PEGGY SIMMS
"Caught with the goods!" said Lund. "Two tries at mutiny in one day, my
lads. You want to git it into your boneheads that I'm runnin' this ship
from now on. I can sail it without ye and, by God, I'll set the bunch of
ye ashore same's you figgered on doin' with me if you don't sit up an'
take notice! The rifles an' guns"--he glanced at the orderly display of
weapons in racks on the wall--"are too vallyble to chuck over, but here
go the shells, ev'ry last one of them. So that nips _that_ little plan,
Deming."
He turned back the slip to display the contents.
"Open a port, Rainey, an' heave the lot out."
Rainey did so while the hunters gazed on in silent chagrin.
"There's one thing more," said Lund, grinning at them. "If enny of you
saw a man hurtin' a dog, you'd probably fetch him a wallop. But you
don't think ennything of scarin' the life out of a half-baked kid an'
markin' up his hide like a patchwork quilt. Thet kid's stayin' aft after
this. One of you monkey with him, an' you'll do jest what he's bin
doin', wish you was dead an' overboard."
He turned on his heel and walked to the door, Rainey following.
"Burial of the skipper at dawn," said Lund. "All hands on deck, clean
an' neatly dressed to stand by. An' see yore behavior fits the occasion.
Deming, you'll turn out, too. No malingerin'."
It was plain that the news of the captain's death was known to them.
They showed no surprise. Rainey was sure that Tamada had not mentioned
it. It had leaked out through the grape-vine telegraphy of all ships.
Doubtless, he thought, the after-cabin and its doings was always being
spied upon.
"Will you take the service ter-morrer?" Lund asked Rainey when they
were back in the cabin. "Bein' as yo're an eddicated chap?"
"Why--I don't know it. Is there a prayer-book aboard? I thought the
skipper always presided."
"I'm only deputy-skipper w'en it comes down to that," said Lund. "It
ain't my ship. I'm jest runnin' it under contract with my late partner.
The ship belongs to the gal. And yo're top officer now, in the regular
run. As to a prayer-book, there ain't sech an article aboard to my
knowledge. But I'd like to have it go off shipshape. For Simms' sake as
well as the gal's. I reckon he used his best jedgment 'bout puttin' back
after me on the floe. I might have done the same thing myself."
Rainey doubted that statement, and set it down to Lund's generosity.
Many of his late words and actions had displayed a latent depth of
feeling that he had never credited Lund with possessing. He could not
help believing that, in some way, the girl had brought them to the
surface.
"I thought I saw a Bible in the safe," he said, "when we were looking
for the shells. There may be a prayer-book. I suppose there have been
occasions for it. The mate died at sea last trip."
"There may be," returned Lund. "That's where Simms 'ud keep it. He
warn't what you'd call a religious man. We'll take a look afore we turn
in."
There were offices to be performed for the dead captain that the girl,
with all her willingness, could not attempt. Lund did not mention them,
and Rainey vacillated about disturbing her until he saw Tamada go
through the cabin with folded canvas and a flag. The Japanese tapped on
the door, which was instantly opened to him. He had been expected.
There was no doubt that Tamada, with his medical experience, was best
fitted for the task, but it seemed to Rainey also that the girl had
deliberately ignored their services and that, despite her involuntary
admiration of Lund's fight against odds, or in revulsion of it, she
reckoned them hostile to her sentiments. Lund roused him by talking of
the burial-service for Simms.
"You're a writer," he said. "What's the good of knowin' how to handle
words if you can't fake up some sort of a service? One's as good as
another, long as it sounds like the real thing.
"I reckon there's a God," he went on. "Somethin' that started things,
somethin' that keeps the stars from runnin' each other down, but, after
He wound up the clock He made, I don't figger He bothers much about the
works.
"Luck's the big thing that counts. We're all in on the deal. Some of us
git the deuces an' treys, an' some git the aces. If yo're born lucky
things go soft for you. But, if it warn't for luck, for the chance an'
the hope of it, things 'ud be upside down an' plain anarchy in a jiffy.
If it warn't the pore devil's idea that his luck has got to change for
the better, mebbe ter-morrer, he'd start out an' cut his own throat, or
some one else's, if he had ginger enough."
"It's hardly all luck, is it?" asked Rainey. "Look at you! You're bigger
than most men, stronger, better equipped to get what you want."
"Hell!" laughed Lund. "I was lucky to be born that way. But you've got
to fudge up some sort of a service to suit the gal. You've got that
Bible. It ought to be easy. Simms wouldn't give a whoop, enny more'n I
would. When yo're dead yo're through, so far's enny one can prove it to
you. A dead body's a nuisance, an' the sooner it's got rid of the
better. But if it's goin' to make the livin' feel enny better for
spielin' off some fine words, why, hop to it an' make up yore speech."
Peggy Simms saved Rainey by producing a prayer-book, bringing it to
Lund, her face pale but composed enough, and her shadowed eyes calm as
she gave it to him.
"I reckon Rainey here 'ud read it better'n me," he said. "He's a
scholar."
"If you will," asked the girl. She seemed to have outworn her first
sorrow, to have obtained a grip of herself that, with the dignity of her
bereavement, the very control of her undoubted grief, set up a barrier
between her and Lund. Rainey was conscious of this fence behind which
the girl had retreated. She was polite, but she did not ask this service
as a favor, as a friendly act. Refusal, even, would not have visibly
affected her, he fancied. There was an invisible armor about her that
might be added to at any moment by a shield of silent scorn. Somehow, if
sex had, for a swift moment, brought her and Lund into any contact, that
same sex, showing another aspect, set them far apart.
Lund showed that he felt it, running his splay fingers through his beard
in evident embarrassment, while Rainey took the book silently, looking
through the pages for the ritual of "Burial at Sea."
Arrangements had been made on deck long before dawn. A section of the
rail had been removed and a grating arranged that could be tipped at
the right moment for the consignment of the captain's body to the deep.
The sea was running in long heaves, and the sun rose in a clear sky. The
ocean was free from ice, though the wind was cold. Here and there a
berg, far off, caught the sparkle of the sun and, to the north, parallel
to their course, the peaks of the Aleutian Isles, broken buttresses of
an ancient seabridge, showed sharply against the horizon.
At four bells in the morning watch all hands had assembled, save for
Tamada and Hansen, who appeared bearing the canvas-enveloped,
flag-draped body of Simms, his sea-shroud weighted by heavy pieces of
iron. Peggy Simms followed them, and, as the crew, with shuffling feet
and throats that were repeatedly cleared, gathered in a semicircle, she
arranged the folds of the Stars and Stripes that Hansen attached to a
light line by one corner.
Whatever Lund affected, the solemnity of the occasion held the men. They
uncovered and stood with bowed heads that hid the bruised faces of the
hunters. Lund's own damaged features were lowered as Rainey commenced to
read. Only Deming's face, gray from the effort of coming on deck and the
pain in his arm, held the semblance of a sneer that was largely bravado.
A hunter had his arm tucked in that of his comrade with the broken ribs.
A seaman was told off to the wheel and the schooner was held to the wind
with all sheets close inboard, rising and falling on an almost level
keel.
"_And the body shall be cast into the sea._"
At the words Lund and Hansen tilted the grating. There was a slight
pause as if the body were reluctant to start on its last journey, and
then it slid from the platform and plunged into the sea, disappearing
instantly under the urge of the weights, with a hissing aeration of the
water. The flag, held inboard by the line, fluttered a moment and
subsided over the grating. The girl turned toward them, her head up.
"Thank you," she said, and went below.
"That's over," said Lund, letting out whatever emotions he might have
repressed in a long breath. "Now, then, trim ship! Watch-off, get below.
We're goin' to drive her for all she's worth."
He took the wheel himself as the men jumped to the sheets and soon Lund
was getting every foot of possible speed out of the schooner. He was as
good a sailor as Simms, inclined to take more chances, but capable of
handling them.
The girl kept below and seldom came out of her cabin, Tamada serving her
meals in there. Rainey could see Lund's resentment growing at this
attitude that seemed to him normal enough, though it might present
difficulty later if persisted in. But the morning that they headed up
through Sequam Pass between the spouting reefs of Sequam and Amlia
Islands, she came on deck and went forward to the bows, taking in deep
breaths of the bracing air and gazing north to the free expanse of
Bering Strait. Rainey left her alone, but Lund welcomed her as she came
back aft.
"Glad to see you on deck again, Miss Peggy," he said. "You need sun and
air to git you in shape again."
His glance held vivid admiration of her as he spoke, a glance that ran
over her rounded figure with a frank approval that Rainey resented, but
to which the girl paid no attention. She seemed to have made up her mind
to a change of attitude.
"How far have we yet to go?" she asked.
"A'most a thousan' miles to the Strait proper," said Lund. "The
Nome-Unalaska steamer lane lies to the east. Runs close to the
Pribilofs, three hundred miles north, with Hall an' St. Matthew three
hundred further. Then comes St. Lawrence Isle, plumb in the middle of
the Strait, with Siberia an' Alaska closin' in."
He was keen to hold her in conversation, and she willing to listen,
assenting almost eagerly when he offered to point out their positions
on the chart, spread on the cabin table. Lund talked well, for all his
limited and at times luridly inclined vocabulary, whenever he talked of
the sea and of his own adventures, stating them without brag, but
bringing up striking pictures of action, full of the color and savor of
life in the raw. From that time on Peggy Simms came to the table and
talked freely with Lund, more conservatively with Rainey.
The newspaperman was no experienced analyst of woman nature, but he saw,
or thought he saw, the girl watching Lund closely when he talked,
studying him, sometimes with more than a hint of approbation, at others
with a look that was puzzled, seeming to be working at a problem. The
giant's liking for her, boyish at times, or swiftly changing to bolder
appraisal, grew daily.
The girl, Rainey decided, was humoring Lund, seeking to know how with
her feminine methods she might control him, keep him within bounds. Her
coldness, it seemed, she had cast aside as an expedient that might prove
too provoking and worthless.
And Rainey's valuation of her resources increased. She was handling her
woman's weapons admirably, yet when he sometimes, at night, under the
cabin lamp, saw the smoldering light glowing in Lund's agate eyes, he
knew that she was playing a dangerous game.
"What d'ye figger on doin' with yore share, Rainey?" Lund asked him the
night that they passed Nome. It was stormy weather in the Strait, and
the _Karluk_ was snugged down under treble reefs, fighting her way
north. Ice in the Narrows was scarce, though Lund predicted broken floes
once they got through. The cabin was cozy, with a stove going. Peggy
Simms was busied with some sewing, the canary and the plants gave the
place a domestic atmosphere, and Lund, smoking comfortably, was
eminently at ease.
"'Cordin' to the way the men figgered it out," he went on, "though I
reckon they're under the mark more'n over it, you'll have forty
thousan' dollars. That's quite a windfall, though nothin' to Miss Peggy,
here, or me, for that matter. I s'pose you got it all spent already."
"I don't know that I have," said Rainey. "But I think, if all goes well,
I'll get a place up in the Coast Range, in the redwoods looking over the
sea, and write. Not newspaper stuff, but what I've always wanted to.
Stories. Yarns of adventure!"
Peggy Simms looked up.
"You've never done that?" she asked.
"Not satisfactorily. I suppose that genius burns in a garret, but I
don't imagine myself a genius and I don't like garrets. I've an idea I
can write better when I don't have to stand the bread-and-butter strain
of routine."
"Goin' to write second-hand stuff?" asked Lund. "Why don't you _live_
what you write? I don't see how yo're goin' to git under a man's skin by
squattin' in a bungalow with a Jap servant, a porcelain bathtub, an'
breakfast in bed. Why don't you travel an' see stuff as it is? How in
blazes are you goin' to write Adventure if you don't live it?
"Me, I'm goin' to git a schooner built accordin' to my own ideas. Have a
kicker engine in it, mebbe, an' go round the world. What's the use of
livin' on it an' not knowin' it by sight? Books and pictures are all
right in their way, I reckon, but, while my riggin' holds up, I'm for
travel. Mebbe I'll take a group of islands down in the South Seas after
a bit an' make somethin' out of 'em. Not jest _copra_ an' pearl-shell,
but cotton an' rubber."
"A king and his kingdom," suggested the girl.
"Aye, an' mebbe a queen to go with it," replied Lund, his eyes wide open
in a look that made the girl flush and Rainey feel the hidden issue that
he felt was bound to come, rising to the surface.
"That's a _man's_ life," went on Lund. "Travel's all right, but a man's
got to do somethin', buck somethin', start somethin'. An' a red-blooded
man wants the right kind of a woman to play mate. Polish off his rough
edges, mebbe. I'd rather be a rough castin' that could stand filin' a
bit, than smooth an' plated. An', when I find the right woman, one of my
own breed, I'm goin' to tie to her an' her to me.
"I'm goin' to be rich. They've cleaned up the sands of Nome, but there's
others'll be found yit between Cape Hope an' Cape Barry. Meantime, we've
got a placer of our own. With plenty of gold they ain't much limit to
what a man can do. I've roughed it all my life, an' I'm not lookin' for
ease. It makes a man soft. But--"
He swept the figure of the girl in a pause that was eloquent of his line
of thought. She grew uneasy of it, but Lund maintained it until she
raised her eyes from her work and challenged his. Rainey saw her breast
heave, saw her struggle to hold the gaze, turn red, then pale. He
thought her eyes showed fear, and then she stiffened. Almost
unconsciously she raised her hand to where Rainey was sure she kept the
little pistol, touched something as though to assure herself of its
presence, and went on sewing. Lund chuckled, but shifted his eyes to
Rainey.
"Why don't you write up _this_ v'yage? When it's all over? There's
adventure for you, an' we ain't ha'f through with it. An' romance, too,
mebbe. We ain't developed much of a love-story as yit, but you never can
tell."
He laughed, and Peggy Simms got up quietly, folded her sewing, and said
"Good night" composedly before she went to her room.
"How about it, Rainey?" quizzed Lund. "How about the love part of it?
She's a beauty, an' she'll be an heiress. Ain't you got enny red blood
in yore veins? Don't you want her? You won't find many to hold a candle
to her. Looks, built like a racin' yacht, smooth an' speedy. Smart, an'
rich into the bargain. Why don't you make love to her?"
Rainey felt the burning blood mounting to his face and brain.
"I am not in love with Miss Simms," he said. "If I was I should not try
to make love to her under the circumstances. She's alone, and she's
fatherless. I do not care to discuss her."
"She's a woman," said Lund. "And yo're a damned prig! You'd like to bust
me in the jaw, but you know I'm stronger. You've got some guts, Rainey,
but yo're hidebound. You ain't got ha'f the git-up-an'-go to ye that she
has. She's a woman, I tell you, an' she's to be won. If you want her,
why don't you stand up an' try to git her 'stead of sittin' around like
a sick cat whenever I happen to admire her looks?
"I've seen you. I ain't blind enny longer, you know. She's a woman an'
I'm a man. I thought you was one. But you ain't. Yore idea of makin'
love is to send the gal a box of candy an' walk pussy-footed an' write
poems to her. You want to _write_ life an' I want to _live_ it. So does
a gal like that. She's more my breed than yores, if she has got
eddication. An' she's flesh and blood. Same as I am. Yo're half sawdust.
Yo're stuffed."
He went on deck laughing, leaving Rainey raging but helpless. Lund
appeared to think the situation obvious. Two men, and a woman who was
attractive in many ways. The _only_ woman while they were aboard the
schooner, therefore the more to be desired, admired by men cut off from
the rest of the world.
He expected Rainey to be in love with her, to stand up and say so, to
endeavor to win her. Lund sought the ardor of competition. He might be
looking for the excuse to crush Rainey.
But he had said she was of his breed, and that was a true saying. If
Lund was a son of the sea, she was a daughter of a line of seamen. Lund,
sooner or later, meant to take her, willing or unwilling. He had said
so, none too covertly, that very evening. And, if Rainey meant to stand
between her and Lund as a protector, Lund would accept him in that
character only as the girl's lover and his rival.
And Rainey did not know whether he was in love with her or not. He could
not even be certain of the girl. There were times when Lund seemed to
fascinate her. One thing he braced himself to do, to be ready to aid her
against Lund if occasion came, and she needed protection. The luck, as
Lund phrased it, that had given brawn to the giant, had given Rainey
brains. When the time came he would use them.
After this the girl avoided Lund's company as much as possible by
seeking Rainey's. They worked through the Strait and headed into the
Arctic Ocean. Ice was all about them, fields formed of vast blocks of
frozen water divided by broad lanes through which the _Karluk_ slowly
made her way, a maze of ice, always threatening, calling for all of
Lund's skill while he fumed at every barrier, every change of the
weather that grew steadily colder.
The sky was never entirely unveiled by mist, and at night, as they
sailed down a frozen fiord with lookouts doubled, the grinding smashing
noises of the ice seemed the warning voice of the North, as they sailed
on into the wilderness.
The hunters kept below. Lund bossed the ship. Deming, it seemed, managed
to hold his cards and deal them despite his mending arm in splints. And
he was steadily winning. The girl talked with Rainey of her own life
ashore and at sea on earlier trips with her father, of his own desire to
write, of his ambitions, until there was little he had not told her,
even to the girl who was the daughter of the Lumber King.
And the spell of her nearness, her youth, her beauty, naturally held
him. When he was on deck duty she remained in her room. When Lund
relieved him, the day's work giving Lund, Hansen, and Rainey each two
regular watches of four hours, though Lund put in most of the night as
the ice grew more difficult to navigate, Rainey occasionally saw the
giant's eyes sizing him up with a sardonic twinkle.
For the time being, the safety of the _Karluk_ and the successful
carrying out of the purpose of the trip took all of Lund's attention and
energy. Twice he had been thwarted by the weather from gleaning his
golden harvest, and it began to look as if the third attempt might be no
more fortunate.
"The _Karluk's_ stout," he said once, "but she ain't built for the
Arctic. If we git nipped badly she'll go like an eggshell."
"And then what?" Rainey asked.
"Git the gold! That's what we come for. If we have to make sleds an' use
the hunters for a dorg-team." He laughed indomitably. "We'll make a man
of you yit, Rainey, afore we git back."
Lund was snatching sleep in scraps, seeking always to feel a way toward
the position of the island through the ice that continually baffled
progress. Several times they risked the schooner in a narrow lane when
a lull of the often uncertain wind would have seen them ground between
the edges of the floe. Twice Lund ordered out the boats to save them.
Once all hands fended desperately with spars to keep her clear, and only
the schooner's overhung stern saved her rudder from the savagely
clashing masses that closed behind them.
But he showed few signs of strain. Once in a while he would sit with
closed eyes or pass his hands across his brows as if they pained him.
But he never complained, and the ice, taking on the dull hues of sea and
sky, gave off no glare that should affect the sight. Against all
opposition Lund forced his way until, just after sunset one night, as
the dusk swept down, he gave a shout and pointed to a fitful flare over
the port bow. Rainey thought it the aurora, but Lund laughed at him.
"It's the crater atop the island," he said. "Nothin' dangerous. Reg'lar
lighthouse. Now, boys," he went on, his deep voice ringing with
exhilaration, "there's gold in sight! Whistle for a change of weather,
every mother's son of you!"
The deck was soon crowded. On the previous trip the schooner had
approached the island from a different angle, but the men were swift to
acknowledge the glow of the volcano as the expected landfall. Lund
remained on deck, and it was late before any of the crew turned in.
Rainey, during his watch, saw the mountain fire-pulse, glowing and
winking like the eye of a Cyclops, its gleam reflected in the eyes of
the watchers who were about to invade the island and rob it of its
golden sands.
The change of weather came about three in the morning, though not as
Lund had hoped. A sudden wind materialized from the north, stiffening
the canvas with its ice-laden breath, glazing the schooner wherever
moisture dripped, bringing up an angry scud of clouds that fought with
the moon. The sea appeared to have thickened. The _Karluk_ went
sluggishly, as if she was sailing in a sea of treacle.
"Half slush already," said Lund. "We're in for a real cold snap.
There'll be pancake ice all around us afore dawn. That is sure a hard
beach to fetch. But it's too early for winter closing. After this nip
we'll have a warm spell. An' we got to git the stuff aboard an' start
kitin' south afore the big freeze-up catches us."