The Collected Westerns of William MacLeod Raine: 21 Novels in One Volume

by Unknown

  "Not yet. Plenty of time though. When I need it I'll get it."

  My skeptical laugh must have annoyed him.

  "Then you'd better get busy if it's true that we sail to-morrow."

  "Hope you'll have a pleasant trip."

  "Thanks. Sorry we can't ask you, captain. But there really isn't room and our party is full. No doubt you'll be starting on a little jaunt of your own soon?"

  "Yes, to-morrow, too, as it happens. Perhaps we may meet again. It's a small world after all, Mr. Sedgwick."

  "We'll look out for you."

  "Do. And go prepared for squalls. One never knows what may happen. The Pacific is treacherous. Likely enough you'll meet dirty weather."

  "I'm thinking you're right. But the yacht is good for it."

  "And the yacht's passengers?" he asked with angled brows.

  "We're all good sailors."

  "But isn't there a good deal of yellow fever in Panama?"

  "Not now. There used to be."

  "Haven't I heard of pirates in the Isthmus country?" he asked, smiling with superb impudence.

  "That's in the past too, captain; but if we meet any, the vermin will be glad to sheer off. I'll promise you that."

  The villain drew a breath of mock relief.

  "That makes my mind easier, Mr. Sedgwick. I'll confess I've been a little troubled for you."

  "Thanks for your kind thoughts, but I'm confident we can look out for ourselves."

  Our words had been light enough, but be sure there was no laughter in the eyes that fastened each pair to the other. For me, I never was more vigilant in my life--and Bothwell knew it.

  "Going up-town, captain? If not I'll say good evening."

  He nodded genially.

  "Pleasant voyage. And do be careful of the squalls and the fever and the pirates. Do you know I can't help thinking you had better leave Evie at home for me to take care of."

  "But you're leaving, too, I understood you to say. No, we'll take good care of her. I give you my word on that."

  I had been edging round him with the intention of backing away. He held out his hand, but--well, my fingers were otherwise engaged. They still caressed a knobby bit of metal in my overcoat pocket.

  At the last moment, so it appeared, he yielded to an impulse.

  "Must we really be in opposite camps, Mr. Sedgwick? Come! Let's arrange a compromise. Neither of us alone has enough to go on. You need me and my scrap of map. I need you and your bit of chart. We'll consolidate forces and go to Panama together."

  "Afraid you're a little late, captain. You play your hand and we'll play ours."

  I had been increasing the distance between us. Now I turned sharply on my heel and walked away almost at a run, for I did not like the idea of taking with me a bullet in the small of my back.

  At the end of the wharf a figure brushed past me. Night had begun to fall, and in the gray dusk I could not make sure, but again I was oddly struck by its resemblance to our engineer, Fleming. I slued around my head to look a second time, but the fog had already swallowed him. Strange, I thought, that he had not recognized me; but perhaps, if the man was Fleming, he had found me too indistinct to know.

  At any rate it was a matter of no great importance. I pushed past the warehouse to take an up-town car.

  CHAPTER VIII

  ABOARD THE ARGOS

  Blythe and I had agreed that an attempt would be made to relieve us of the map while we were carrying it from the safety-deposit vault to the ship. So far as we could see it was Bothwell's last chance to gain possession of the coveted chart, and he was not the man to leave a stone unturned.

  At half past three we drove in the car of a friend to the International Safe Deposit Company's place of business. He waited outside while we went in to reclaim the document.

  Five minutes later we reappeared, the paper in the inside pocket of my tightly buttoned coat. My eyes explored to right and left.

  The thunder of trolley cars, the rumble of wholesale wagons, the buzz of automobiles, all made their contribution to the roar of the busy cañon up and down which men and women passed by hundreds. That Bothwell would make an attempt at a hold-up here seemed inconceivable. But if not here, then--where? He had to have the map or give up the fight.

  Blythe followed me into the tonneau and our car swept out into the stream of traffic. Less than a quarter of an hour later we stepped down from the machine, shook hands with our friend, and took the boat which was waiting for us at the wharf. Even now we were alert, ready for any emergency that might occur.

  Nothing happened, except our safe arrival at the Argos. Miss Wallace and her aunt were on deck to welcome us. Sam and I exchanged rather sheepish glances. Nobody likes to be caught making a mountain out of a mole hill, and that was apparently what we had done. Our elaborate preparations to defend the map during the past half hour had been unnecessary.

  "Tide right, Mr. Mott?" Blythe asked.

  "All right, sir."

  "Then we'll start at once."

  I retired to my cabin, disposed of a certain document, and presently returned to the deck. The engines were throbbing and the Argos was beginning to creep.

  "We're off," I said to Miss Wallace, who was standing by my side on the bridge deck leaning upon the rail.

  "Yes, we're off. Luck with us," she cried softly with shining eyes.

  I looked at her and smiled. The excitement that burned in her I could understand, since I too shared it. We were answering the call of the sea and its romance was tingling in our blood. Into what wild waters we were to be whirled none of us had the slightest guess. It was fortunate that the future was screened by a veil behind which we could not peep.

  The quiver of the engines grew stronger. The Argos was walking smartly out into the bay, her funnels belching black smoke. A stiff wind was blowing and the vessel leaped as she took the waves. Behind us in the falling dusk the lights of the city began to come out like stars.

  "I wonder when we'll see her again," my companion said softly, her gaze on the hill of twinkling lights.

  Like a Winged Victory her fine, lithe figure was outlined by the wind, which had flung back the white skirt against the slender limbs, showing the flowing lines as she moved. In her jaunty yachting cap, the heavy chestnut hair escaping in blowing tendrils, a warmer color whipped into her soft cheeks by the breeze, there was a sparkle to her gayety, a champagne tang to her animation. One guessed her an Ionian goddess of the sea reincarnated in the flesh of a delightful American girl.

  It was this impression on me that gave the impetus to my answer.

  "Not too soon, I hope."

  Miss Berry joined us. I tucked her arm under mine and the three of us tramped the promenade deck. Mott went down to his dinner and Blythe took the wheel. My friend was an experienced sailor, and he had that dash of daring which somehow never results in disaster. We could see the men scurrying to and fro at his orders. The white sails began to belly out with the whistling wind.

  Blythe roared an order down the speaking tube and swung round the spokes of the wheel. Straight toward the Golden Gate we sprang, bowling along with increasing speed. Past Tamalpais we scudded and through the narrows, out to the fresh Pacific like a bloodhound taking the scent.

  "By the way she's going the Argos smells treasure at our journey's end," I laughed.

  "Oh, I like this! Isn't it glorious?" the girl murmured.

  "You come of sailor blood," I reminded her. "Many a girl would be in the hands of the ship's doctor already."

  "Didn't know we had a doctor on board."

  "Morgan will have to serve in lieu of one. But there goes the dinner gong. We must go and get ready."

  "I suppose so," she sighed regretfully. "But it's a pity to miss a moment of this. Do you see that glow on the water? Is that why it's called the Golden Gate?"

  "I fancy the argonauts called it that because it was the passage through which they passed on their way to the gold fields. And for the same reason we can give it that name
too."

  We moved to the stairway, which was in the pavilion, and descended to our rooms on the main deck.

  As soon as I had entered mine I switched on the light and threw off my coat. Collar and tie followed the coat into the berth. I passed into the bath room and washed. At the moment I flung the towel back on the rack a sound came to me from my bedroom. I turned quickly, to see a diminutive figure roll from the back of the bed and untangle itself from my coat.

  "Please, I'm awful sick, Mr. Sedgwick," a voice lugubriously groaned.

  I stood staring at the little yellow face. The forlorn urchin was our office boy, Jimmie Welch.

  "You young cub, what are you doing here?" I demanded.

  "I'm a stowaway," he groaned. "Like Hall Hiccup, the Boy Pirate, you know. But, by crickey, I wouldn't a come if I'd a known it would be like this."

  "Didn't I tell you that you couldn't come? How did you get here?"

  "Golly, I'm sick! I'm going to die."

  "Serves you right, you young rascal."

  I didn't blow him up any more just then. Instead I hurriedly offered first aid to the seasick. He felt a little better after that.

  "I told Mr. Mott you had sent me on an errand. He thought I'd gone ashore again, mebbe."

  "That's where you'll go as soon as we reach San Pedro."

  "Yes, sir. Hope so." He groaned woefully. "Thought you'd need a cabin boy, sir, but I'll never do it again, s'elp me."

  "I'm going to give you a licking as soon as you get well. Don't forget that. Now I have to leave you. I'll be back after a while. Go to sleep if you can."

  By reason of Jimmie I reached the dinner table as the soup was being removed. Only four of us messed in the cabin. Mott, the engineers, and Morgan had a separate table of their own aft.

  "Late already, my boy. This won't do. Ship's discipline, you know. Make a report and clear yourself," Blythe called out as I entered.

  "My patient seems a bit better," I announced, sitting down opposite Miss Wallace.

  "Your patient?" that young woman repeated.

  "Yes, I find I have a guest to share my cabin with me, and he has begun by yielding to an attack of mal-de-mer."

  "Is this a conundrum? I'm not good at them." This from Miss Berry.

  "No, it's a stowaway. The conundrum is to know what to do with the little rascal."

  "Meaning who?"

  "James A. Garfield Welch. I found him tucked away in my berth, very much the worse for wear."

  The Englishman helped himself to asparagus tips and laughed.

  "He's certainly a persevering young beggar. He hung around me for three days trying to persuade me to take him. Now he's here on French leave."

  "He'll have to make himself useful, now he's here. The little idiot imagines himself a sort of boy pirate, so he explained to me. I'm going to try to introduce a little sense into his system by means of a strap applied to the cuticle."

  "Oh, I wouldn't," Evelyn begged quickly. "Poor fellow! I daresay he wanted to come as badly as we did."

  "He happens to have a mother," I added dryly. "She's no doubt worrying her life out about the young pirate. I really think we owe him a licking on her account."

  "Poor woman! She must be feeling dreadfully. Isn't there any way of letting her know that he is safe?" Miss Berry asked.

  "We'll have to call in at San Pedro, though that means the loss of a day. We can send the youngster home from Los Angeles," Blythe suggested.

  "If his mother is willing, Jimmie might go on with us. He would be useful to run errands," Evelyn proposed.

  "Jimmie has a staunch friend in you, Miss Wallace. We'll think it over. There's plenty of time before we reach Los Angeles," our captain answered. "He can take the upper berth in the cook's cabin. Have him moved after dinner, Morgan."

  We lingered after dinner till the second dog watch was over, when Blythe excused himself to go on deck. I soon followed him, for though I am no sailor I was rated as second officer on the Argos, Mott being the first.

  I had not yet had a good view of the crew and I looked them over carefully as Blythe divided them in watches. They appeared a lively enough lot, though it struck me that one or two showed sullen faces.

  Caine, the boatswain, was a villainous looking fellow, due in part to the squint of his eyes that set them at different angles. But he turned out a thoroughly capable man with a knack of getting out of the men all that was in them.

  Under Mott's supervision I took a turn at the wheel, for I did not intend, if I could help it, to be deadwood throughout the whole cruise. I could see Miss Wallace pacing the deck with Blythe for hours, his cigar tip glowing in the darkness as they advanced toward the wheel house. I would have liked to join them, but I had set out to make of myself enough of a sailor to serve at a pinch, and I stuck to my task. It was late when I reached my cabin. I must have fallen asleep at once, for it was day again before I knew anything more.

  We met at breakfast, the four of us, and not one but was touched by the loveliness of which we were the center. It was not a new story to Blythe--this blue arched roof of sky, this broad stretch of sea, this warm sun on a day cool enough to invigorate the blood--but he too showed a lively pleasure in it.

  Miss Berry took some fancy work and a magazine with her on deck and spent the morning placidly in a steamer chair, but her niece and I were too full of our pleasure to rest so contentedly.

  To any who have sailed on the glassy breast of the Pacific day after day, knowing all the little pleasures of life aboard a well-found turbine yacht, a description would be superfluous; to one who has never known it, such an attempt would be entirely futile. By either alternative I am debarred from trying to set down the delight of our days, the glory of our nights of stars.

  CHAPTER IX

  BOTHWELL MAKES A MOVE

  We put into San Pedro in the early morning and tied up opposite the Harvard. Blythe and I ran up to Los Angeles on the electric, taking Jimmie Welch with us.

  No matter how well one may be equipped for an expedition, every port touched finds needs to be satisfied. After I had wired Mrs. Welch that her hopeful was safe and would be returned to her or retained as ship's boy at her desire, I spent the morning executing commissions for the ladies and attending to little matters that needed looking after.

  We made an appointment to lunch at one of Los Angeles' numberless cafeterias. I went out of my way to the telegraph office to get the answer from Mrs. Welch, for which reason I was a few minutes late to luncheon.

  A stranger to me was sitting opposite Blythe. My friend introduced him as Mr. Yeager, known all over Arizona as Tom Yeager. It appeared that he had come to the coast with a couple of carloads of steers, having disposed of which, time was hanging heavy on his hands.

  Anybody who has lived in the cattle country knows the Yeager type. He was a brown, lithe man, all sinew, bone and muscle. His manner was easy and indifferent, but out of his hard face cool, quiet eyes judged men and situations competently.

  Over many straight and crooked trails his thirty-five years had brought him without shame. No doubt he had often skirted the edge of law, but even when he had been a scamp his footsteps had followed ways justified by his code.

  I gathered from their talk that Blythe and he had served together in the Rough Riders during the Spanish War. They were exchanging reminiscences and Jimmie Welch was listening open-mouthed to their conversation.

  "Say, ain't he a peacherino, Mr. Sedgwick," whispered my young hopeful. "Get onto those muscles of his. I'll bet he's got a kick like a mule in either mitt. Say, him and Teddy Roosevelt must 'a' made the dagoes sick down in Cuba."

  More jokes and stories of camp life passed back and forth.

  "Do you reckon he ever killed a Spaniard?" Jimmie murmured to me.

  "Better ask him," I suggested.

  But at thought of this audacity to his hero the young pirate collapsed. I put the question for him.

  The cowman grinned.

  "Only one, Jimmie. And he ain't all mi
ne. Me and a fellow called the Honorable Samuel Blythe was out scouting one day while we were pushing through the tangle of brush toward Santiago. I reckon we got too anxious. Anyhow, we bumped into an ambush and it was a swift hike for us back to the lines. The bullets were fair raining through the leaves above us. Recollect, Sam?"

  Blythe nodded.

  "Rather. Whenever I think of it pins and needles run down my back."

  "Well, we cut a blue streak for camp, those fellows after us on the jump. I used to think I was some runner, but the Honorable Samuel set me right that day. He led good and strong, me burning the wind behind and 'steen Spaniards spread out in the rear. A fat little cuss was leading them, and the way he plowed through that underbrush was a caution. You want to remember, Jimmie, that the thermometer was about a hundred and fifty in the shade. I went till I was fit to drop, then looked round and saw Don Fatty right close. I hadn't invited him to my party, so I cracked away at him with my gun."