The clouds raced low above them; but by and by the clouds passed away
and clear and cold shone a moon on a terrifying sea. And so for
hours--until the moon had gone and the struggling daylight revealed a
surf breaking high on a sandy shore. They could not land there; so Jan
took the long oar and wielded it over one end of the raft and held her
parallel to the beach until he descried a point reaching out into the
bay. On the other side of that point would be a lee and safety; but he
said nothing of that to his companions yet.
In the middle of the raft lay Goles, huddled and silent as ever. Mrs.
Goles, at the farther end of the raft, was mostly watching Jan as he
heaved on the oar; but sometimes she seemed to be studying her husband.
The Finn woman, nearest to Jan, was hugging her baby to her under Jan's
great coat. She, too, when she was not watching her baby, was looking at
Jan. The bartender, between Jan and Goles, was looking out for marks
ashore.
The bartender was also thinking that the two other men were about the
same age, and yet the man in the middle of the raft, when he let his
face be seen, looked the older by ten years. All night long he had not
spoken and he seldom raised his head--when he did it was to gaze at the
land. He seemed to be taking but small notice of anybody. Toward the
bartender, who was behind him, he had not once turned his head.
Jan worked on the long oar. The point of land was coming nearer. "A hard
drag yet; but we'll be there by sunrise!" said Jan in a low voice to the
bartender; at which Goles looked round suddenly--but said nothing.
At last they were under the lee of the point. The sea was beautifully
smooth. Jan stopped sculling and went forward to Mrs. Goles. "The tide
has her," he said. "Soon she will be in and we will all be safe!" She
looked back at her husband.
The bartender stood up and shouted aloud. "Safe--hah! Say, but ain't it
like looking at something in a moving picture though?" He stuck a hand
into his coat pocket and pulled out Jan's revolver. He stared at it;
then, with a low whistle and a glance at Goles's back, he returned it to
his pocket. Only the Finn woman had seen the action.
The bartender shoved a hand into his trousers pocket. He pulled out a
handful of bills and silver. "Well, what do you know? And I came near
putting that into the safe last night!" He unbuttoned his coat and from
his vest pocket he pulled out a cigar. "Well, what do you know?" He next
drew out a metallic match-case. "Well, well--dry too!" He lit his cigar,
took three or four puffs, contentedly sat down, and began smoothing out
and counting the damp bills. "Well, well!--forty-five, fifty-five,
sixty, seventy--the only time in my life I ever beat a cash register!
Seventy-two--four--and on a good night there'd a been three times the
business--eight-four--six--eight. Eighty-eight dollars."
Goles looked over his shoulder at the bartender. He wet his lips and
stood up. After a time he threw off his overcoat. "How about a drink
from that flask?" he asked suddenly.
Jan, without looking around, drew the flask from his pocket and handed
it to him. He had already given the two men a drink each--and the Finn
woman and Mrs. Goles two swallows of it during the night; and almost
half the brandy was now gone. Goles put the flask to his lips. The
bartender stopped counting his silver to watch him; and, seeing it go,
he called out: "Say there, Bill, just leave a taste of that, will you?"
Goles drank it to the last drop. When he had finished he threw the empty
flask overboard. "Well, if you ain't one fine gentleman!" exploded the
bartender.
Goles paid no attention to him. "How long before we'll be ashore now?"
he asked.
"Only a few minutes now," said Jan. He was still standing with his back
to Goles.
"A few minutes?" repeated Goles. At the words his wife turned sharply.
Husband and wife stared at each other.
"There's the sun coming over the sand-hill now," said Jan. She turned to
look shoreward.
The bartender, counting and chuckling over his money, felt a hand
shaking the tip of his sleeve. It was the Finn woman. She pointed a
finger toward Goles. The bartender saw Goles's hand come out of his
bosom with a revolver.
"So long as we're safe," said Goles slowly, "you're going to get
yours--and get it now, you--"
Jan was looking at the shore, but Mrs. Goles had turned with the first
word and thrown herself toward Goles as he fired. Mrs. Goles fell before
the bullet. "I was going to get her anyway," said Goles evenly, and
leveled his revolver at Jan, who had jumped to save her from falling
overboard and was now holding her away from Goles.
"I got you where there's no comeback!" gritted Goles, and took careful
aim at Jan!--but did not fire. He felt a ring of cold metal pressed
against his neck and half turned to see what it was. "Don't shoot!
Don't!" he begged.
"You--" The word the bartender gritted out could not be heard, because
he pulled the trigger as he said it.
Goles sagged down until his knees rested on the deck. Then he fell
forward and over the side of the raft. There was the gentlest of
splashes, a patch of red--a cluster of bubbles which burst like sighs.
"Well!" said the bartender, and held up the revolver in wonder. "I never
thought I'd live to kill a man!" He looked to see how the others had
taken it, but they were paying no attention to him. He saw Jan holding
the baby and trying to hush its little cries for its mother, while the
baby's mother was pressing the tips of her fingers gently against the
upper part of the injured woman's right breast.
"You mustn't die! You mustn't die!" Jan said when the baby would let
him.
"I don't want to die--not now!" she answered.