MY MATE
From the day following the arrival and departure of the Japanese
gunboat, they attacked the little U-shaped beach that lay between two
buttresses of the volcano and sloped sharply down to the sea. Twenty-one
men, a lad and a woman, they went at the despoiling of it with a sort of
obsession, led, rather than driven, by Lund, who worked among the rest
of them like a Hercules.
From the beginning the tongue of shingle promised to be almost
incredibly rich. Between these two spurs of mountain the tide had washed
and flung the rich, free-flaking gold of a submarine vein, piling it up
for unguessable years. Ebb tides had worked it in among the gravel,
floods had beaten it down; the deeper they went to bedrock, the richer
the pan.
The men's fancy estimate of a million dollars began speedily to seem
small as the work progressed, systematically stripping the rocky floor
of all its shingle, foot by foot, and cubic yard by cubic yard, cradling
it in crude rockers, fluming it, vaporizing the amalgam of gold and
mercury, and adding pound after pound of virgin gold to the sacks in the
schooner's strong-room.
They worked at first in alternating shifts of four hours, by day and
night, under the sun, the moon, the stars and the flaming aurora. The
crust was drilled here and there where it had frozen into conglomerate,
and exploded by dynamite, carefully placed so as not to dislodge the
masses of ice that overhung the schooner. Fires to thaw out the ground
were unavailable for sheer lack of fuel; there was no driftwood between
these forestless shores. What fuel could be spared was conserved for use
under the boilers that melted ice to provide water for the cradles and
flumes, and help to cook the meals that Tamada prepared out-of-doors for
the workers.
Buckets of coffee, stews, and thick soups of peas and lentils, masses of
beans with plenty of fat pork, these were what they craved after hours
of tremendous endeavor. Despite the cold, they sweated profusely at
their tasks, stripping off over-garments as they picked and shoveled or
crowbarred out the rich gravel.
Peggy Simms worked with the rest, assisting Tamada, helping to serve
with Sandy. Deming, and Beale, the man with the damaged ribs, were given
odd jobs that they could handle: feeding the fires, washing up, or
assisting at the little forge where the drills were sharpened.
Through all of it Lund was supreme as working superintendent. There was
no job that he could not, did not, handle better than any two of them,
and, though Rainey could see a shrinkage, or a compression, of his bulk
as day by day he called upon it for heroic service, he never seemed to
tire.
"Got to keep 'em at it," he would say in the cabin. "No time to lose,
an' the odds all against us, in a way. Barring Luck. That's what we got
to count on, but we don't want them thinkin' that. If the weather don't
break--an' break jest right--as soon as we've cleaned up, we're stung.
Though I'll blast a way out of this shore ice, if it comes to the worst.
I saved out some dynamite on purpose."
"We ought to have brought a steam-shovel along," said Rainey. He was
hard as iron, but he had served a tough apprenticeship to labor, and his
hands and nails, he fancied, would never get into shape again.
"Now you're talkin'," agreed Lund. "We c'ud have handled it in fine
shape an' left the machine behind as junk or a souvenir for our Jap
friends. We've got to cut out this four-hour shift. Too much time wasted
changin'. Too many meals. We'll make it one long, steady shift of all
hands long as we can stand up to it, an' all git reg'lar sleep. I'm
needin' some myself."
Rainey knew that neither he nor Hansen got within two-thirds as much
out of their shifts as when Lund was in command, though he had given
them the pick of the men. It was not that the men malingered, they
simply, neither of them, had the knack of keeping the work going at top
speed and top effectiveness.
But, with Lund handling all of them as a unit, it was not long before
the shovels began to scrape on the bare rock that underlay the gravel at
tide edge, and work swiftly back to the end of the U. The outdoors
kitchen had been established on top of the promontory between the
schooner and the beach, a primitive arrangement of big pots slung from
tripods over fires kindled on a flat area that was partly sheltered from
the sea and the prevailing winds by outcrops of weathered lava.
At dawn the men trooped from the schooner to be fed and warmed, and then
they flung themselves at their task. The more they got out the more
there was in it for them. But Lund was their overlord, their better, and
they knew it. Only Deming worked with one hand the handle of the forge
bellows, or fed the fires, and sneered.
Lund stood a full head above the tallest of them, which was Rainey, and
he was always in the thick of the work, directing, demanding the utmost,
and setting example to back command. His eyes had bothered him, and he
had made a pair of Arctic snow-glasses, mere circles of wood with slits
in them. But under these the sweat gathered, and he discarded them,
resorting to the primitive device of smearing soot all about his eyes.
This, he said, gave him relief, but it made him a weird sort of Caliban
in his labors.
On the fifteenth day, with the work better than half done, with more
than a ton of actual gold in colors, that ranged from flour dust to
nuggets, in the strong-room, the weather began to change. It misted
continually, and Lund, rejoicing, prophesied the breaking up of the cold
snap.
By the eighteenth day a regular Chinook was blowing, melting the sharper
outlines of the icy crags and pinnacles, and providing streams of
moisture that, in the nights now gradually growing longer, glazed every
yard of rock with peril.
The men worked in a muck with their rubber sea-boots worn out by
constant chafing, sweaters torn, the blades of their shovels reduced by
the work demanded of them, the drills, shortened by steady sharpening,
gone like the spare flesh of the laborers, who, at last, began to show
signs of quicker and quicker exhaustion with occasional mutterings of
discontent, while Lund, intent only upon cleaning off the rock as a
dentist cleans a crumbling tooth, coaxed and cursed, blamed and praised
and bullied, and did the actual work of three of them.
Dead with fatigue, filled with food, drowsy from the liberal grog
allowance at the end of the day, the men slept in a torpor every night
and showed less and less inclination to respond, though the end of their
labors was almost in sight.
"What's the use, we got enough," was the comment beginning to be heard
more and more frequently. "Lund, he's got more'n he can spend in a
lifetime!"
Rainey could not trace these mutterings to Deming's instigation, but he
suspected the hunter. There was no poker; all hands were too tired for
play.
The ice in which the schooner was packed began to show signs of
disintegration. The surface rotted by day and froze again by night and
this destroyed its compactness. If the sun's arc above the horizon had
been longer, its rays more vertical, the ice must infallibly have melted
and freed the _Karluk_, for it was salt-water ice, and there were times
when the thermometer stayed above its freezing point for two or three
hours around noon.
Lund gave the holding floe scant attention. So long as the present
weather kept up he declared that he could dynamite his way out inside of
four hours.
The effect of all this on Rainey was a bit bewildering. He was judging
life by new standards far apart from his own modes and, though he, too,
worked with a will, and rejoiced in the freer effort of his muscles, the
result comparing favorably with the best of the others--save Lund--he
could not assimilate the general conditions.
They were too purely physical, he told himself; he missed his old
habits, the reading and discussion of books, new and old, the good
restaurants of San Francisco, and the chat he had been used to hold over
their tables, companionable, witty, the exchange and stimulation of
ideas.
He missed the theaters, the concerts, the passing show of well-dressed
women, a hodge-podge of flesh-pots and mental uplift. He got to dreaming
of these things nights.
Daytimes, he saw plainly that, in this environment at least, Lund was
big, and the rest of them comparatively small. He believed that Lund
could actually form a little kingdom of his own, as he had suggested,
and make a success of it. But it would not be a kingdom that fostered
the arts. It would cultivate the sciences, or at least encourage them
and adopt results as applied to land development, and, if necessary, the
defense of the kingdom.
Lund would be a figure in war and peace, peace of the practical sort,
the kind of peace that went with plenty. He was no dreamer, but a
utilitarian. Perhaps, after all, the world most needed such men just
now.
As for Peggy Simms, she did not lose the polish of her culture, she was
always feminine, even dainty at times, despite her work, that could not
help but be coarse to a certain extent. She was full of vigor, she
showed unexpected strength, she was a source of encouragement to the men
as she waited on them. And also a source of undisguised admiration, all
of which she shed as a duck sheds water. She was filled with abounding
health, she moved with a free grace that held the eye and lingered in
the mind. She was eminently a woman, and she also was big.
Rainey gained an increasing respect in her prowess, and a swift
conversion to the equality of the sexes. There were times when he
doubted his own equality. Had she met him on his own ground, in his own
realm of what he considered vaguely as culture, he would have known a
mastery that he now lacked. As it was, she averaged higher, and she had
an attraction of sex that was compelling.
Here was a girl who would demand certain standards in the man with whom
she would mate, not merely accompany through life. There were times when
Rainey felt irresistibly the charm of her as a woman, longed for her in
the powerful sex reactions that inevitably follow hard labor. There were
times when he felt that she did not consider that he measured up to her
gages, and he would strive to change the atmosphere, to dominate the
situation in which Lund was the greater figure of the two men.
The rivalry that Lund had suggested between them as regards the girl,
Rainey felt almost thrust upon him. There were moods which Peggy Simms
turned to him for sharing, but there was scant time in the waking hours
for love-making, or even its consideration.
Lund was centered on one achievement, the gold harvest. He ordered the
girl with the rest; there were even times when he reprimanded her, while
Rainey burned with the resentment she apparently did not share.
A little before dawn on the eighteenth day of the work upon the beach,
Lund was out upon the floe examining the condition of the ice. He had
declared that two days more of hard endeavor would complete their
labors. What dirt remained at the end of that time they would transship.
Rainey had joined the girl and Tamada at the cook fires.
The sky was bright with the aurora borealis that would pale before the
sun. The men were not yet out of their bunks. They were bone and muscle
tired, and Rainey doubted whether Lund, gaunt and lean himself, could
get two days of top work out of them. Near the fires for the cooking,
the melting of water and the forge, that were kept glowing all night,
the tools were stacked, to help preserve their temper.
The aurora quivered in varying incandescence as Rainey watched Lund
prodding at the floe ice with a steel bar. The girl was busy with the
coffee, and Tamada was compounding two pots of stew and bubbling peas
pudding for the breakfast, food for heat and muscle making.
Sandy appeared on deck and came swiftly over the side of the vessel and
up the worn trail to the fires. He showed excitement, Rainey fancied,
sure of it as the lad got within speaking distance.
"Where is Mr. Lund?" he panted.
Rainey pointed to Lund, now examining a crack that had opened up in the
floe, a possible line of exit for the _Karluk_, later on. The men were
beginning to show on the schooner. They, too, he noted somewhat idly,
acted differently this morning. Usually they were sluggish until they
had eaten, sleepy and indifferent until the coffee stimulated them, and
Lund took up this stimulus and fanned it to a flame of work. This
morning they walked differently, abnormally active.
"They're drunk, an' they're goin' on strike," said Sandy. "You know the
big demijohn in the lazaretto?"
Rainey nodded. It was a two-handled affair holding five gallons, a
reserve supply of strong rum from which Lund dispensed the grog
allowances and stimulations for extra work toward the end of the shift,
the night-caps and occasional rewards.
"They've swiped it," he said. "Put an empty one from the hold in its
place. We got plenty without usin' that one for a while, an' I only
happened to notice it this morning by chance. They've bin drinkin' all
night, I reckon. They're ugly, Mr. Rainey. It's the crew this time. They
got the booze. The hunters are sober. Deming ain't in on this. They did
it on their own. I don't know how they got it. I didn't get it for 'em,
sir. They must have worked plumb through the hold an' got to it that
way."
"All right, Sandy. Thanks. Mr. Lund can handle them, I guess. He's
coming now."
The men had got to the ice, hidden from Lund, who was walking to the
_Karluk_ on the opposite side of the vessel. The seamen were
gesticulating freely; the sound of their voices came up to him where he
stood, tinged with a new freedom of speech, rough, confident, menacing.
As they climbed the trail their legs betrayed them and confirmed the
boy's story. Behind them came the four hunters, with Hansen, walking
apart, watching the sailors with a certain gravity that communicated
itself despite the distance.
Lund showed at the far rail of the schooner with his bar. He glanced
toward the men going to work, went below, and came up with a sweater. He
had left the bar behind him in the cabin, where it was used for a stove
poker.
The men filed by Rainey, their faces flushed and their eyes unusually
bright. They seemed to share a prime joke that wanted to bubble up and
over, yet held a restraint upon themselves that was eased by digs in one
another's ribs, in laughs when one stumbled or hiccoughed.
But Hansen was stolid as ever, and the hunters had evidently not shared
the stolen liquor. Only Deming's eyes roved over the group of men as
they gathered round for their cups and pannikins of food. He seemed to
be calculating what advantage he could gain out of this unexpected
happening.
Peggy Simms, under cover of pouring the coffee, sweetened heavily with
condensed milk, found time to speak to Rainey.
"They're all drunk," she said.
"Not all of them. Here comes Lund. He'll handle it."
Lund seemed still pondering the problem of the floe. At first he did not
notice the condition of the sailors. Then he apparently ignored it. But,
after they had eaten, he talked to all the men.
"Two more days of it, lads, and we're through. The beach is nigh
cleared. We can git out of the floe to blue water easy enough, an' we'll
git a good start on the patrol-ship. We'll go back with full pockets an'
heavy ones. The shares'll be half as large again as we've figgered. I
wouldn't wonder if they averaged sixteen or seventeen thousand dollars
apiece."
Rainey had picked out a black-bearded Finn as the leader of the sailors
in their debauch. The liquor seemed to have unchained in him a spirit of
revolt that bordered on insolence. He stood with his bowed legs apart,
mittened hands on hips, staring at Lund with a covert grin.
Next to Lund he was the biggest man aboard. With the rum giving an
unusual coordination to his usually sluggish nervous system, he promised
to be a source of trouble.
Rainey was surprised to see him shrug his shoulders and lead the way to
the beach. Perhaps breakfast had sobered them, though the fumes of
liquor still clung cloudily on the air.
Lund went down, with Rainey beside him, reporting Sandy.
"I'll work it out of 'em," said Lund. "That booze'll be an expensive
luxury to 'em, paid for in hard labor."
They found the men ranged up in three groups. Deming and Beale, against
custom, had gone down to the beach. They were supposed to help clean the
food utensils, and aid Tamada after a meal, besides replenishing the
fires.
They stood a little away from the hunters and Hansen and the sailors.
The Finn, talking to his comrades in a low growl, was with a separate
group.
There was an air of defiance manifest, a feeling of suspense in the tiny
valley, backed by the frowning cone, ribbed by the two icy promontories.
Lund surveyed them sharply.
"What in hell's the matter with you?" he barked. "Hansen, send up a man
for the drills an' shovels. Yore work's laid out; hop to it!"
"We ain't goin' to work no more," said the Finn aggressively. "Not fo'
no sich wage like you give."
"Oh, you ain't, ain't you?" mocked Lund. He was standing with Rainey in
the middle of the space they had cleared of gravel, the seamen lower
down the beach, nearer the sea, their ranks compacted. "Why, you
booze-bitten, lousy hunky, what in hell do you want? You never saw
twenty dollars in a lump you c'u'd call yore own for more'n ten minnits.
You boardin'-house loafer an' the rest of you scum o' the seven seas,
git yore shovels an' git to diggin', or I'll put you ashore in San
Francisco flat broke, an' glad to leave the ship, at that. _Jump!_"
The Finn snarled, and the rest stood firm. Not one of them knew the real
value of their promised share. Money represented only counters exchanged
for lodging, food and drink enough to make them sodden before they had
spent even their usual wages. Then they would wake to find the rest
gone, and throw themselves upon the selfish bounty of a boarding-house
keeper.
But they had seen the gold, they had handled it, and they were inflamed
by a sense of what it ought to do for them. Perhaps half of them could
not add a simple sum, could not grasp figures beyond a thousand, at
most. And the sight of so much gold had made it, in a manner, cheap. It
was there, a heap of it, and they wanted more of that shining heap than
had been promised them.
"You talk big," said the Finn. "Look my hands." He showed palms
calloused, split, swollen lumps of chilblained flesh worn down and
stiffened. "I bin seaman, not goddam navvy."
Lund turned to the hunters.
"You in on this?" he asked. Deming and Beale moved off. Two of the
others joined them. "Neutral?" sneered Lund. "I'll remember that."
Hansen and the two remaining came over beside Lund and Rainey.
"Five of us," said Lund. "Five men against twelve fo'c'sle rats. I'll
give you two minnits to start work."
"You talk big with yore gun in pocket," said the Finn. "Me good man as
you enny day."
Lund's face turned dark with a burst of rage that exploded in voice and
action.
"You think I need my gun, do ye, you pack of rats? Then try it on
without it."
His hand slid to his holster inside his heavy coat. His arm swung, there
was a streak of gleaming metal in the lifting sun-rays, flying over the
heads of the seamen. It plunked in the free water beyond the ice.
"Come on," roared Lund, "or I'll rush you to the first bath you've had
in five years." The Finn lowered his head, and charged; the rest
followed their leader. The hot food had steadied their motive control to
a certain extent, they were firmer on their feet, less vague of eye, but
the crude alcohol still fumed in their brains. Without it they would
never have answered the Finn's call to rebellion.
He had promised, and their drunken minds believed, that refusing in a
mass to work would automatically halt things until they got their
"rights." They had not expected an open fight. The spur of alcohol had
thrust them over the edge, given them a swifter flow of their
impoverished blood, a temporary confidence in their own prowess, a mock
valor that answered Lund's contemptuous challenge.
Lund, thought Rainey, had done a foolhardy thing in tossing away his
gun. It was magnificent, but it was not war. Pure bravado! But he had
scant time for thinking. Lund tossed him a scrap of advice. "Keep
movin'! Don't let 'em crowd you!" Then the fight was joined.
The girl leaned out from the promontory to watch the tourney. Tamada,
impassive as ever, tended his fires. Sandy crept down to the beach,
drawn despite his will, and shuffled in and out, irresolute, too weak to
attempt to mix in, but excited, eager to help. Deming, Beale, and the
two neutral hunters, stood to one side, waiting, perhaps, to see which
way the fight went, reserves for the apparent victor.
The Finn, best and biggest of the sailors, rushed for Lund, his little
eyes red with rage, crazy with the desire to make good his boast that he
was as good as Lund. In his barbaric way he was somewhat of a dancer,
and his legs were as lissome as his arms. He leaped, striking with fists
and feet.
Lund met him with a fierce upper-cut, short-traveled, sent from the hip.
His enormous hand, bunched to a knuckly lump of stone, knocked the Finn
over, lifting him, before he fell with his nose driven in, its bone
shattered, his lips broken like overripe fruit, and his discolored teeth
knocked out.
He landed on his back, rolling over and over, to lie still, half
stunned, while two more sprang for Lund.
Lund roared with surprise and pain as one caught his red beard and swung
to it, smiting and kicking. He wrapped his left arm about the man,
crushing him close up to him, and, as the other came, diving low,
butting at his solar plexus, the giant gripped him by the collar, using
his own impetus, and brought the two skulls together with a thud that
left them stunned.
The two dropped from Lund's relaxed arms like sacks, and he stepped over
them, alert, poised on the balls of his feet, letting out a shout of
triumph, while he looked about him for his next adversary.
The bedrock on which they fought was slippery where ice had formed in
the crevices. Two seamen tackled Hansen. He stopped the curses of one
with a straight punch to his mouth, but the man clung to his arm,
bearing it down. Hansen swung at the other, and the blow went over the
shoulder as he dodged, but Hansen got him in chancery, and the three,
staggering, swearing, sliding, went down at last together, with Hansen
underneath, twisting one's neck to shut off his wind while he warded off
the wild blows of the second. With a wild heave he got on all-fours,
and then Lund, roaring like a bull as he came, tore off a seaman and
flung him headlong.
"Pound him, Hansen!" he shouted, his eyes hard with purpose, shining
like ice that reflects the sun, his nostrils wide, glorying in the
fight.
The Finn had got himself together a bit, wiping the gouts of blood from
his face and spitting out the snags of his broken teeth. He drew a knife
from inside his shirt, a long, curving blade, and sidled, like a crab,
toward Lund, murder in his piggy, bloodshot eyes, waiting for a chance
to slip in and stab Lund in the back, calling to a comrade to help him.
"Come on," he called, "Olsen, wit' yore knife. Gut the swine!"
Another blade flashed out, and the pair advanced, crouching, knees and
bodies bent. Lund backed warily toward the opposite cliff, looking for a
loose rock fragment. He had forbidden knives to the sailors since the
mutiny, and had forced a delivery, but these two had been hidden. A
knife to the Finn was a natural accessory. Only his drunken frenzy had
made him try to beat Lund at his own game.
One of the two hunters, lamed with a kick on the knee, howling with the
pain, clinched savagely and bore the seaman down, battering his head
against a knob of rock. The other friendly hunter had bashed and
buffeted his opponent to submission. But Rainey was in hard case.
A seaman, half Mexican, flew at him like a wildcat. Rainey struck out,
and his fists hit at the top of the breed's head without stopping him.
Then he clinched.
The Mexican was slippery as an eel. He got his arms free, his hands shot
up, and his thumbs sought the inner corners of Rainey's eyes. The
sudden, burning anguish was maddening and he drove his clasped fists
upward, wedging away the drilling fingers.
Two hands clawed at his shoulders from behind. Some one sprang fairly on
his back. A knee thrust against his spine.
The agony left him helpless, the vertebræ seemed about to crack.
Strength and will were shut off, and the world went black. And then one
of the hunters catapulted into the struggle, and the four of them went
down in a maddened frenzy of blows and stifled shouts.
The sailors fought like beasts, striving for blows barred by all codes
of decency and fair play, intent to maim. Lund had got his shoulders
against the rocks and stood with open hands, watching the two with their
knives, who crept in, foot by foot, to make a finish.
Peggy Simms, a strand of her pale yellow hair whipped loose, flung it
out of her eyes as she stood on the edge of the cliff, her lips apart,
her breasts rising stormily, watching; her features changing with the
tide of battle as it surged beneath her, punctuated with muffled shouts
and wind-clipped oaths. She saw Lund at bay, and snatched out her
pistol. But the distance was too great. She dared not trust her aim.
Sandy, dancing in and out, willing but helpless, bound by fear and lack
of muscle, saw Deming, followed by Beale, stealing up the trail,
unnoticed by the girl, who leaned far forward, watching the fight, her
eyes on Lund and the two creeping closer with their knives, cautious but
determined. Tamada stood farther back and could not see them.
The lad's wits, sharpened by his forecastle experience, surmised what
Deming and Beale were after as they gained the promontory flat and ran
toward the fires.
"Hey!" he shrilled. "Look out; they're after the tools!"
Deming's hand was stretched toward a shovel, its worn steel scoop sharp
as a chisel. Beale was a few feet behind him. They were going to toss
the shovels and drills down to the seamen.
Tamada turned. His face did not change, but his eyes gleamed as he
thrust a dipper in the steaming remnants of the pea-soup and flung the
thick blistering mass fair in Deming's face. At the same moment the
girl's pistol cracked with a stab of red flame. Beale dropped, shot in
the neck, close to the collarbone, twisting like a scotched snake,
rolling down the trail to the beach again.
Deming, howling like a scorched devil, clawed with one hand at the
sticky mass that masked him as he ran blind, wild with pain. He tripped,
clutched, and lost his hold, slid on a plane of icy lava, smooth as
glass, struck a buttress that sent him off at a tangent down the face of
the cliff, bounding from impact with an outthrust elbow of the rock,
whirling into space, into the icy turmoil of the waves, flooding into
the inlet.
Peggy Simms fled down the trail with a steel drill in either hand,
straight across the beach toward Lund. The Finn turned on her with a
snarl and a side-swipe of his knife, but she leaped aside, dodged the
other slow-foot, and thrust a drill at Lund, who grasped it with a cry
of exultation, swinging it over his head as if it had been a bamboo.
Hansen had shaken off his men, and came leaping in for the second drill.
The knife fell tinkling on the frozen rock as Lund smashed the wrist of
the Finn. The girl's gun made the second would-be stabber throw up his
hands while Hansen snatched his weapon, flung it over the farther cliff,
and knocked the seaman to the ground before he joined Lund, charging the
rest, who fled before the sight of them and the threat of the bars of
steel.
Lund laughed loud, and stopped striking, using the drill as a goad,
driving them into a huddled horde, like leaderless sheep, knee-deep,
thigh-deep, into the water, where they stopped and begged for mercy
while Hansen turned to put a finish to the separate struggles.
It ended as swiftly as it had begun. One hunter could barely stand for
his kicked knee, Rainey's back was strained and stiffening, Lund had
lost a handful of his beard, and Hansen's cheek was laid open.
On the other side the casualties were more severe. Deming was drowned,
his body flung up by the tide, rolling in the swash. Beale was coughing
blood, though not dangerously wounded. The Finn was crying over his
broken wrist, all the fight out of him. Ribs were sore where not
splintered from the drills, and the two bumped by Lund sat up with
sorely aching heads. The courage inspired by the liquor was all gone;
oozed, beaten out of them. They were cowed, demoralized, whipped.
Lund took swift inventory, lining them up as they came timorously out of
the water or straggled against the cliff at his order. Tamada had come
down from the fires. Peggy had told of his share, and Sandy's timely
shout. Lund nodded at him in a friendly manner.
"You're a white man, Tamada," he said. "You, too, Sandy. I'll not forget
it. Rainey, round up these derelicts an' help Tamada fix 'em up. I'll
settle with 'em later. Hansen, put the rest of 'em to work, an' keep 'em
to it! Do you hear? They got to do the work of the whole bunch."
They went willingly enough, limping, nursing their bruises, while
Hansen, his stolidity momentarily vanished in the rush of the fight and
not yet regained, exhibited an unusual vocabulary as he bossed them.
Lund turned to the two hunters, who had stood apart.
"Wal, you yellow-bellied neutrals," he said, his voice cold and his eyes
hard. "Thought I might lose, and hoped so, didn't you? Pick up that
skunk Beale an' tote him aboard. Then come back an' go to work. You'll
git yore shares, but you'll not git what's comin' to those who stood by.
Now git out of my sight. You can bury That when you come back." He
nodded at the sodden corpse of Deming, flung up on the grit. "You can
take yore pay as grave-diggers out of what you owe him at poker. He
ain't goin' to collect this trip."
Rainey, lame and sore, helped Tamada patch up the wounded, turning the
hunters' quarters into a sick bay, using the table for operation. Beale
was the worst off, but Tamada pronounced him not vitally damaged. After
he had finished with them he insisted upon Rainey's lying, face down, on
the table, stripped to the waist, while he rubbed him with oil and then
kneaded him. Once he gave a sudden, twisting wrench, and Rainey saw a
blur of stars as something snapped into place with a click.
"I think you soon all right, now," said Tamada.
"You and Miss Simms turned the tide," said Rainey. "If they'd got those
tools first they'd have finished us in short order."
"Fools!" said Tamada. "Suppose they kill Lund, how they get away? No one
to navigate. Presently the gunboat would find them. I think Mr. Lund
will maybe trust me now," he said quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"Mr. Lund think in the back of his head I arrange for that gunboat to
come. He can not understand how they know the schooner at island. He
think to come jus' this time too much curious, I think."
"It was a bit of a coincidence."
Tamada shrugged his shoulders slightly.
"I think Japanese government know all that goes on in North Polar
region," he said. "There is wireless station on Wrangell Island. We pass
by that pretty close."
Rainey chewed that information as he put on his clothes, wondering if
they had seen the last of the gunboat. They would have to pass south
through Bering Strait. It would be easy to overhaul them, halt them,
search the schooner, confiscate the gold. They were not out of trouble
yet.
When he went into the cabin to replace his torn coat--he had hardly a
button intact above the waist, from jacket to undershirt--he found the
girl there with Lund. Apparently, they had just come in. Peggy Simms,
with face aglow with the excitement that had not subsided, was
proffering Lund her pistol.
"Keep it," he said. "You may need it. I've got mine."
"But you threw it into the water. I saw you."
"No," He laughed. "That wasn't my gun. They thought it was. I wanted
to bring the thing to grips. But I wasn't fool enough to chuck away my
gun. That was a wrench I was usin' this mornin' to fix the cabin
stove--looks jest like an ottermatic. I stuck it in my inside pocket. I
was ha'f a mind to shoot when they showed their knives, but I didn't
want to use my gun on that mess of hash."
He stood tall and broad above her, looking down at the face that was
raised to his. Rainey, unnoticed as yet, saw her eyes bright with
admiration.
"You are a wonderful fighter," she said softly.
"Wonderful? What about you? A man's woman! You saved the day. Comin' to
me with them drills. An' we licked 'em. We. God!"
He swept her up into his arms, lifting her in his big hands, making no
more of her than if she had been a feather pillow, up till her face was
on a level with his, pressing her close, while in swift, indignant rage
she fought back at him, striking futilely while he held her, kissed her,
and set her down as Rainey sprang forward.
Lund seemed utterly unconscious of the girl's revulsion.
"Comin' to me with the drills!" he said. "We licked 'em. You an' me
together. My woman!"
Peggy Simms had leaped back, her eyes blazing. Lund came for her, his
face lit with the desire of her, arms outspread, hands open. Before
Rainey could fling himself between them, the girl had snatched the
little pistol that Lund had set on the table and fired point-blank. She
seemed to have missed, though Lund halted, his mouth agape, astounded.
"You big bully!" said Rainey. Now that the time had come he found that
he was not afraid of Lund, of his gun, of his strength. "Play fair, do
you? Then show it! You asked me once why I didn't make love to her. I
told you. But you, you foul-minded bully! All you think of is your big
body, to take what it wants.
"Peggy. Will you marry me? I can protect you from this hulking brute. If
it's to be a show-down between you and me," he flared at Lund, still
gazing as if stupefied, "let it come now. Peggy?"
The girl, tears on her cheeks that were born from the sobs of anger that
had shaken her, swung on him.
"You?" she said, and Rainey wilted under the scorn in her voice. "Marry
you?" She began to laugh hysterically, trying to check herself.
"I didn't mean you enny harm," said Lund slowly, addressing Peggy. "Why,
I wouldn't harm you, gal. You're my woman. You come to me. I was
jest--jest sorter swept off my bearin's. Why," he turned to Rainey, his
voice down-pitching to a growl of angry contempt, "you pen-shovin'
whippersnapper, I c'ud break you in ha'f with one hand. You ain't her
breed. But"--his voice changed again--"if it's a show-down, all right.
"If I was to fight you, over her, I'd kill you. D'ye think I don't
respect a good gal? D'ye think I don't know how to love a gal right?
She's _my_ mate. Not yours. But it's up to you, Peggy Simms. I didn't
mean to insult you. An' if you want him--why, it's up to you to choose
between the two of us."
She went by Rainey as if he had not existed, straight into Lund's arms,
her face radiant, upturned.
"It's you I love, Jim Lund," she said. "A man. _My_ man."
As her arms went round his neck she gave a little cry.
"I wounded you," she said, and the tender concern of her struck Rainey
to the quick. "Quick, let me see."
"Wounded, hell!" laughed Lund. "D'ye think that popgun of yores c'ud
stop me? The pellet's somewheres in my shoulder. Let it bide. By God,
yo're my woman, after all. Lund's Luck!"
Rainey went up on deck with that ringing in his ears. His humiliation
wore off swiftly as he crossed back toward the beach. By the time he
crossed the promontory he even felt relieved at the outcome. He was not
in love with her. He had known that when he intervened. He had not even
told her so. His chivalry had spoken--not his heart. And his thoughts
strayed back to California. The other girl, Diana though she was, would
never, in almost one breath, have shot and kissed the man she loved. A
lingering vision of Peggy Simms' beauty as she had gone to Lund remained
and faded.
"Lund's right," he told himself. "She's not of my breed."