THE RIFLE CARTRIDGES
The girl did not appear for the evening meal. She had refused Tamada's
suggestions through the door. Lund drank heavily, but without any
effect, save to sink him in comparative silence, as he and Rainey sat
together, after the Japanese had cleared the table. In contrast to the
excitement of the fight, their moods had changed, sobered by the thought
of the girl sitting up with her dead in the captain's room.
Rainey was bruised and stiffened, and Lund moved with less of his usual
ease. The flesh of his face had been so pounded that it was turning dull
purple in great patches, giving him a diabolical appearance against his
naming beard.
"We've got to git hold of those cartridges," he said, after a
long-pause. "Carlsen had 'em planted somewhere, an' it's likely in his
room. Best thing to do is to chuck 'em overboard. Cheaper to dump the
cartridges an' shells than the rifles an' shotguns.
"You see," he went on, "Deming ain't quit. That's one thing with a man
who's streaked with yeller, when he gits licked in the open an' knows
he's licked proper, he tries to git even underhanded. He knows jest as
well as I do that Carlsen was lyin' that time about there bein' no more
shells. O' course the skipper may have stowed 'em away, but I doubt it.
An' jest so long as he thinks there's a chance of gittin' at 'em, he'll
figger on turning' the tables some day. An' he'll be workin' the rest of
'em up to the job."
"They can't do much without a navigator," suggested Rainey.
"Mebbe they figger a man'll do a lot o' things he don't want to with a
rifle barrel stuck in his neck or the small of his back," said Lund
grimly. "It's a good persuader. Might even have some influence on me.
Then ag'in it might not."
"Where is the magazine?" asked Rainey.
"In the little room aft o' the galley. We'll look there first. Come on."
"How about keys? Carlsen's must have been in his pockets. I didn't see
them when I was hunting the morphine. We can't go in there." Rainey made
a motion toward the skipper's room. Lund chuckled.
"I had my keys to the safe an' the magazine when I was aboard last
trip," he said. "They was with me when we went on the ice. An' I hung on
to 'em. Allus thought I might have a chance to use 'em ag'in."
The strong room of the _Karluk_ was a narrow compartment, heavily
partitioned off from the galley and the corridor. There was a lamp
there, and Rainey lit it while Lund closed the door behind them. The
magazine was an iron chest fastened to the floor and the side of the
vessel with two padlocks, opened by different keys. It was quite empty.
"Thorough man, Carlsen," said Lund. "Prepared for a show-down, if
necessary. Might have put 'em in the safe. Wonder if he changed the
combination? I bet Simms didn't, year in an' out."
He worked at the disk and grunted as the tumblers clicked home.
"It ain't changed," he said. "No use lookin' here." But he swung back
the door and rummaged through books and papers, disturbing a chronometer
and a small cash-box that held the schooner's limited amount of ready
cash. There was no sign of any cartridges.
"We'll tackle Carlsen's room next," he announced. "I don't suppose you
looked between the bunk mattresses, did you?"
"I never thought of it," said Rainey. "I didn't imagine there would be
more than one."
"I've got a hunch you'll find two on Carlsen's bunk. An' the shells
between 'em. He kep' his door locked when he was out of the main cabin
an' slep' on 'em nights. That's what I'd be apt to do."
As they came into the main cabin Rainey caught Lund by the arm.
"I'm almost sure I saw Carlsen's door closing," he whispered. "It might
have been the shadow."
"But it might not. Shouldn't wonder. One of 'em's sneaked in. Saw the
cabin empty, an' figgered we'd turned in. While we was in the
strong-room."
He took the automatic from his pocket and went straight to the door of
Carlsen's room. It was locked or bolted from within.
"The fool!" said Lund. "I've got a good mind to let him stay there till
he swallers some o' the drugs to fill his belly." He rapped on the panel
with the butt of the gun.
"Come on out before I start trouble."
There was no answer. Lund looked uncertainly at Rainey.
"I hate to start a rumpus ag'in," he said, jerking his head toward the
skipper's room. "'Count of her. Reckon he can stay there till after
we've buried Simms. He's safe enough."
Rainey was a little surprised at this show of thoughtfulness, but he did
not remark on it. He was beginning to think pretty constantly of late
that he had underestimated Lund.
The giant's hand dropped automatically to the handle as if to assure
himself of the door being fast. Suddenly it opened wide, a black gap,
with only the gray eye of the porthole facing them. Lund had brought up
the muzzle of his pistol to the height of a man's chest, but there was
nothing to oppose it.
"Hidin', the damn fool! What kind of a game is this? Come out o' there."
Something scuttled on the floor of the room--then darted swiftly out
between the legs of Lund and Rainey, on all fours, like a great dog.
Curlike, it sprawled on the floor with a white face and pop-eyes, with
hands outstretched in pleading, knees drawn up in some ludicrous attempt
at protection, calling shrilly, in the voice of Sandy:
"Don't shoot, sir! Please don't shoot!"
Lund reached down and jerked the roustabout to his feet, half
strangling him with his grip on the collar of the lad's shirt, and flung
him into a chair.
"What were you doin' in there?"
Sandy gulped convulsively, feeling at his scraggy throat, where an
Adam's apple was working up and down. Speech was scared out of him, and
he could only roll his eyes at them.
"You damned young traitor!" said Lund. "I'll have you keelhauled for
this! Out with it, now. Who sent ye? Deming?"
"You've got him frightened half to death," intervened Rainey. "They
probably scared him into doing this. Didn't they, Sandy?"
The lad blinked, and tears of self-pity rolled down his grimy cheeks.
The relief of them seemed to unstopper his voice. That, and the kinder
quality of Rainey's questioning.
"Deming! He said he'd cut my bloody heart out if I didn't do it. Him an'
Beale. Lookit."
He plucked aside the front of his almost buttonless shirt and worn
undervest and showed them on his left breast the scoring where a sharp
blade had marked an irregular circle on his skin.
"Beale did that," he whined. "Deming said they'd finish the job if I
come back without 'em."
"Without the shells?"
"Yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Rainey. Oh, Gord, they'll kill me sure! Oh, my
Gord!" His staring eyes and loose mouth, working in fear, made him look
like a fresh-landed cod.
"You ain't much use alive," said Lund.
"Mebbe I ain't," returned the lad, with the desperation of a cornered
rat. "But I got a right to live. And I've lived worse'n a dorg on this
bloody schooner. I'm fair striped an' bruised wi' boots an' knuckles an'
ends o' rope. I'd 'ave chucked myself over long ago if--"
"If what?"
The lad turned sullen.
"Never mind," he said, and glared almost defiantly at Lund.
"Is that door shut?" the giant asked Rainey. "Some of 'em might be
hangin' 'round." Rainey went to the corridor and closed and locked the
entrance.
"Now then, you young devil," said Lund. "What they did to you for'ard
ain't a marker on what I'll do to you if you don't speak up an' answer
when I talk. _If what?_"
Sandy turned to Rainey.
"They said they was goin' to give me some of the gold," he said. "They
said all along I was to have the hat go 'round for me. I told you I was
dragged up, but there's--there's an old woman who was good to me. She's
up ag'in' it for fair. I told her I'd bring her back some dough an' if I
can hang on an' git it, I'll hang on. But they'll do me up, now, for
keeps."
Rainey heard Lund's chuckle ripen to a quiet laugh.
"I'm damned if they ain't some guts to the herrin' after all," he said.
"Hangin' on to take some dough back to an old woman who ain't even his
mother. Who'd have thought it? Look here, my lad. I was dragged up the
same way, I was. An' I hung on. But you'll never git a cent out of that
bunch. I don't know as they'll have enny to give you."
His face hardened. "But you come through, an' I'll see you git somethin'
for the old woman. An' yoreself, too. What's more, you can stay aft an'
wait on cabin. If they lay a finger on you, I'll lay a fist on them, an'
worse."
"You ain't kiddin' me?"
"I don't kid, my lad. I don't waste time that way."
Sandy stood up, his face lighting. He began to empty his pockets, laying
shells and shotgun cartridges upon the table.
"I couldn't begin to git harf of 'em," he said. "The rest's under the
mattresses. They said they on'y needed a few. I thought you was both
turned in. When you come out of the corridor I was scared nutty."
Between the mattresses, as Lund had guessed, they found the rest of the
shells, laid out in orderly rows save where the lad's scrambling
fingers had disturbed them. Lund stripped off a pillow-case and dumped
them in, together with those on the table.
"You can bunk here," he told the grateful Sandy. "Now I'll have a few
words with Deming, Beale and Company. Want to come along, Rainey?"
Lund strode down the corridor, bag in one hand, his gun in the other.
Rainey threw open the door of the hunters' quarters and discovered them
like a lot of conspirators. Deming was in his bunk; also another man,
whose ribs Lund had cracked when he had kicked him along the deck out of
his way. The bruised faces of the rest showed their effects from the
fight. As Lund entered, covering them with the gun, while he swung down
the heavy slip on the table with a clatter, their looks changed from
eager expectation to consternation.