RAINEY SCORES
With it went a figure. Rainey caught sight of a ghastly face, a mouth
that shouted vainly for help in the pandemonium, and was instantly
stoppered with strangling brine, pop-eyes appealing in awful fright as
Sandy was washed away in the cascade. The halyards were held on the pin
with a turn and twist that Rainey swiftly loosened, lifting the coil
free, making a fast loop, and thrusting head and arms through it as he
flung himself after the roustabout.
Even as he dived he heard the bellow of Lund, knowing instinctively the
peril of the schooner by its actions, though ignorant of the accident.
"Back that jib! Back it, blast yore eyes! Ba-ck--"
Then Rainey was clubbing his way through the race of water to where he
glimpsed an upflung arm. Sandy was in oilskins and sea-boots, he had
hardly a chance to save himself, however expert. And it flashed over
Rainey's mind that, like many sailors, the lad had boasted that he could
not swim. His boots would pull him under as soon as the force of the
waves, that were tossing him from crest to crest, should be suspended.
Rainey himself was borne on their thrust, clogged by his own equipment,
linked to life only by the halyard coil.
A great bulk wallowed just before him, the helpless body of the bowhead
whale, the killers darting in a mad mêlée for its head. Then a figure
was literally hurled upon the slippery mass of the mammal, its gray
belly plain in the welter, a living raft against which the waves broke
and tossed their spray.
Clawing frantically, Sandy clutched at the base of the enormous pectoral
fin, clinging with maniacal strength, mad with fear. Striking out to
little purpose, save to help buoy himself, blinded by the flying scud
and broken crests, Rainey felt himself upreared, swept impotently on and
slammed against the slimy hulk, just close enough to Sandy to grasp him
by the collar, as the whale, stung by a killer's tearing at its oily
tongue, flailed with its fin and the two of them slid down its body,
deep under water.
Rainey fought against the suffocation and the fierce desire to gasp and
relieve his tortured lungs. The lad's weight seemed to be carrying him
down as if he was a thing of lead, but Rainey would not relax his grip.
He could not. He had centered all his energy upon the desire to save
Sandy, and his nerve centers were still tense to that last conscious
demand.
There came a swift, painful constriction of his chest that his failing
senses interpreted only as the end of things. Then his head came out
into the blessed air and he gulped what he could, though half of it was
water.
The _Karluk_ was into the wind and they were in what little lee there
was, dragging aft at the end of the halyards, being fetched in toward
the rail by the mighty tugs of Lund, a weird sight to Rainey's smarting
eyes as he caught sight of the giant, with red hair uncovered, his beard
whipping in the wind, his black glasses still in place, making some sort
of a blessed monster out of him.
Rainey had his left fist welded to the line, his right was set in
Sandy's collar, and Sandy's death clutch had twined itself into Rainey's
oilskins, though the lad was limp, and his face, seen through the watery
film that streamed over it, set and white.
A dozen arms shot down to grasp him. He felt the iron grip of Lund upon
his left forearm, almost wrenching his arm from its socket as he was
inhauled, caught at by body and legs and deposited on the deck of the
schooner, that almost instantly commenced to go about upon its former
course. Again he heard the bellow of the blind giant, as if it had been
a continuation of the order shouted as he had gone overboard.
"Ba-ack that jib to win'ard! Ba-ck it, you swabs!"
The _Karluk_ came about more smartly this time, swinging on the upheaval
of a wave and rushing off with ever-increasing speed. Lund bent over
him, asking him with a note that Rainey, for all his exhaustion,
interpreted as one of real anxiety:
"How is it with you, matey? Did ye git lunged up?"
Rainey managed to shake his head and, with Lund's boughlike arm for
support, got to his feet, winded, shaken, aching from his pounding and
the crash against the whale.
"Good man!" cried Lund, thwacking him on the shoulder and holding him up
as Rainey nearly collapsed under the friendly accolade.
Sandy was lying face down, one hunter kneeling across him, kneading his
ribs to bellows action, lifting his upper body in time to the pressure,
while another worked his slack arms up and down.
"I tank he's gone," said Hansen. "Swallowed a tubful."
"That was splendid, Mr. Rainey! Wonderful! It was brave of you!"
Peggy Simms stood before Rainey, clinging to the mainstays, a different
girl to the one that he had known. Her red lips were apart, showing the
clean shine of her teeth, above her glowing cheeks her gray eyes
sparkled with friendly admiration, one slender wet hand was held out
eagerly toward him.
"Why," said Rainey, in that embarrassment that comes when one knows he
has done well, yet instinctively seeks to disclaim honors, "any one
would have done that. I happened to be the only one to see it."
"I'm not so sure of that," replied the girl, and Rainey thought her lip
curled contemptuously as she glanced toward Carlsen at the wheel. Yet
Carlsen, he fancied, had full excuse for not having made the attempt,
busied as he had been adding needed strength to the wheel.
"Oh, it was not what he did, or failed to do," said the girl, and this
time there was no mistaking the fact that she emphasized her voice with
contempt and made sure that it would carry to Carlsen. "He said it
wasn't worth while."
Her eyes flashed and then she made a visible effort to control herself.
"But it was very brave of you, and I want to ask your pardon," she
concluded, with the crimson of her cheeks flooding all her face before
she turned away, and made abruptly for the companion.
A little bewildered, the touch of her slim but strong fingers still
sensible to his own, Rainey went to the wheel.
"Shall I take it over, Mr. Carlsen?" he asked. "It's my watch."
Carlsen surveyed him coolly. Either he pretended not to have heard the
girl's innuendo or it failed to get under his skin.
"You'd better get into some dry togs, Rainey," he said. "And I'll
prescribe a stiff jorum of grog-hot. Take your time about it." Rainey,
conscious of a wrenched feeling in his side, a growing nausea and
weakness, thanked him and took the advice. Half an hour later, save for
a general soreness, he felt too vigorous to stay below, and went on deck
again. Sandy had been taken forward. He encountered the hunter, Deming,
and asked after the roustabout.
"Born to be hanged," answered the hunter with more friendliness than he
had ever exhibited. "They pumped it out of him, and got his own pump to
workin'. He'll be as fit as a fiddle presently. Asking for you."
"I'll see him soon," said Rainey, and again offered relief to Carlsen,
which the doctor this time accepted.
"Miss Simms misunderstood me, Rainey," he said easily. "My intent was,
that Sandy could never stay on top in those seas, and that it was idle
to send a valuable man after a lout who was as good as dead. If it
hadn't been for the whale you'd never have landed him. And the killers
got the whale," he added, with his cynical grin.
So he had overheard. Rainey wondered whether the girl would accept the
amended statement if it was offered. At its best interpretation it was
callous.
When Hansen took over the watch Rainey went below to Sandy. Lund had
disappeared, but he found the giant in the triangular forecastle by
Sandy's bunk.
"That you, Rainey?" Lund asked as he heard the other's tread. Then he
dropped his voice to a whisper:
"The lad's grateful. Make the most of it. If he wants to spill
ennything, git all of it."
But Sandy seemed able to do nothing but grin sheepishly. He was half
drunk with the steaming potion that had been forced down him.
"I'll see you later, Mister Rainey," he finally stammered out. "See you
later, sir. You--I--"
Lund suddenly nudged Rainey in the ribs.
"Never mind now," he whispered.
A sailor had come into the forecastle with an extra blanket for Sandy,
contributed from the hunters' mess.
"That's all right, Sandy," said Rainey. "Better try to get some sleep."
The roustabout had already dropped off. The seaman touched his temple in
an old-fashioned salute.
"That was a smart job you did, sir," he said to Rainey.
The latter went aft with Lund through the hunters' quarters. They were
seated under the swinging lamp which had been lit in the gloom of the
gale, playing poker, as usual. But all laid down their cards as Rainey
appeared.
"Good work, sir!" said one of them, and the rest chimed in with
expressions that warmed Rainey's heart. He felt that he had won his way
into their good-will. They were human, after all, he thought.
"Glad to have you drop in an' gam a bit with us, or take a hand in a
game, sir," added Deming.
Rainey escaped, a trifle embarrassed, and passed through the alley that
went by the cook's domain into the main cabin. Tamada was at work, but
turned a gleam of slanting eyes toward Rainey as they passed the open
door. The main cabin was empty.
"Come into my room," suggested Lund. "I want to talk with you."
He stuffed his pipe and proffered a drink before he spoke.
"Best day's work you've done in a long while, matey," he said quietly.
"Take Deming's offer up, an' mix in with them hunters. An' pump thet
kid, Sandy. Pump him dry. He'll know almost as much as Tamada, an' he'll
come through with it easier."
"Just what are you afraid of?" asked Rainey.
"Son," said Lund simply, "I'm afraid of nothing. But they're primed for
somethin', under Carlsen. We'll be makin' Unalaska ter-morrer or the
next day. Here's hopin' it's the next. An' we've got to know what to
expect. Did you know that the skipper has had another bad spell?"
"No. When?"
"Jest a few minnits ago. Cryin' for Carlsen like a kid for its nurse an'
bottle. The doc's with him now. An' I'm beginnin' to have a hunch what's
wrong with him. Here's somethin' for you to chew on: Inside of
forty-eight hours there's goin' to be an upset aboard this hooker an'
it's up to me an' you to see we come out on top. If not--"
He spread out his arms with the great, gorilla-like hands at the end of
them, in a gesture that supplanted words. Beyond any doubt Lund expected
trouble. And Rainey, for the first time, began to sense it as something
approaching, sinister, almost tangible.
"You drop in on the hunters an' have a little game of poker ter-night,"
said Lund emphatically.
"I haven't got much money with me," said Rainey.
"Money, hell!" mocked Lund. "They don't play for money. They play for
shares in the gold. They've got the big amount fixed at a million, each
share worth ten thousand. 'Cordin' to the way things stand at present,
you've got forty thousand dollars' worth in chips to gamble with. Put it
up to 'em that way. I figger they'll accept it. If they don't, wal,
we've learned something. An' don't forget to git next to Sandy."
A good deal of this was enigmatical to Rainey, but there was no
mistaking Lund's tremendous seriousness and, duly impressed, Rainey
promised to carry out his suggestions.
As he crossed the main cabin to go to his own room, Carlsen came out of
the skipper's. He did not see Rainey at first and was humming a little
air under his breath as he slipped a small article into his pocket. His
face held a sneer. Then he saw Rainey, and it changed to a mask that
revealed nothing. His tune stopped.
"I hear the captain's sick again," said Rainey. "Not serious, I hope."
Carlsen stood there gazing at him with his look of a sphinx, his eyes
half-closed, the scoffing light showing faintly.
"Serious? I'm afraid it is serious this time, Rainey. Yes," he ended
slowly. "I am inclined to think it is really serious." He turned away
and rapped at the door of the girl's stateroom. In answer to a low reply
he turned the handle and went in, leaving Rainey alone.