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

by Unknown

  Sam turned to me and spoke in a low voice.

  "Before this fellow goes I want Mott to hear what he has said. Take Yeager up with you and relieve him. And see that Alderson gets a revolver."

  I took our mate's place at the wheel and sent him forward. Tom Yeager leaned on the ship's rail and looked away across the glassy waters of the Pacific. I remember that he was humming, as was his fashion, a snatch from a musical comedy.

  It was such a day as one dreams about, with that pleasant warmth in the air that makes for indolent content. One or two of the men were lounging lazily on the forecastle deck. Caine was reading a book of travels I had lent him the previous day.

  Were we all, as Mott believed, the victims of a stupid nightmare? Or could it be true that beneath all this peace boiled a volcano ready at any minute for an eruption?

  Mott returned in an unpleasant mood. The truth is that he was nursing a grudge because he was the last man on board to know that we were on a cruise for treasure. He resented it that our party had not told him, and he took it with a bad grace that every man jack of the crew had been whispering for days about something of which he had been kept in the dark. Upon my word I think he had some just cause of complaint.

  While he jeered at the precautions we were taking I tried to placate him, for now of all times we could least afford to have any quarrels in our party.

  "You will admit there is no harm in going prepared, Mr. Mott?" I argued.

  "To be sure. Ballast yourselves with revolvers, for all I care. I'll carry one because Captain Blythe has ordered it, but don't expect me to join in the play acting."

  I felt myself flushing.

  "The situation appears to us a very serious one."

  "Slap doodle bugs! Let Captain Blythe give the word and I'll go down and bring up this bogey man, that is, if there is such a fellow aboard at all."

  Presently I was called down to luncheon. I found Miss Wallace lingering with Blythe in the dining-room. As soon as I arrived the captain left.

  Philips waited on me. He had already heard the news, and was ashen. His hands trembled as he passed dishes so that I was sorry for him.

  "He's badly frightened, poor man," the young woman whispered to me across the table during one of his absences. "I wish I could tell him that there will probably be no serious trouble."

  Her eyes appealed to mine. I could see that with her aunt and poor Philips on her hands she was in for no easy time. But I could not lie to her.

  "What do you think yourself? You know your cousin. Will he lie down and let us win without a fight?"

  She shook her head slowly. "No. He'll go through with his villainy, no matter what it costs."

  "Yes. There is no use blinking the facts. We're in for a test of strength. I'm sorry, but the only way to meet the situation is to accept it and be ready for it. I don't fear the result."

  She looked steadily at me.

  "Nor I. But it's dreadful to have to wait and hold our hands. I wish I could do something."

  "You can," I smiled. "You may pass me the potatoes, and after I have finished eating you may play for us. We must show these scurvy ruffians that we aren't a bit afraid of them."

  CHAPTER XII

  MY UNEXPECTED GUEST

  "And will they murder us all in our beds?"

  Miss Berry, very white but not at all hysterical, had Blythe penned in a corner by the piano as she asked the question.

  "Don't be a goose, auntie," her niece smiled affectionately.

  "The fact is that we were afraid you might complain of ennui, so we have stirred up a little excitement," explained Sam.

  "Truly, Mr. Blythe?"

  My friend looked at me appealingly and I came to the rescue.

  "Sailors are a queer lot. They often get notions that have to be knocked out of them. We'll try not to disturb you while we do the hammering, Miss Berry."

  A faint color washed back into her face.

  "Oh, I hope you are right. It would be dreadful if----" she interrupted herself to take a more cheerful view. "But I am sure Mr. Mott is right. He has been on the seas a great many years more than you two. He ought to know best, oughtn't he?"

  "Certainly," I conceded. "And I hope he does."

  "Besides, Captain Bothwell is such a gentleman. I'm sure he wouldn't do anything so dreadful. I wish I could talk to him. He was always so reasonable with me, though Evie and he couldn't get along."

  I concealed my smile at the thought of Miss Berry converting him.

  The trumpet call to dinner diverted our thoughts. I dropped into my room to wash before dinner, with the surprising result that I lost the meal.

  As I opened the door a low voice advised me to close it at once. Since I was looking into the wrong end of a revolver, and that weapon was in the hand of a very urgent person, I complied with the suggestion. The man behind the gun was Boris Bothwell.

  "Hope I don't intrude," I apologized, glancing at the disorder in my stateroom.

  The floor was littered with papers, coats, collars, ties, and underwear. Drawers had been dragged out and emptied, my trunk gutted of its contents. Evidently the captain had been engaged in a thorough search of the cabin when my entrance diverted his attention.

  "Not at all. I was hoping you would come," he answered pleasantly.

  "Perhaps I should have knocked before entering, but then I didn't expect to find you here."

  "I came on impulse," he explained. "I had reason to suppose you would be busy for an hour or two. By the way, Evie is entertaining. Did I ever mention to you that it is my intention to marry her?"

  "I think not."

  "Ah! Then I make a confidant of you now. Congratulate me, my friend."

  "Is this an official announcement?" I asked.

  "Hardly official, I think. The lady does not know it."

  "Then I think I'll wait till the engagement gets her O. K."

  "As you like, Mr. Sedgwick, but I assure you I am an irresistible lover."

  "So I hear you say," I replied coldly. "Was it to tell me this that you have put me in debt to you for this call?"

  "Hardly. To be frank, I came to get a map."

  I sat down on the edge of the bed.

  "Again?"

  "As you say, again."

  "Quite like old times, isn't it? I am reminded of our 'Frisco Nights' Entertainment. The search for a map in other people's apartments is becoming rather a habit with you, isn't it?"

  "I'm a persistent beggar," he admitted.

  "I regret we have no more copies to lend."

  He laughed indulgently.

  "Touché, monsieur. But I don't care for copies. I am a collector of originals."

  "They are said to be expensive."

  "But valuable."

  "Still, the cost is a consideration."

  "Not when some one else pays the shot, Mr. Sedgwick."

  "I see. You expect those poor devils whom you are misleading to draw the chestnut out of the fire for you."

  "Exactly," he admitted with the gayest aplomb.

  "You are willing that they should pay to the limit?" I asked, curious to see how far his cynical audacity would carry him.

  He shrugged, with a lift of his strong hands.

  "That is as luck, or fate, or Providence--whichever you believe in, Mr. Sedgwick--deals out the cards. I'm not a god, you know."

  "You know that you cannot follow the course outlined without lives being lost," I persisted.

  "I'll take your word for it," he flung back lightly.

  "That won't deter you in the least?"

  "Wasn't it Napoleon who said one couldn't make an omelet without breaking eggs?"

  "And yet his omelet was not a success," I reflected aloud.

  "Whose is, Mr. Sedgwick? We all have our Waterloos. Love, ambition, the search for wealth--none of them satisfy. But though none of us find happiness we yet seek. That is human nature."

  I shot a question at him abruptly.

  "Suppose you got all this treasure--wou
ld you keep faith with those poor, deluded ruffians and share with them?"

  His hardy smile approved me.

  "You're deep, my friend. Now I wonder what I would do? My tools are deluded. Wealth could not bring them the happiness they think it would. Most of them it would ruin. I fear it would be my duty to----"

  "---- let them hold the sack," I finished for him.

  "Precisely."

  "There is, then, no honor among thieves."

  "Not a bit. No more than there is among gentlemen. But since you object to having eggs broken, I offer you an alternative."

  I waited.

  "In order to save eggs I'll ask you to turn over to me the map."

  "Where do you think I keep it? You've already searched my rooms and my person. I'm no wizard."

  His black eyes bored into mine.

  "We've been over this ground once before, Mr. Sedgwick. You know me. I'm here for business."

  "So I judge."

  "Come! This won't do. I'm a determined man. That map I'm going to have. Unless you want the scene to close with the final exit of John Sedgwick, find for me the map."

  "Suppose I tell you that I haven't it?"

  "I shall believe you, since the evidence would support the assertion. I should then ask who has it?"

  "You certainly are a man of one idea. I think I've never had the pleasure of talking with you that you didn't switch the conversation back to that map."

  He raised the revolver.

  "I asked a question."

  There was a step outside, followed by a knock on the door. "Come in," I sang out instantly.

  Bothwell's furious gaze came back from the door just as I leaped. A bullet crashed through the skylight, for my arm had deflected his. I wrapped myself about him in silent struggle for the weapon. We swayed against the bed and went down upon it hard, our weight tearing through the springs. Desperately I clung to his arm to keep the weapon from pointing at me.

  "Let go, Sedgwick," a voice ordered.

  Sinewy fingers had tightened on Bothwell's throat and a strong hand had wrenched the revolver from him.

  Panting, I struggled to my feet. My opportune friend covered the Russian with his own weapon and drawled out a warning.

  "Don't you now, Mr. Pirate, or I'll certainly have to load you up with lead."

  Bothwell lay on the bed, his breast heaving from his exertions. In no man's looks have I ever seen a more furious malice, but he had sense enough to recognize that this was our moment.

  "If it ain't butting in, what were you gentlemen milling around so active about this warm day?" asked Yeager.

  "Same old point of difference. Captain Bothwell wanted a map."

  Tom laughed gently.

  "Sho! You hadn't ought to be so blamed urgent, cap. It don't buy you anything."

  The Russian struggled with his rage, fought it down, and again found his ironic smile.

  "I am under the impression that it would have bought me a map if it had not been for your arrival, sir."

  "Too bad I spoiled yore game, then."

  "For the present," amended the defeated man. "I am a person of much resource, Mr. Sedgwick will tell you." Then, with a glance at the bit of plaster on my head: "He still wears a souvenir to remind him of it."

  "My little adventure at San Pedro. I always, credited you with that, captain. Thanks."

  "You're entirely welcome. More to follow," he smiled.

  "What are you allowing to do with your guest, Sedgwick?" asked Yeager.

  "We'll leave that to Blythe. I suppose we had better put him in irons and guard him. We can drop him off at Panama."

  "Any port in a time of storm," suggested our prisoner blithely.

  "Personally, I'd like to see you marooned for a few months," I growled, for the man's insolence ruffled me.

  I found Blythe on the bridge with Mott.

  "I have to report a prisoner of war captured, captain," I announced in formal military style.

  Blythe laughed.

  "Who is he?"

  "Captain Boris Bothwell, sir."

  "What!"

  I told him and Mott the circumstances. The mate unbent a little.

  "And the lubber shot at you? In your own cabin! Put him in irons and throw him ashore at Panama. That's my advice, Mr. Blythe. Get rid of him, and you'll not hear any more about this mutiny business."

  "I'm of that opinion myself, Mr. Mott. We'll keep him under guard until he's in safe custody."

  Blythe followed me down to my cabin, and for the first time he and Bothwell looked each other over.

  "This isn't a passenger ship, sir," announced the owner of the Argos bluntly. "You've made a mistake, sir. We'll hand you over to the authorities at Panama."

  Bothwell bowed.

  "Dee-lighted! I've always wanted to see the old city of Pizarro, Drake and Morgan. Many a galleon has been looted of ingots and bullion by the old seadogs there. If I weren't so conscientious, by Jupiter, I'd turn pirate myself."

  "Haven't a doubt of it," Blythe assented curtly. "We'll try to see that your opportunities don't match your inclinations. Unless I guess wrong you wouldn't hesitate to cut a throat to escape if your hands were free."

  "Not at all."

  "Just so. Merely as a formality we'll take the precaution of making sure you haven't any weapons that might go off and injure you--or anybody else. Jack, may I trouble you to look in my cabin for a pair of handcuffs--middle right hand drawer of my dressing table?"

  We made our prisoner secure and spelled each other watching him. The first three hours fell to me. Except the Arizonian I think all of us felt a weight lifted from our hearts. The chief villain was in our hands and the mutiny nipped in the bud.

  But Bothwell had managed to inject a fly into the ointment of my content.

  "We've drawn your sting now," Blythe had told him before he left.

  "Have you? Bet you a pony I'll be free inside of twenty-four hours," the Russian had coolly answered.

  CHAPTER XIII

  MUTINY

  It was in the afternoon of the day after our encounter with Bothwell--to be more accurate, just after four bells. Miss Wallace and I were sitting under the deck awning, she working in a desultory fashion upon a piece of embroidery while I watched her lazily.

  The languorous day was of the loveliest. It invited to idleness, made repudiation of work a virtue. My stint was over for a few hours at least and I enjoyed the luxury of pitying poor Mott, who was shut up in a stuffy cabin with our prisoner.

  Yeager, too, was off duty. We could hear him pounding away at the piano in the saloon. Ragtime floated to us, and presently a snatch from "The Sultan of Sulu."

  Since I first met you, Since I first met you, The open sky above me seems a deeper blue, Golden, rippling sunshine warms me through and through, Each flower has a new perfume since I first met you.

  "T. Yeager is a born optimist," I commented idly. "Life is one long, glorious lark to him. I believe he would be happy if he knew raw, red mutiny were going to break out in twenty minutes."

  "He's very likable. I never knew a man who has had so many experiences. There's something right boyish about him."

  "Even if he could give me about a dozen years."

  "Years don't count with his kind. He's so full of life, so fresh and yet so wise."

  "His music isn't fresh anyhow. I move we go stop it."

  "Thank you, I'm very comfortable here. I don't second the motion," she declined.

  "Motion withdrawn. But I'm going to tempt him from that piano just the same. Jimmie, come here. Run down to the music-room and tell Mr. Yeager that Miss Wallace would like to see him."

  Evelyn laughed.

  "I think you're real mean, Mr. Sedgwick."

  "For saving the life of your musical soul?"

  "He is pretty bad," she admitted.

  He was on the chorus again, his raucous exuberant voice riding it like one of his own bucking broncos.

  Golden, rippling sunshine warms me through and thr
ough, Each flower has a new perfume since I first met you.

  "Bad. He's the worst ever. Thank Heaven, we've got him stopped! There he comes with Jimmie."