Riordan was inclined to be brusk to me when he saw the canoe going
into the water. He was captain for the time being; he had given no
orders for using any of the yacht’s boats. Then came Chanler,
grumbling and shuffling, and Riordan’s expression suddenly showed
great elation which he tried hard to conceal.
“Pleasant trip,” he said sarcastically. “Captain Brack’ll be glad to
see you.”
Neither of us said a word as we settled ourselves into the canoe.
George was angry with me for causing him to go, and I was eager only
to reach the mine and Miss Baldwin and the captain. I hoped—no, I felt
confident—that Chanler’s appearance in his present condition would
solve the most delicate and dangerous phase of the problem confronting
us, which was a safe return of Miss Baldwin to civilization.
She had cared for George Chanler once, not deeply, she had admitted
but enough to bring wistful moments at the thought of the change which
had come over him. Now she would see him as she had seen him in those
days when he had made upon her a favorable impression.
She would at once see the difference between Chanler and Brack. George
was of her own kind; Brack was not. She would see this now; the spell
which the captain had been weaving would be broken; and she would turn
to her own kind. I felt that Brack’s sole purpose in getting Betty up
to the mine was to weave his spell more firmly; he would scarcely
frighten her by display of brutality for awhile at least.
We paddled on in silence. The perspiration began to creep out on
Chanler’s forehead, but, though he swore at me beneath his breath, his
paddle rose and fell steadily.
Evening came upon us with appalling suddenness. The snow-covered
western mountains shut out the sun’s rays, and at once the narrow bay
grew dark. With the sun gone a chill crept through the valley. The
scene became one of depressing gloom and Chanler broke out into
querulous protest.
“Paddle,” I said, when his words died out petulantly. “We’re almost to
the river.”
We swung from the bay into the river and there the current took
liberties with the light canoe. Chanler’s experience in canoeing was
much greater than mine, and now for the first time he roused himself
and asserted his knowledge.
“Shorter strokes,” he snapped. “Shorter and faster. Now! Drive her!”
In the struggle against the current he forgot his nervousness, and
when we landed at the spot where Brack’s boat had beached that morning
he sprang out with a vim which he had not displayed since we left
Seattle. We went straight up to the mine.
From a distance we saw candle-lights shining from the open door of one
of the cabins and we hurried thither. We did not enter. In the single
room of the cabin Miss Baldwin and Captain Brack were seated at a
table upon which was placed a substantial meal. The captain was eating
heartily. Miss Baldwin was looking across the table at him with an
expression in which surprise and anger seemed equally mingled; and
George and I stopped as one just outside the open door without being
seen or heard.
Miss Baldwin was speaking.
“I wish to return to the yacht, Captain Brack,” we heard her say.
“Must I repeat that many times more?”
“No, no!” He did not look up, but we saw that he smiled. “It isn’t
necessary. I have good ears.”
“Then why don’t you answer me?”
“Perhaps because it amused me to hear you speak. Your voice is a
delight to the ear.”
By the flickering candlelight we saw that Miss Baldwin’s mouth and
chin became very firm.
“I am quite certain you have been lying to me, Captain Brack,” she
said quietly. “I don’t believe that Mr. Pitt suggested that I come up
here. If he had he would have stayed here and not have gone on with
the men into the hills, as you say he has done.”
Brack lifted his head.
“You hold a brief for Mr. Pitt, Miss Baldwin?” he laughed, looking at
her closely. “Well, well; so there’s a certain interest in that pretty
little head for Pitt, eh? Well well! Pitt, the writer—the
ultra-civilized person! And I thought it was only Chanler I had to
fear. But never mind.”
His playfulness vanished.
“You are in the North now, Miss Baldwin, and you will fall beneath the
North’s just rule. Back there, in your civilized country, you have
lived under a different standard. Back there the most handsome male,
the best mannered, most prosperous, best dressed, might win you. Even
a Mr. Pitt would have a chance. Back there women are attracted to a
man because his head is carried a certain way, because he orders a
dinner excellently, helps one into a cab in a pleasing manner. That’s
not just, Miss Baldwin, not just. The nice man may not be the worthy
man. But here—this is the North. The strong man wins here—only the
strong man can win. Gold, women, everything. Life is primitive here,
therefore just. And you are here now, and here you are going to stay.
And here women fall to the strongest man. And that’s me, my dear,
that’s me! Look at me.”
He rose and leaned over the table toward her. The candles flickered
and nearly went out. Betty sat upright in her chair. Still leaning
forward, his eyes holding hers, the captain with his right hand moved
the table to one side. There was nothing between them now, and Chanler
started forward, but I caught him by the arm.
“Wait!” I whispered. For in the candle-gleam I had seen a new look on
Betty’s face. “Only wait!”
Brack was bending over her.
“Stand up!” he commanded, and she stood up in all the litheness of her
slim young womanhood.
“Come to me.”
She did not move.
“Come. I am your Man. You are—you are——”
His speech suddenly collapsed. Betty was smiling. The smile broadened.
There was a moment of struggle and then she threw back her head and
the cabin rang with peal after peal of lark-like laughter.
“Oh, Captain Brack!” she stammered, struggling to control herself.
“That’s too—too stagy! Too, too melodramatic!”
Again and again her merriment broke out, welling in gusts from
compressed lips, like merry music that would not be suppressed.
“Forgive me, captain; it’s not polite of me, but—but, oh! If you could
only see yourself as I see you now!”
Brack stood and glared, dumfounded, impotent. His arms slowly fell to
his sides; he drew back. On his face there was the amazement and anger
of a schoolmaster outfaced by a pupil.
“Huh-huh! What’s this?” he snorted. “It’s very funny, no doubt,
but—explain—explain!”
“That’s just what you may do, cappy,” said Chanler, stepping through
the doorway. “Hello, Betty. Everything all right, and all that?”
One thing stood out in that room as we entered, and that was the swift
play of expression on Betty’s face as she beheld Chanler. First, it
was surprise, then incredulity, then glad relief. And I read in her
eyes that she was glad that George once more was fit, so she could
care for him again.
“Why, George!” she cried. “You—you’re sober!”
Brack’s sharp laughter filled the room. He had recovered his poise; he
was the captain again.
“Yes. A great surprise; so unusual for Mr. Chanler,” he said; but his
eyes were studying me.
“Cappy, I’m through with you,” said Chanler. “You’re a dear,
interesting fellow, but this—this is too much, you know. You’re
fired.”
The captain laughed again, but not for an instant did his eyes leave
me. He was trying to bore into my mind, trying to learn what he wished
to know without resorting to questioning words.
“So,” he said softly. “I begin to understand. It was not Madigan who
bungled it after all. Some one else warned Slade and Harris. I
underestimated you, Pitt. Why, it has acted almost like a man.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I did warn Slade and Harris. I’m glad that I
helped throw your devilish plans awry.”
“And talks almost like a man,” he continued with a touch of his old
smile. “But as for interfering with my devilish plans, Pitt, you must
not rejoice too soon. You have merely delayed the fulfilment of my
plans, and you have made things very uncomfortable for yourself and
your friends. When one acts like a man one must pay for it.”
“That’ll do, cappy,” said Chanler. He had taken Betty’s hand and was
patting it assuringly while she looked up at him in wonderment. “I’ve
told you that you’re fired. You’re not with us any more.”
“Not with you?” Brack appeared to notice George for the first time.
“No? I am not with you any more, but you see—you still are with me.”
“Not at all, cappy. We leave you now. Sorry, cappy; enjoyed your
society immensely, but, really, you know, this sort of thing can’t be
done.”
To my great surprise the captain stood where he was, smiling
tolerantly, while George and Betty moved toward the door.
“Miss Baldwin,” he said suddenly.
Betty stopped in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“It was a very funny joke—whatever it was?”
“It was rude of me to laugh, I know,” said Betty. “But I really
couldn’t help it.”
“‘Really couldn’t help it,’” repeated Brack mockingly. “A matter of
temperament. Typical of the American young woman—to giggle at big
moments. I shall cure you of giggling. You may go now.”
“‘May go!’” stormed George. “That’s insolent, cappy. What do you
mean?”
“I give you permission to go.”
“Well, hang you for your impudence!”
“Careful, Chanler. I might change my mind.”
“Let me assure you, captain, that that would make no difference,” I
interposed. The pistol inside my shirt was pressing my ribs and I
smiled with the confidence it gave me. “We will go when we wish, no
matter what your mind on the subject may be.”
For the second time in a few minutes his eyes bored into mine, seeking
to read my thoughts.
“So you have a hidden ace somewhere, somehow, eh, Pitt?” he laughed.
“I see that plainly; but I can’t quite see what it is. You’re growing,
Pitt. One of your ancestors must have been a man. Ah! Barry’s
rifle—what did you do with it?”
“Wrong, captain, absolutely wrong!” I replied. “Barry’s rifle isn’t a
factor in the present situation.”
He studied me for fully a minute in silence and gave up, baffled.
“I have said you may go,” he said curtly. “Go away. All things in
their order; gold first, then woman.” He seated himself at the table
and resumed his eating. “Go as quickly, as swiftly as you please.
But,” he called as we went out, “I beg of you—as my guests, you
understand—do not, please do not, go too far!”
Behind us as we hurried into the night we heard him laughing, his
laughter some what smothered by mouthfuls of food and drink.