FIVE BULL’S-EYES IN SIX SHOTS
“It doesn’t seem exactly the thing to frighten a fellow half to death
just when he is making friendly advances to you,” reflected Phil, as
he watched the flying figure of Mr. Goldollar, “but what else could I
do? I had to try and keep my promise. Besides, how dared he to insult
me with such a proposal? The idea of suggesting that I should turn
smuggler!” At this thought the lad’s blood boiled with such indignation
that he felt inclined to follow Mr. Goldollar, and still further
impress upon him the lesson he had just received. Before he could carry
out this intention, however, the train started, and he was obliged to
let well enough alone, at least for the present.
As for Mr. Simon Goldollar, his feelings had received a much greater
hurt than that with which his body had been threatened, and as he
slipped into a seat in the smoking-car, as far as possible from the one
occupied by Phil, his dark features were distorted with rage.
“I’ll pay you for this outrage, very suddenly and with compound
interest, you canting young hypocrite you!” he muttered, at the same
time shaking his fist vaguely in the direction of the sturdy lad,
against whom in a fair fight he would have stood no better chance
than an infant. He did not re-enter the sleeper until after the train
reached Vancouver, so that Phil did not see him again, and wondered
without much caring whether he had not been left behind.
During the last few miles of that eventful overland journey Phil was
so busy gathering up his belongings, repacking his bag, and bidding
farewell to those of his fellow-passengers who were to stop in
Vancouver, that he forgot all about the scenery. Consequently when the
train stopped for the last time, and the porter called out: “Vancouver!
Change here for Victoria, Japan, and China!” it seemed incredible that
the sparkling waters visible through the car window could be those of
the Pacific Ocean.
They were, though, or rather they were the waters of Burrard Inlet,
an arm of Puget Sound, on which the new but rapidly growing city of
Vancouver is located. Just across the wharf, at one side of which
the train had stopped, lay a great white clipper-bowed steamship,
bearing the name in letters of gold _Empress of India_. She was one
of the fleet of superb ocean flyers that form the Canadian Pacific’s
connecting link between America and Asia. The mere sight of this
beautiful ship, and of the Japanese stewards and cabin-boys clustered
on her snowy decks, made Phil feel as though he had indeed joined the
great army of “globe-trotters.”
There was but scant time, though, for romantic reveries concerning the
Orient, for near the _Empress_ lay the _Premier_, another though much
smaller white steamer, waiting to convey to Victoria such passengers
and mail as the train had brought.
This boat had hardly left the wharf, with Phil comfortably seated
on deck, his bag and gun beside him, and his overcoat lying across
his knees, before the excitable lad sprang to his feet and ran to
the opposite side. He had caught a glimpse as the steamer swung of
what he believed to be a canoe. Yes! it was――a genuine Haida dugout
with projecting beaklike prow, and an Indian crew who were wielding
queer-looking sharp-pointed paddles. It was precisely like the
pictures in books of British Columbian travel, and Phil recalled at
once that it was fashioned out of one of the huge straight-grained logs
of yellow cedar that are only found on that coast. He remembered, too,
that after it had been laboriously hollowed out, and shaped with fire,
adze, and hatchet, it was steamed by means of hot stones and boiling
water, until its sides could be flared out so as to give it beam and
stability. They are held in this position by means of crossbars; but
the process renders the wood so liable to split if exposed for any
length of time to a hot sun, that when hauled up on a beach the canoe
must be entirely covered with mats or blankets, and while in use water
must every now and then be dashed over its sides to keep them damp.
[Illustration: “YES! IT WAS――A GENUINE HAIDA DUGOUT”]
While Phil was watching this canoe, and wishing he were in it instead
of on board a prosaic every-day steamer, a gentleman approached him
holding something in his hand, and saying, “I believe this is yours?”
It was a pocket-book.
“I don’t think it can be mine, sir,” began Phil, politely, at the
same time clapping a hand to the side where he was accustomed to feel
every now and then for his precious money. An expression of comical
dismay overspread his face. “Good gracious! yes it is, too!” he cried,
extending his hand for his property.
“I thought it must be,” replied the gentleman, with a smile, “for I
saw it drop from your overcoat as you left your seat to come to this
side of the boat. It seems to me, though, that an overcoat is hardly
the proper place for carrying a pocket-book. One is so apt to leave it
lying round.”
“That is just what I think, sir,” answered Phil, with a laughably
rueful expression of countenance. “I didn’t mean to leave it there, I
can assure you, and didn’t know that I had. The sleeping-car porter
picked it up from the floor while I was doing up my things, and as
I had my overcoat on I just stuck it into one of the pockets for a
second, meaning to place it where it belonged directly afterwards. Then
we got in, and with the confusion I forgot all about it. But I will put
it away safe enough now, and I am awfully obliged to you, sir, for I
couldn’t well afford to lose what it contains.”
Thus saying, Phil restored the wallet that his carelessness had so
nearly lost to his inner vest pocket, and after a prolonged struggle
succeeded in securing it there with his aunt Ruth’s trusty safety-pins.
The gentleman watched this proceeding with an amused smile, but with
words of commendation for the safety-pin plan. “I am glad to see,” he
said, “that you are, after all, an unusually prudent and careful lad,
for I feared you might be one of the heedless tribe, and might thereby
get into trouble. May I inquire if you are going to stop in Victoria?”
“Only until the Alaska steamer comes along,” answered Phil. “I am on my
way to Sitka, where I am to join my father.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the stranger. “Then we shall see a great deal of
each other, for I, too, am on my way to Sitka. In fact, that is my
home. If you will allow me, I will hand you my card.”
On the card which Phil thus received and then thrust into a pocket
of his own card-case was engraved simply “Mr. Arthur Ames,” and of
course the lad had no means of knowing that his new acquaintance was
one of the most eminent and best-known men in the whole Northwest. As
he handed out his own card in return, Mr. Ames said: “I wondered if I
should not know your father, and now I see that I do. That is, if he is
Mr. John Ryder, the mining expert.”
“Yes, sir, that is his name,” replied Phil, delighted at this
recognition.
“Then I am doubly glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ryder, and am
obliged to the fortunate incident of the pocket-book that led to it.”
Phil was greatly pleased with this new friend, who was able to
point out everything of interest, and was possessed of such stores
of information concerning Alaska, that the lad looked forward with
pleasing anticipations to travelling in his company.
It was long after dark before the electric lights of Victoria were
sighted, and Phil expressed disappointment that he could see nothing of
the city.
“You will have plenty of time to-morrow,” suggested Mr. Ames, “for our
steamer is not due to arrive here from Port Townsend until about this
time to-morrow evening, and she will remain here an hour or so after
getting in. So you will have an opportunity to visit Beacon Hill Park,
Dunsmuir Castle, the museum, and go out to ’Squimault as well. I wish
I might act as your guide to the city, but I cannot, and shall not
even see you at your hotel, as I must stay at the house of a friend,
with whom I have an amount of important business to transact that will
occupy every moment until the steamer leaves. After that we shall see a
great deal of each other, I trust.”
“Indeed I hope we shall, sir,” replied Phil, heartily, as he mentally
contrasted this new travelling acquaintance with the one made in
Montreal.
“By-the-way,” continued Mr. Ames, “if you have a trunk, and care to
intrust your check to me, I will have it put aboard the Alaska steamer
with mine, and will guarantee its safe delivery in Sitka. By that means
you will be saved a tedious trip down to the outer wharf to-morrow, and
will gain at least two hours of extra time for sight-seeing.”
The stranger had already inspired our hero with such perfect confidence
that he handed him his trunk check without the slightest hesitation, at
the same time expressing his gratitude for the kindness thus shown him.
A few minutes later the _Premier_ was made fast to her wharf at the
inner end of a tiny but perfectly protected harbor, at the head of
which stands the capital of British Columbia. Here the newly made
acquaintances parted, with promises of again meeting on the following
evening. Mr. Ames was driven away to the house of his friend, while
Phil took a carriage for the Driard, the hotel at which his father
had instructed him to stop so long as he remained in Victoria. Here
he found a letter from Sitka, that had been brought down by the last
steamer. It was such a loving epistle, and was so filled with the
joyful anticipations of a speedy meeting, that Phil was moved to sit
down and answer it at once, regardless of the fact that his reply could
only reach its destination by the same steamer on which he expected to
travel.
Having thus got himself into the mood for writing, Phil also indited a
long letter, descriptive of his journey thus far, to his aunt Ruth. In
this he made the triumphant assertion that his pocket-book was still
securely fastened in its proper place by the safety-pins to whose
sturdy clasp she had intrusted it, and that up to date he had not lost
a single thing. In making this assertion the boastful lad entirely
forgot the fur-seal’s tooth, though he was soon to have ample cause to
remember it.
Both these letters being mailed in the hotel box before he went to
bed, Phil slept the sleep of him who has a clear conscience, and awoke
the next morning as light-hearted and happy a lad as could be found in
all British Columbia. After breakfast he took a stroll down Government
Street and into the Chinese quarter, with the queer sights of which he
was intensely amused and interested.
On his way back he stopped for a few minutes in a rifle gallery that
presented an open front to the street. Here he was tempted by the
bad marksmanship displayed by a group of sailors to show them a bit
of Yankee shooting, and was lucky enough to make five bull’s-eyes in
succession out of six shots. This performance was greeted by a round
of hearty cheers from the sailors, and these were repeated when Phil
distributed among them the prize of cigars by which his skill was
rewarded.
In the afternoon he rode by electric car out to Esquimault, or
’_Squi_mault, as the splendidly fortified harbor and British naval
station of the Pacific coast is called. Here he went on board the
_Royal Arthur_, one of the finest cruisers in her Majesty’s navy, and
was shown all over the ship by a marine especially detailed for that
purpose. Then he made the acquaintance of a middy, who invited him to
dine with the steerage mess, and he had altogether such a fine time
that the sun set long before he thought it ought to, and it was dark
before he finally returned to his hotel.
Learning, by inquiry, that the Alaskan steamer was in, and that he had
barely time to catch her, he ordered a cab to be in readiness, rushed
up-stairs for his things, and then back again to the office, where it
only remained for him to pay his bill and be off.