across a camel. The quartermaster got down awkwardly and stretched his arms and legs.

"But I am sore! It is like beating to windward in a plunging boat," he said and went up to Kit. "We were anxious, señor, the Moors are bad. But I did not bother very much. I knew you would come back for us, and my saint would guard you."

The blood came to Kit's skin. He said nothing, but gave Miguel his hand.

CHAPTER V
THE RETURN TO THE BEACH

He was not going to think about Olivia. She had refused him, but he had really known she would refuse. It was done with; he would be sent back to Liverpool and would not see her again. There was one comfort; Betty would stop. She was getting well and making progress; Jefferson trusted her, and her pay was good. At Liverpool he would not see Betty, but, like Olivia, she did not want him. In fact, nobody had much use for him. He had been easily cheated and had muddled all he undertook. Still, he had got Betty a good post and this was much.

After a time he imagined he ought to see the bay from the top of the bank, and telling Macallister where he was going, he went up the slope. The climb was laborious, and at the top he stopped for breath and shaded his eyes from the level rays. The sun was near the Atlantic and in its track the water was red; the broken ground about him shone like copper. Outside the crimson reflections, the sea was wrinkled and marked by thin white lines where the long rollers broke. The strong light hurt his dazzled eyes, and with a vague sense of disturbance he turned his head. When he looked again he could see the end of the point and the anchorage, but Cayman was gone.

Kit felt slack and sat down in the sand. He could not see all the bay, but a vessel could only anchor at one spot and Cayman was not there. Kit had got a very bad jolt. The food and water would hardly last for another day, the coast was an arid desert, and he did not think he could reach the camp the Berbers had left. He did not know if he hoped Cayman had been blown ashore, but if she were wrecked, the crew might have saved some stores. A mile or two farther on one ought to see the beach from the top of ground that now broke his view, and he was anxious to get there, but went down slowly. He must be cool and not alarm the others yet.

At the bottom he joined Macallister, who had waited and gave him a keen glance.

"Weel?" said the engineer.

"Cayman's not riding in the pool," Kit replied.

Macallister was quiet for a moment or two. Then he said. "We have half a gallon o' smelling water, and there are eight o' us! As a rule, I ha' no' much use for water, but I mind when we broke the condensing plant on a coolie pilgrim boat. Ye could not fill your tanks at every coaling station then. I got some water from the hot well; tasting o' copper and grease. We fed the boilers from the sea and drove her, with funnel flaming and tubes caked wi' salt. Iron burns, ye ken, unless it's clean, and I thought the softening furnaces would blow down. She was crowded fore an' aft wi' sweating, gasping coolies, and we let her gang. When we made port I swallowed maist a gallon o' lemonade, claret and ice. Man, I hear the ice tinkling against the pail!"

"To talk about it makes one thirsty and we mustn't be thirsty yet," Kit remarked, frowning. "Say nothing to the others. We'll push on for the ridge."

To push on was some relief from suspense. The rest of the party had not stopped and there was nobody but Macallister to note Kit's keen impatience. He wanted to reach the high ground that commanded the beach, because it was possible Cayman had broken her cable and driven ashore. Kit felt he must know, and the shadows got longer fast. Perhaps it would be dark before he got to the ridge. His burned skin was wet by sweat, and his breath was short, but he stubbornly laboured on.

At length he climbed a sloping bank, and from a high spot searched the bay. The sun had gone, and the red on the sky and water was fading, but behind the point Cayman's mast cut the glow. Kit's heart beat. The ketch was not at her anchorage, but she was not on the beach. He shaded his eyes and looked again.

The mast was slightly inclined; in the glimmering reflections he could hardly distinguish the boat's hull. The tide was ebbing and he thought her keel touched bottom, but there was some water under her bilge. Although the risk of hunger and thirst was gone, Kit was disturbed. When he studied the water-line on the beach, it looked as if Cayman would presently fall over on her side. On a flat, open coast, the tides do not rise much, but there was a difference of some feet in the level, and at low ebb the boat would be nearly dry.

Kit wondered whether she was damaged, because one of two things had happened. When it blew fresh Cayman had broken her cable and driven ashore; or the captain had slipped the anchor and tried to get to sea. That he had not done so was plain, but since she had not broken up, Kit imagined she lay in a hollow, sheltered to some extent by higher sands outside. To get to sea she must wait for the big tides at the new moon, and then perhaps one must land all heavy gear and ballast and put the stuff on board again when she reached the anchorage. The job would be awkward and long.

Pulling himself together, Kit went down to the wady and told the others the ketch had grounded. The tired men saw all this implied and while the light faded made the best speed they could. When they reached the beach it was dark, but the captain had kept good watch and soon after they arrived a boat came shorewards on a smooth-topped roller. Running into the water, they pushed her off and Kit presently climbed on board the ketch. Cayman's deck was sharply slanted; sometimes she lifted her lower side and one felt her bilge work in the sand. Some distance out to sea the rollers crashed upon the shoals, but the waves that broke about the ketch were small. Kit dined on salt fish, potatoes and sour red wine. In the morning he would talk to the captain; now he was very tired and must sleep.

He got up soon after daybreak and joined the captain on a plank hung over the side. A man with a mallet caulked an open seam and indicated three or four butt joints that were freshly tarred. When Kit had looked about, the captain sat down on the plank and made a cigarette.

"It blew, señor, but it blew!" he said. "When the anchor dragged we hoisted jib and mizzen, but she would not beat out. Then while we hoisted the reefed mainsail she struck. A comber threw her up the sand; we lowered all sail and let her drive, until we knew by the smoother water she had crossed the shoal. Then two anchors brought her up."

Kit nodded. "What are you going to do about it?"

"When we have caulked some seams she will not leak much, and if it does not blow again, she will lie here until the tides get high. In the meantime, we will heave out the ballast and land it on the beach. Then perhaps at the new moon we can kedge her across to the pool."

"The job will be long," said Kit. "My men must rest to-day. In the morning we will get to work."

They began at sunrise next day, but the work was hard. Cayman had been built for speed and when sail was set would not stand up without a large quantity of ballast. The ballast was iron kentledge, moulded to fit her frames, and when the floors were up the men, crouching in the dark, pulled the heavy blocks out of the bilge-water. Except for an hour or two at low tide Cayman did not lie quiet; when the water lifted her she rolled. The blocks were sent up in a sling and lowered into the boat, which did not carry much and must be rowed for half a mile across angry waves. Near the beach an anchor was dropped, and when she swung head to sea her crew jumped over and carried the iron through the surf. Sometimes they were forced to wait, and sometimes to haul off the boat.

All hands were needed, and after a day or two Kit's muscles ached and his bruised hands bled. When his limbs were cramped by crawling among the timbers in the hold, he went off in the boat, and clasping a fifty-six-pound lump of iron laboured up the hammered beach. Sometimes a roller, frothing round his waist, urged him on, and sometimes he stopped and braced himself against the backwash. The bottom was not firm; gravel and sand rolled up and down and buried his sinking feet. Moreover, he knew the iron he laboriously carried up must all be carried back.

When the ballast was out the captain hesitated. On the Moorish coast sheltered ports are not numerous, and for the most part Cayman landed and shipped cargo from anchorages behind the sands and reefs. In consequence, her main anchor and cable were very large and heavy, but the captain thought the vessel must be further lightened in order to float across the shoals. Now the iron was landed, she rolled violently, and one hot afternoon, Kit, holding on by a runner, leaned against the bulwarks. Macallister and Miguel occupied the hatch coaming, the captain the grating by the tiller.

"If we do not land the anchor, she may strike when we kedge her across the sand," he said. "If she gets across and it blows hard we will need the big anchor and all the chain to hold her. We must run one of two risks."

"If she strikes on the high sand she will stop for good," Miguel remarked. "In two or three tides the surf would break her up."

"I think that is so," the captain agreed. "In the pool she might ride to the small anchor and the kedge. It depends on the wind. I do not know if we will get much wind or not."

Miguel shrugged and used the Castilian rejoinder, "Quien sabe?" which implies that nobody knows.

The captain lighted a cigarette. He was obviously irresolute, and Kit sympathised. One could not weigh the risks and the choice was hard.

"When you cannot see your way you trust your luck and drive ahead," Macallister remarked in uncouth Castilian. "If you do not get to the spot you want, you get somewhere and the hardest road is often shortest. Land your anchor and let us start."

"Bueno!" said the captain, who got up and went to the windlass.

At high tide, when Cayman floated, they carried out the kedge, and hove the main anchor and put it in the boat. Kit went with the landing party and doubted if they could have got out the anchor had not Miguel been on board. They had no mechanical help; while the boat plunged in the foaming surf the ponderous lump of iron must be lifted by muscular effort and when one struggles against an angry backwash one cannot lift much. Kit was exhausted, his hands bled, and Miguel's arm was torn, but they got the anchor over and returning to the ketch were fronted by another obstacle.

In broken water the boat would not carry all the chain; they must take it by fifteen-fathom lengths, and the connecting shackles had rusted fast. Kit thought nobody but Macallister could have knocked out the pins, but at length the cable was divided and they resumed their labour in the surf.