CHAPTER I

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KIT MUSGRAVE'S LUCK

by

HAROLD BINDLOSS

Author of Partners of the Out Trail, The Lure of the North, The

Wilderness Mine, etc.

[Illustration]

Grosset & Dunlap

Publishers New York

Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1921, by

Frederick A. Stokes Company

Published in England Under the Title

"Musgrave's Luck"

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America.

CONTENTS

PART I

THE WIDE HORIZON

CHAPTER PAGE

I.--KIT'S PLUNGE 3

II.--OTHER RULES 12

III.--A MOUNTAIN EXCURSION 20

IV.--KIT'S OBSTINACY 28

V.--MRS. AUSTIN'S VERANDA 35

VI.--THE INJURED PASSENGER 44

VII.--THE BULLET 52

VIII.--A SWIMMING MATCH 60

IX.--KIT GIVES HIS CONFIDENCE 69

X.--MRS. AUSTIN MAKES SOME PLANS 79

XI.--THE PLANS WORK 88

PART II

RESPONSIBILITY

I.--OLIVIA'S EXPERIMENT 99

II.--THE FIRST VOYAGE 108

III.--KIT'S SURPRISE 116

IV.--WOLF GIVES A FEAST 124

V.--WOLF'S OFFER 133

VI.--BETTY CARRIES A MESSAGE 140

VII.--SHIPPING CAMELS 148

VIII.--AN IDLE AFTERNOON 156

IX.--THE THIRD VOYAGE 165

X.--SMOKE ON THE HORIZON 173

XI.--MIGUEL TAKES CONTROL 181

XII.--THE RETREAT TO THE BOAT 189

PART III

KIT FINDS HIS LEVEL

I.--ILLUMINATION 199

II.--"CAYMAN'S" START 208

III.--THE WADY 215

IV.--KIT NEGOTIATES 222

V.--THE RETURN TO THE BEACH 229

VI.--BETTY DEMANDS HELP 236

VII.--THE "LUCIA" ARRIVES 244

VIII.--"CAYMAN'S" RETURN 253

IX.--KIT'S REWARD 261

X.--OLIVIA'S REFUSAL 270

XI.--DAYBREAK 277

KIT MUSGRAVE'S LUCK

PART I

THE WIDE HORIZON

CHAPTER I

KIT'S PLUNGE

The morning was hot, and Kit Musgrave, leaning on the African liner's

rail, watched the volcanic rocks of Grand Canary grow out of the silver

haze. He was conscious of some disappointment, because on the voyage to

Las Palmas he had pictured a romantic white city shining against green

palms. Its inhabitants were grave Spaniards, who secluded their wives

and daughters in old Moorish houses with shady patios where fountains

splashed. Now he saw he had got the picture wrong.

Las Palmas was white, but not at all romantic. A sandy isthmus, swept by

rolling clouds of dust, connected the town and the frankly ugly port.

The houses round the harbor looked like small brown blocks. Behind them

rose the Isleta cinder hill; in front, coal-wharfs and limekilns, hidden

now and then by dust, occupied the beach. Moreover, the Spaniards on

board the boats about the ship were excited, gesticulating ruffians.

Bombay peddlers, short, dark-skinned Portuguese, and Canario dealers in

wine, tobacco, and singing birds, pushed up the gangway. All disputed

noisily in their eagerness to show their goods to the passengers.

Yet Kit was not altogether disappointed. Somehow the industrial

ugliness of the port and the crowd's businesslike activity were

soothing. Kit had not known much romantic beauty, but he knew the

Lancashire mining villages and the mean streets behind the Liverpool

docks. Besides, he was persuaded that commerce, particularly British

commerce, had a civilizing, uplifting power.

Seeing he would buy nothing, the peddlers left him alone, and he mused

about the adventure on which he had embarked. Things had happened

rapidly since he went one morning to Don Arturo's office in Liverpool

and joined the crowd in the great man's waiting-room. Don Arturo was not

Spanish, but at Grand Canary he was generally given the Castilian title

and the Spaniards declared the island would soon be his. He was an

English merchant of the new Imperialist school and he gave Kit exactly

one and a half minutes. Perhaps he approved the embarrassed lad, for

half an hour afterwards Kit had engaged to start for the Canaries and

take a _sobrecargo_'s post on board a Spanish steamer. The secretary

admitted the pay was small, but argued that since Don Arturo controlled

all the business worth controlling in the Canaries and West Africa, the

chances for promotion were remarkably good. In short, Kit could sail in

two days and was a fool if he did not go.

Kit agreed and signed the contract. He knew some Castilian, which he had

studied at evening classes conducted by the Liverpool Y.M.C.A. Since he

thought the association's motto, _Mens sana in corpore sano_, good, he

had also trained his muscles at the Y.M.C.A gymnasium. For a city clerk

he was healthy and strong.

The two days before he sailed were marked by new and disturbing thrills.

Kit was conservative, and sprang from cautious, puritanical stock. His

grandfather was a Cumberland sheep farmer, his father kept a shop and

had taught Kit the virtues of parsimonious industry. His mother was kind

but dull, and had tried not to indulge her son. Although Kit was honest

and something of a prig, he had the small clerk's respect for successful

business. He was raw and his philosophy was Smiles'. In order to make

progress one must help oneself.

Yet he had not altogether escaped the touch of romance, and when he

agreed to sail his first duty was to explain things to Betty. She kept

the books at a merchant's office, and sometimes they went to a tea-shop

and sometimes to a cheap concert. Betty did not go to theaters, but now

and then took Kit to church. She was high-church and wore a little

silver cross. Betty was thin, pale and quiet, and Kit's mother approved

her, although nothing had been said about their marrying. Kit saw that

in the meantime marriage was not for him. To marry on pay like his was

not fair to the girl. Yet he imagined he loved Betty; anyhow, he liked

her much.

When she left the office in the evening they went to a tea-shop. Kit

found a quiet corner and helped Betty to cakes. He was embarrassed and

his careless talk was forced. Betty studied him and did not say much.

Her quietness had some charm, and she was marked by a touch of beauty

that might have developed had she enjoyed fresh air, good food, and

cheerful society. Women had not then won much reward for their labor,

and Betty was generally tired. At length Kit, with awkward haste, told

her his plans. Betty drained her cup and gave him a level glance. Kit

thought her paler than before, but the electric light was puzzling.

"You are going to the Canaries and perhaps to West Africa! Are you going

for good?" she said.

"Why, no!" said Kit. "I expect I'll stop for a year or two. Anyhow, if

I make much progress, I'll come back then. You see, I'm forced to go.

There's no chance for me in Liverpool; you get old while you wait for

the men in front to move up the ladder. If I stop until I'm forty, I

might get up a few rounds."

"Is it necessary to get up?" Betty asked.

Kit looked at her with surprise. Sometimes Betty's philosophy was

puzzling, and he wondered whether she got it at church. Kit had not

heard another clergyman preach like the vicar and thought him privately

rather a fool. But Betty seldom argued and they did not jar.

"Of course!" he said. "So long as you can get up honestly, you have got

to get up. You can't stop in the pushing crowd at the bottom."

Betty was quiet for a few moments. She looked tired and Kit imagined she

knew all he knew about the pressure of the crowd. Then she said, "If

only we didn't push! Perhaps there's room enough, and we might make

things better."

"Oh, well," said Kit, rather comforted by her calm, but vaguely

disappointed because she could philosophise. "Anyhow, although it's

hard, I must seize my chance. I shall miss you. You have been much to

me; now I've got to go, I begin to see how much. Perhaps it's strange I

didn't see before. You don't argue, you belong to my lot, but somehow

one feels you're finer than other girls one meets--"

He stopped and Betty gave him a curious smile. "Do you know many girls,

Kit?"

"I don't," he admitted. "I haven't bothered about girls; I haven't had

time. They expect you to tell them they're pretty, to send them things,

to josh and make them laugh, and now and then to quarrel about nothing.

Rather a bore when you'd sooner be quiet; but you're not like that. We

have been pals, and now I wish you were going out with me."

"There's not much use in wishing."

"That is so," Kit agreed and hesitated for a moment or two while his

face got red. "You couldn't go now, but I'm coming back. Suppose I get

on and my pay is good? Will you marry me when I go out again?"

Betty gave him a long, level glance. For all that, he thought her hand

shook when she moved her cup and his heart beat.

"No," she said quietly. "Anyhow, I won't promise. Perhaps, if you do

come back, we'll talk about it, but you mustn't feel you're bound to

ask."

Kit got a jolt. That Betty liked him was obvious, and the girls he knew

were keen for a lover. Betty, of course, was not like them, but she was

human. In a sense, however, her refusal was justified. Perhaps he was a

dull fellow; a girl by whom he was once attracted declared he was as

gloomy as a funeral. Then, with his rather shabby clothes and small pay,

he was certainly not worth bothering about. For all that, Betty's

refusal strengthened his resolve.

She was firm, but he got a hint of strain. The thrill of his adventure

had gone and he was sorry for Betty. He knew how she lived; the dreary

shabby street she left in the morning for her nine hours' work, the

pinching to make her pay go round. All was dull and monotonous for her,

but he was going to a land of wine and sun. He could not move her, and

she left him, puzzled and unhappy, in the street.

The evening before he sailed they went to a concert, and Betty let him

come with her to the door of her lodgings. She opened the door and then

looked up the street. Nobody was about and when Kit advanced

impulsively, she put her arms round his neck and kissed him. Then she

firmly pushed him back.

"Good-bye!" she said, and the door shut.

Kit thought about it while he leaned against the rails on board the

African boat. Perhaps it was strange, but he had not kissed Betty

before. To hold her in his arms had rather moved him to a curious

tenderness than to passion. When he thought about Betty he felt gentle;

but he braced himself and forced a smile, for the new governor of an

African jail came up with Bones and Blades.

Considine was an old soldier, with a red face and twinkling eyes, who

had been long in India, but did not state his rank. Bones and Blades

were raw lads from Lancashire going out to a West African factory for

the yearly pay of eighty pounds. Their notion of life at the factory was

romantically inaccurate.

"The boat stops six hours," Considine remarked. "Long enough to see the

town, and they tell me wine is cheap. I'll go ashore with you, Musgrave.

Where's my money, Bones?"

"I'll keep t' brass until you come back," Bones rejoined.

Considine was fat and his hair was going white, but he turned with

unexpected swiftness and seizing the lad, took his cap.

"No time to get my boots, but your deck-shoes won't go on! Hand out my

pocket-book."

Bones gave up the book and went to the gangway with Kit.

"I expect that's your boat. We were pretty good pals on this voyage and

I hope we'll meet again. What do you say, Blades?"

"I'd like it," agreed the other and then his friendly grin vanished and

his freckled face got grave. "All the same, Africa's a queer country and

you can't have adventures without some risk. Well, good luck, Musgrave!

I'd better say good-bye!"

Kit gave him his hand and afterwards learned that Blades' dream of

romantic adventures was not realized. His job was to count bottles of

trade gin, and he and Bones died of fever before they earned their first

year's pay.

In the meantime, Considine jumped into the boat. He wore neat white

clothes, thin, red slippers, and Bones' cap, which was much too small.

"I ought to have stopped on board," he said with a twinkle. "All the

same, when I get to Africa I'll have long enough to play up to my job.

At Las Palmas I'm not important. When you want a frolic, go where you're

not known."

Kit did not want a frolic. He was thoughtful and rather daunted. All his

old landmarks were gone; he was in a new country where people did not

use the rules he had known at Liverpool. Besides, he was thinking about

Betty. For all that, when the Spanish boatman rowed him across the

harbor to a lava mole he roused himself. The _patron_ declared that

although the fare was fixed in pesetas English passengers paid with

shillings. It was, however, not for nothing Kit sprang from sternly

frugal stock. He stated in his best Castilian that the peseta was worth

ninepence and he would pay with Spanish money or would not pay at all.

The _patron_'s violent arguments did not move him, but when he heard a

laugh he looked up.

Two ladies occupied the pavement at the top of the steps. One was

little, dressed in white, with fine lace on her fashionable clothes, and

looked dignified. The other was young and wore a dress of corn-yellow.

Her eyes were brown and luminous, her hair was nearly black, and her

rather olive skin had something of a peach's bloom. Her type of beauty

was new to Kit, but when he saw she remarked his glance he turned to the

gesticulating boatman.

Mrs. Austin was an important lady at Las Palmas, where her husband, and

her father, Don Pancho Brown, carried on a merchant business. People

said Jacinta Austin ruled both. Olivia, her sister, had not long

returned from an English school.

Senor Don Erminio Martinez, captain of a small Spanish mail steamer,

engaged the ladies in talk, because Olivia was beautiful and he waited

for his boat. Don Erminio was big, brown-skinned and athletic. He wore

shabby English clothes and a small English cap, and looked something

like a bullfighter. On the whole, he was a trustful, genial ruffian,

although the Barcelona anarchists were his political models. He used a

little uncouth French and English.

Mrs. Austin noted her sister's glance at the boat. The tall young man

was obviously English, and had come to take a post; he was raw and did

not wear the tourist's stamp. Mrs. Austin knew men and there was

something honest and thoughtful about him that she approved. All the

same, she did not want Olivia to approve.

"Book Castilian; I think the accent's Lancashire," the girl remarked. "I

wonder where he's going; African shipping office: bananas, or coal?"

"It's not important," Mrs. Austin rejoined.

"Oh, well, unless he's a hermit, we are bound to meet him, and he's

fresh blood anyway. One gets very bored by the banana and coaling men.

Still I think he's their type."

"The type's plain, but I doubt if he's for the coaling wharf; the young

man looks honest," said Mrs. Austin, and turning to the captain, added:

"I expect he will join the _correillo_."

_Correillo_ is not classical Castilian, but the captain knew she meant a

small mail steamer and spread out his hands.

"Aha! Another animal. He come to me. All animales the Yngleses of Don

Arturo. _Verdad._ People without shame and education----"

"I am English, my friend," Mrs. Austin rejoined.

"One forgets; the thing looks impossible," said Don Erminio, with a bow.

"You have a charm and sympathy. But the others! With teeth and neck like

the camel, and the air commanding. They come on board my steamer. 'I am

Ynglesa. All the ship for me.' But another animal of a _sobrecargo_!

Senora, I am your servant. I go and tear my hair."

He went off, and Olivia laughed. "It's strange, but people don't like

us, and at the beginning I expect the young man will have some trouble

on board _Campeador_. All the same, Don Erminio's really a good sort.

Well, it looks as if the dispute about the fare had stopped. He's beaten

the _patron_."

She stepped back, for Kit came up the steps behind a boatman who carried

his tin box. Considine followed, and at the end of the mole the boatman

called a _tartana_. Kit got into the little trap, and Considine, pushing

the driver from his seat, seized the reins. The horse kicked, the

_tartana_ rocked, and they started for Las Palmas in a cloud of dust.

"At home, we're a sober lot," Mrs. Austin remarked. "In the South, we're

joyfully irresponsible. How do you account for it?"

"I don't account for it," said Olivia. "There's no use in bothering

about things like that. Besides, the young man looks remarkably sober."

CHAPTER II

OTHER RULES

After a collision with a steam tram, the _tartana_ reached Las Palmas

and Considine got down at a wine shop. He refused to pay for the damage

to the trap, and wishing Kit good luck, vanished among the barrels in

the dark shop. The _tartanero_ drove Kit to the steamship office, and

sitting on the doorstep declared he would not go away until his just

claim was met. Kit, somewhat embarrassed, was shown into the manager's

room and received by a little, fastidiously neat Spanish gentleman. The

driver's mournful voice pierced the lava walls, and when Kit narrated

the grounds for his complaint, Don Ramon shrugged.

"It is not important; when the tourists are about, such disputes are

numerous," he said in careful English, and gave a clerk some orders.

The _tartanero_'s clamour stopped and Don Ramon resumed: "We will send a

note to the purser, and if your countryman does not miss his ship, the

thing is finished. Many do miss their ships and there is trouble for us.

I have much admiration for the English, but they make disturbances."

"We are not all like that," Kit objected.

"You are not like that in England; I was at the Company's office," Don

Ramon agreed. "All was in stern order, but in this country you have

other rules. Well, it is not important. To-night you join your steamer;

I will tell you your duties."

He did so with kind politeness, and Kit liked the man then and

afterwards. By and by Don Ramon sent him to a Spanish hotel, and for a

time he wrote letters to his mother and Betty behind a bougainvillea

that climbed from the flagged _patio_ to a balcony. The creeper's

splendid purple shone against the yellow wall and on the opposite

balcony old bronze rails twinkled. The shade was cool, and all was quiet

but for the rumble of the Atlantic surf. While Kit wrote his frank,

boyish letters, he thought about Betty with shy tenderness. In a sense

she had refused him, but his normal mood was calm and he had not known

passion yet. He wrote to Betty very much as he wrote to his mother.

By and by he put up his writing case and went off to get some stamps at

a baker's shop. In Spanish countries one cannot, as a rule, buy stamps

at a post office. Then he looked at his watch, and seeing it was two

o'clock, walked across the town. Don Ramon had stated that he need not

go on board before midnight. The streets were strangely quiet and for

the most part nobody was about; Kit understood the citizens went to

sleep in the afternoon. He saw nothing romantic. Las Palmas rather

looked business-like and modern than picturesque. The houses had

straight, square fronts and the roofs were flat. Only the white belt of

surf and background of broken volcanic mountains relieved the

utilitarian ugliness.

The wine shops had no call for Kit, but he noted the splashed floors,

pungent smells, and swarms of flies. A girl on a balcony near the

cathedral dropped a red oleander and another smiled, but Kit did not

turn his head. He sprang from sober, puritanical stock, and his code was

austere; one earned one's pay and studied in order to earn more; one

shunned indulgence and trained one's body. Kit had trained his at the

gymnasium and a cheap swimming club. In summer he sailed races on board

cheap little boats. Although his horizon was not wide, his health and

nerve were good.

He followed the _carretera_ that runs south from the town. In Spain, a

road is often a bridle-track a mule can hardly climb, but the government

_carretera_ is wide and level. In the distance was Telde, where oranges

grow, and Kit set off in the dust and scorching heat. The Trade-breeze

blew behind him; on his left hand the Atlantic broke in shining foam

against black lava reefs; on his right, across the thin belt of

cultivation, dark rocks, melted by volcanic fire, rose like a giant

wall.

A few palms and fields of feathery sugar cane bordered the road. Then

Kit saw vines, tied to sticks and growing in hot dust, and by and by a

thread of water in a deep _barranco_. Washerwomen knelt by the channel,

beating wet clothes with stones, and Kit understood afterwards why his

shirts wore out. Some of the women were young, but when he stopped for a

moment at the bridge they did not look up. To beat the clothes was their

job, and maize flour and goat's milk cheese are dear. Farther on, Kit

saw others, carrying big earthen jars on their heads. They looked like

Moorish women, for their feet and arms were very brown, and long black

shawls half hid their faces. In the fields, barefooted men laboured

among the tomatoes and vines. It was obvious the _peons_ did not sleep

in the afternoon; but for the most part their white clothes were good

and they looked happy.

Soon after he passed a lava village, Kit got tired. This was strange,

but the sun was hot; and there was a wall about which lizards

ran. Behind, grew fleshy green bananas, with big flowers like

bleeding-hearts; and he sat down in the shade. He had meant to walk to

Telde; going four miles an hour, one could get back before nine o'clock,

but it was cool among the bananas and he had begun to feel the drowsy

calm of the islands where nothing is important and the sun always

shines.

He mused about Betty. She was thin and often looked tired. If he could

bring her out, to feel the sun and balmy wind and see the blaze of

colour! He pictured her bending over her account books in a dark office

and going home through the dreary streets. She knew no joy and

brightness; his horizon was getting wider, but hers was not. Then he

remembered Betty's silver cross. Betty went to church; perhaps she found

her romance there and saw things beyond his view. She had refused to

marry him and perhaps her kiss was meant for good-bye. He did not know,

but when he got promotion he was going back to try again. In the

meantime, for Betty's sake, he meant to keep his simple rules; to go

straight, do what he said, cheat nobody, and by diligence force his way

to fortune.

He heard shouts and mocking laughter, and looked up. The governor of the

African jail was running along the road, his face red, and wet by sweat;

Bones' small cap occupied ridiculously the back of his head. His white

jacket had lost some buttons and blew open; his thin, red slippers were

trodden down at the heels. He laboured on with stern resolution, looking

straight in front. Behind came a swarm of ragged children, pelting him

with soil and stones.

"Shilling, _penique_, _puerco_ Ynglisman!" they cried.

For a moment or two Kit gazed at Considine with angry impatience. He did

not know if the fellow was very drunk, but it was obvious he was not

sober, and his breathless panting jarred on the drowsy calm. Don Ramon

had said the English made disturbances. Yet the fellow was Kit's

countryman; and he got up. Driving off the children, he stopped

Considine.

"Where are you going?"

"Must catch my ship. Purser said five o'clock."

Kit looked at his watch. It was four o'clock, and Las Palmas was some

distance off. The port was three miles farther, but one could get a

_tartana_ at the town.

"You're heading the wrong way," he said. "Can you run?"

"Turn me round and see me go," Considine replied. "Beat you, anyway.

Loser pays for drinks."

Kit turned him round and they started, but when a piece of lava a boy

threw struck his head, it cost Kit something to use control. Now and

then Considine's red slippers came off and they were forced to stop.

Considine declared that if he stooped he could not get straight again,

and Kit resignedly put the slippers on his feet. He felt himself

ridiculous and wanted to leave the wastrel, but somehow could not. If

Considine lost his ship and got into trouble at Las Palmas, he might

lose his post. Kit saw his business was to help him out.

He got very hot. The Trade-breeze blew the dust in his face, and the

dust turned to mud on his wet skin; he saw dark patches on his white

jacket. Considine's slippers came off oftener, and Kit remarked that not

much of his stockings was left, but they made progress, and at length

the town was close in front. Kit wondered whether the citizens had

finished their afternoon sleep, and did not know if it was a relief or

not to find the first street empty and quiet. He did not want people to

see him, but he must find a _tartana_, and none was about. Considine,

going five miles an hour, was a yard or two in front. When he saw a wine

shop he stopped.

"Here we are!" he gasped. "The loser pays."

Kit pushed him across the pavement; Considine turned and knocked off his

hat. While Kit picked up his hat the other reeled towards the wine shop

and people came out. Kit seized him and drove him on. The market was

not far off and he had seen _tartanas_ in the square. He was breathless,

tired and dusty, and had trodden on his soft grey hat. People were

beginning to run after them, but he meant to put Considine on board a

_tartana_ and send him to the port.

The market was nearly deserted, for in the Canaries one buys food before

the sun is high, but a few stalls were occupied and three or four small

traps waited for hire. Kit waved to a driver and seized Considine. Then

he tried to get his breath, and wiping his hot face, smeared his skin

with muddy grit.

"Loser pays," said Considine. "What's good stopping in the sun? Let's

get some wine!"

He tried to make off, but Kit shook him angrily and glanced about. A

crowd had begun to gather and all the traps were coming. At the end of a

neighbouring street, the girl he had noted at the mole talked to a man

in English clothes. She was very handsome and looked cool and dignified.

Kit was young and got hotter when he saw her eyes were fixed on his

dishevelled companion. He felt humiliated and could have borne it better

had she looked amused, but she did not. She watched him and Considine

with grave curiosity, as if she studied people of another type than

hers. Kit got very angry.

Four traps arrived, the drivers gesticulating and cracking whips, and

Kit dragged Considine to the nearest. Considine struggled and tried to

push him back.

"Not going yet," he shouted. "Beat you easy. Where's my wine? Don't you

pay your debts?"

His jacket tore and he almost got away, but Kit got a better hold.

"You're going now! Get in!"

"Won't go with that fellow. Don't like his horse," Considine declared.

The crowd had got thicker and people jeered and laughed.

"_Todos animales. Gente sin verguenza!_" one remarked.

Kit frowned. He knew the Castilian taunt about people who have no shame,

but he held on to Considine. The drivers did not help; they disputed

noisily who should get the passenger. Then the man Kit had noted with

the girl came up.

"Put him on board. I'll lift his legs," he said.

They did so with some effort, for Considine was heavy and kicked.

"To the mole; African steamer's boat," said Kit; Considine occupied the

driver's seat.

"Show you how to drive!" he said, and shoving back the _tartanero_, used

the whip.

The horse plunged, the wheels jarred the pavement, there was a crash as

a stall overturned, and the _tartana_ rolled across the square and

vanished. Kit heard Considine's hoarse shout and all was quiet. He

looked about. The girl who wore the yellow dress was gone, but the man

stood close by and gave him a quiet smile. He had a thin, brown face and

Kit saw a touch of white in his hair. A mark on his cheek looked like an

old deep cut.

"You didn't go with your friend," he remarked.

"I did not; I've had enough," said Kit and added anxiously: "D'you think

he'll get the African boat?"

The other looked at his watch. "If he runs over nothing before he makes

the port, it's possible. A West-coast trader, I expect?"

"No," said Kit. "He's the governor of a jail. An old soldier, I

understand."

His companion smiled. "The British Colonial office uses some curious

tools, but if he sweated for you in India, their plan's perhaps as good

as handing out a job to a political boss."

"Then, you're not English?"

"I'm an American. I don't know if it's important, but since you'd had

enough of the fellow, why did you bother?"

"For one thing, I wanted to get rid of him," Kit said naively. "Then, of

course, since he is English, I felt I had to see him out."

The other nodded. "A pretty good rule, but if you stick to it at Las

Palmas, I reckon you'll be occupied! Which way do you go?"

"To the _Fonda Malaguena_," said Kit.

His companion indicated a shady street and left him at the top, and when

Kit loafed in the _patio_ after his six o'clock dinner, he pondered. Las

Palmas was not at all the romantic city he had thought, and the men he

had met going south on board the steamer were a new type. They were

business men, holding posts at African factories, but they were not the

business men he knew at Liverpool. He could not picture them punctual,

careful about small things, or remarkably sober. They had a touch of

rashness he distrusted but rather liked. Yet he understood some occupied

important posts. In fact, it looked as if the Liverpool small clerk's

rules did not apply everywhere; in the south men used others. Although

Kit was puzzled his horizon was widening.

CHAPTER III

A MOUNTAIN EXCURSION

Two weeks after Kit joined his ship, she returned to Las Palmas, and on

the whole he was satisfied with his occupation. _Campeador_ was fast and

built on a steam yacht's model, except that her bow was straight.

Although she rolled horribly across the combers the Trade-breeze piles

up, she shipped no heavy water. Then Kit thought it strange, but she was

kept as clear as a British mail-liner.

He had begun to like her crew; the grave bare-legged fishermen who rowed

the cargo launches, and the careless officers. All were Spanish but Don

Pedro Macallister, the chief engineer, for although the _roll_ stated

that his birthplace was Portobello, it was not in Spain. The rules

require that Spanish mail-boats be manned by Spanish subjects, but

government officials are generally poor and English merchant houses

sometimes generous.

For two weeks _Campeador_ steamed round the islands, stopping at

surf-hammered beaches to pick up cattle, camels, sheep and mules. Now

the livestock was landed and Kit, waiting for a boat to carry him

ashore, mused about his first encounter with the captain. _Campeador_

was steaming out from Las Palmas, rolling violently as she breasted the

long, foam-crested seas, and Kit staggered in the dark across the

lumbered deck where the crew were throwing cargo into the hold. She had,

as usual, started late, for in Spain nobody bothers about punctuality.

He reached the captain's room under the bridge. Don Erminio had pulled

off his uniform and now wore a ragged white shirt and shabby English

clothes. His cap, ridiculously shrunk by spray, was like a schoolboy's.

Kit inquired politely what he was to do about some goods not recorded in

the ship's manifest, and the blood came to the captain's olive skin.

"Another animal! All _sobrecargos_ are animals; people without honour or

education!" he shouted. "I am a Spanish gentleman, not a smuggler!"

Kit was half daunted by the other's theatrical fury, but his job was to

keep proper cargo lists, and what he undertook he did. It was not for

nothing his ancestors were hard sheep-farmers in the bleak North.

"Nevertheless, I want to know about the chemical manure for Palma," he

said.

Don Erminio seized the tin dispatch-box and threw it on the floor.

"Look for the documents! Do I count bags of manure? I am not a clerk.

When the company doubts my honour I am an anarchist!" He kicked the

tumbled papers. "If you find five pesetas short, I throw the manure in

the sea. People without education! I go and tear my hair!"

He went, and when the door banged Kit sat down and laughed. He had borne

some strain, but the thing was humorous. To begin with, Don Erminio's

hair was very short. Then, although his grounds for anger were not

plain, Kit thought it possible the cargo belonged to a relation of the

captain's. Picking up the papers, he returned to his office, and when

_Campeador_ reached port the bags of manure were entered on the

manifest. Don Erminio, however, bore him no grudge. In the morning he

met Kit with a friendly smile and gave him a list of the passengers, for

whom landing dues must be paid.

"Sometimes one disputes about the sum. It is human, but not important,"

he remarked. "You will write three lists for the robbers who collect the

dues."

Kit said the list obviously did not give the names of all on board, and

Don Erminio grinned.

"It is a custom of the country. If one pays all one ought, there is no

use in having official friends. I put down the names of people the

collectors know."

When the steamer was ready to leave Palma, Kit and Don Erminio went to

the agent's office and were shown a pile of bags of silver. There was a

bank at Las Palmas, but for the most part the merchants did not use its

cheques, and Kit's duty was to carry the money to their creditors. The

agent gave him a list.

"You will count the bags before you sign? It is the English habit!" he

said.

Kit saw Don Erminio studied him and imagined the agent's voice was

scornful. For a moment or two he thought hard, and then took up a pen.

"I expect all the money is here?"

"I have counted," said the agent and Kit signed the document.

He knew he had broken a sound business rule and perhaps had run some

risk, but he had begun to see the rules were different in Spain. When he

went out he heard the agent say, "_Muy caballero!_"

"This one is not altogether an animal," the captain agreed.

Kit afterwards counted the silver and found the list accurate. On the

morning he waited for his boat at Las Palmas, he mused about it, and

admitted that perhaps his philosophy did not cover all the complexities

of human nature. By and by Macallister joined him, and he asked: "Who is

the American with a scar on his cheek I met before we sailed?"

"I'm thinking ye mean Jefferson. A fine man! He was Austin's partner

and they transact some business together noo."

"Then who is Austin?"

"He was _sobrecargo_ and held your post, but he didna bother aboot the

freight. Pented pictures, until he and Jefferson salved the _Cumbria_

and I married him to Jacinta Brown."

"_You_ married him to the lady," Kit remarked.

"Weel, I reckon I had something to do with it. For a' that, Don Pancho

Brown is cautious, and although he's anither daughter, I doubt if I

could do as much again. Ony way, if ye trust old Peter, ye'll no go far

wrang."

Kit was frankly puzzled about his new friend. Macallister's hair was

going white, but his eyes twinkled humorously, and Kit often found it

hard to determine whether he joked or not. All the same, people did

trust Macallister. In the meantime, Kit wanted to know about Austin and

Jefferson. Macallister told him.

Jefferson was mate of an American sailing ship, and inheriting a small

legacy, undertook to float a wreck on the African coast. His money soon

ran out, his men fell sick, and when he fronted disaster Jacinta Brown

sent Austin to help. Austin was poor and not ambitious, but he had some

talent that Jacinta roused him to use. Macallister said Jacinta could

make any man do what she wanted and the girl Jefferson married was her

friend. Money was raised, Austin went to Africa, and he and Jefferson

salved the stranded ship. Their adventures made a moving tale and when

they returned Pancho Brown gave Austin a share in his merchant business.

Macallister repeated that he was really accountable for Jacinta's

marrying Austin, and when he stopped, studied Kit.

"I dinna ken what I can do for you," he said in a thoughtful voice.

"Ye're no like Austin. He was a lad o' parts. Aweel, ye're young and a'

the lassies are no' fastidious."

"Anyhow, I'm not an adventurer," Kit rejoined and hesitated. "Besides,

if I'm ever rich enough to marry, there's a girl at home----"

"Yin?" remarked Macallister. "Man, when I was young I had the pick o'

twelve! Then I'm thinking it was no' for nothing she let ye away. Maybe

ye have some talents, but ye're no' amusing."

He turned, for Juan the mate, who wore spectacles, and the captain came

on deck. Don Erminio carried an old pinfire gun, hung round his

shoulders by a strap; he wore a big cartridge belt and black leggings,

and looked like a brigand.

"_Vamos!_" he said. "Me, I am _cazador_. I go shoot the rabbit. If the

_patron_ is not about, perhaps I shoot the goat."

A boat came to the ladder and Kit, rather doubtfully, got on board. He

knew something about his companions and imagined the excursion might be

marked by adventures. For one thing, the goats that roamed among the

hills were not altogether wild but belonged to somebody. When the party

landed he thought his doubts were justified. Two horses, a big white

donkey, and a mule were waiting, and a violent dispute began, for the

muleteer declared he went with the animals and must be paid before they

started. He called his saint to witness that he knew the captain.

"_Buen!_" Don Erminio remarked at length and turned to Kit. "He is more

animal than the mulo, but it is not important. _Vamos!_ Now we start."

They set off in a dust cloud, but presently left the road and laboured

across a waste of hot sand. When the sand stopped they went by winding

paths to the hills, and when they pushed up a dry watercourse Kit's

troubles began. The track was rough, and dangerous in places where the

sharp lava blocks were piled in heaps, but Don Erminio rode his lean

horse like a _gaucho_. The fat mate rode like a sack, but his big,

cautious donkey knew the hills, and Macallister had the carriage and

balance of a cavalry soldier. He declared he had learned to ride in the

Greys, and Kit thought it possible, although Macallister's statements

were sometimes not accurate. He carried a sharp stick, with which at

awkward spots he pricked Kit's mule.

A Spanish mule is as surefooted as a cat, but riding is not a pastime

for small shipping clerks, and Kit had not mounted before. The

pack-saddle was very wide and galled his legs, the jolts shook him hard,

and when they reached the top of the watercourse his muscles ached

intolerably. The muleteer ran beside him, sometimes holding on by the

stirrup and sometimes by the animal's tail. At the top the path went

obliquely up a precipitous cinder bank and Macallister used his pointed

stick. The mule kicked and Kit, falling backwards, rolled for some

distance down the pitch. When he got up he was shaken, bruised and very

sore, but he saw Macallister's twinkle and heard Don Erminio's hoarse

laugh. His mouth went hard. He had engaged to ride to a hill village and

he was going to ride there.

The muleteer helped him up and they presently reached a row of square

lava houses standing among palms and sugar cane. There was a small, dark

wine shop, at which Don Erminio stopped.

"_Buen' caballero!_" he remarked to Kit. "Now we take a drink and then I

shoot the goat."

There was no glass in the wine shop windows and the Trade-breeze blew

through the room. After the glare outside, to sit in the shade and rest

one's aching muscles was soothing, and Kit drank two cups of red wine.

The captain drank _cana_, a raw rum, and presently picking up a guitar

began to sing. His voice was good and Kit liked the music, although he

did not know it was classic opera. He sang on, without embarrassment,

when Macallister began, "Gae bring to me a pint o' wine," and the

clashing melodies brought a group of _peons_ to the door.

"Ave Maria!" one exclaimed. "But they are strange, the men of the sea!"

By and by Kit noted the empty bottles and got up. He had had enough and

resolved he would not help Don Erminio to shoot another's goat.

Moreover, he imagined his companions had had too much. Starting for the

port, he left the village but soon afterwards sat down by a euphorbia

bush. Although his head was clear, his legs were a trifle unsteady; the

red wine was stronger than he had thought, but perhaps his coming out

from the cool, dark shop into the scorching sun accounted for something.

He frowned, and resolving he would not again indulge like that, began to

look about.

Overhead, a tremendous rampart of broken mountains cut the sky. In

places, the rocks, torn by volcanic heat, were black as ink; in places

they were red, and some belts shone in the searching light like polished

steel. In the hollow of a _barranco_ where water ran were tall palms and

luminous green cane, dotted by red oleanders and geraniums. The sky was

all blue and the Atlantic glimmered like a big turquoise.

Kit felt the landscape's charm, for he had not known much of Nature's

beauty. At Liverpool, when one went out with a bicycle on Saturdays, one

followed the tram-lines across a flat country stained by smoke and the

dust of traffic. He had once stopped for a week with his father's

relations in the North and remembered the quiet, green valley where the

river ran, but the moors about it were hidden by rain-clouds, and mist

rolled down the long wet slopes. Now sea and mountains were touched

with splendid colour by the Southern sun.

He mused about his companions. He thought Macallister a good sort, and

liked the Mate and Don Erminio. Their irresponsible carelessness had

charm, but Kit did not altogether approve; his friends and relations

were frugal, industrious folk. He had a vague notion that their

utilitarian virtues were sometimes shabby; for example, in Kit's circle,

one was sober because soberness paid. But at the same time, to waste his

youth and talents in indulgence was folly.

Yet he was not altogether moved by selfish caution; Kit's unconscious

asceticism was his by inheritance. The blood of yeomen flockmasters, who

by stern self-denial had held their sheep-walks on the bleak hills, was

in his veins. They were hard folk, who fronted bitter gales, took no

thought for their bodies, and lived that they might work.

But, since he was not a hermit, it was plain he must go with his new

friends as far as his code allowed, but when he had done so he would

stop. He thought, for example, he had stopped in time when he left the

wine shop after Macallister ordered another bottle. Then, looking at his

watch, he got up and started for Las Palmas.

CHAPTER IV

KIT'S OBSTINACY

When he had gone some distance Kit climbed down a ravine that promised a

short line to the harbour, and stopped as he crossed a field of maize at

the bottom. A girl, standing by a horse, was occupied by a strap, and

Kit knew her before she looked up. She wore a short linen riding-skirt,

a thin yellow jacket, and a big yellow hat that shone against the tall

green corn. Her olive skin had a warm tinge; her brown hair looked

burnished. She was Mrs. Austin's sister, and Kit admitted he had not in

England met a girl like this. He thought her vivid; it was the proper

word.

"Have you some bother about the harness?" he asked.

Olivia looked up and noted that he was tall and straight. His colour was

fresh, for Kit was not much sunburned yet, and his eyes were frank. In a

way, he was rather an attractive fellow, but not altogether her sort.

For one thing, he was Don Arturo's man and his white clothes were cheap.

All the same, when the winter tourists were gone, young men were not

numerous.

"A strap has broken," she replied. "Perhaps one could get a piece of

string through the hole. Have you some?"

"I have a leather bootlace," said Kit. "If you'll wait a minute----"

He was going off, but she stopped him. "You had better see how much we

need, because if you cut too much, you may have some trouble to reach

Las Palmas."

"That is so; you're rather clever," said Kit, who looked at the broken

strap. "Well, I'll find a block where I can take off my boot."

Olivia smiled. Lava blocks were all about, but she liked his

fastidiousness. In a minute or two he came back with a piece of the lace

and began to mend the strap.

"Let me help," said Olivia. "That loop is not very neat; I don't think

you are much of a workman."

"In England, I was a shipping clerk," Kit rejoined.

Olivia noted his frankness. As a rule, the young men from the coal wharf

and banana stores talked guardedly about their English occupations. Some

had come for a warmer climate and some for fresh experience, but none

admitted he had come for better pay. She helped Kit to pull the loop

straight and he remarked that it did not look very firm.

"It will hold," she said. "In Grand Canary harness is mainly string. You

are on board the _correillo_, are you not? I think I saw you land from

the African boat."

Kit said he had joined the ship two weeks since, and Olivia wondered

whether he was dull. He ought to have seen that her remembering his

arrival was flattering, but he obviously did not.

"Well," she resumed, "what do you think about the _correillo_'s

officers?"

"I don't know yet. You see, one doesn't meet men like these at

Liverpool. For one thing, _Campeador_ generally sails an hour or two

late. That's significant."

"In Spanish countries, punctuality is not a virtue and nobody is a slave

to rules. We do what we like, when we like, and let people wait."

"Sometimes it must make things awkward," Kit remarked. "However, if

you're satisfied about the harness, can I help you up?"

Olivia gave him a quick glance; it looked as if he were willing to let

her go. He was dull, but his dullness was intriguing. In fact, since

Olivia knew her charm, it was something of a challenge. She said she

would walk across the maize field and signed Kit to lead the horse.

"I expect you'll make for the _carretera_," he said "Isn't it the

easiest way to your side of the town?"

"If you know where I live, you know who I am."

"I do know. You are Mrs. Austin's sister. Macallister told me."

Olivia frowned. She was not jealous, but sometimes she felt as if

Jacinta's popularity swamped hers.

"What did Don Pedro tell you about my sister?"

"He said she ruled the English colony and at Las Palmas what she said

went."

"Oh, well! Perhaps he did not exaggerate very much. Macallister does

exaggerate, you know. But was this all?"

Kit was embarrassed. Macallister had said much more.

"He told me something about Mr. Austin and the wreck on the African

coast."

Olivia pondered. She knew Macallister and noted Kit's embarrassment.

He occupied the post Austin had occupied. On the whole, Olivia was

amused, but while she thought about it they passed the end of a path

that turned off through the corn.

Kit was quiet. He felt the vivid light and colour made a proper

background for his companion's exotic beauty, and not long since it was

unthinkable that a girl like this should engage him in friendly talk.

Yet, although one got a hint of pride and cultivation, she was frank and

he thought her kind. The dreariness he had known at Liverpool was gone;

walking in the splendid sunshine by Olivia's horse, he felt another

man. For all that, Olivia thought they had talked long enough and when

they came out from the maize she stopped. Then she saw with some

annoyance she had passed the proper path.

They had reached the edge of the narrow tableland, and in front a bank

of volcanic cinders ran down steeply and vanished, as if there was a

cliff not far below. The smooth surface was broken here and there by the

marks of horses' feet, and one saw in the distance a bridle path wind

among the rocks. A little cement channel, carrying water from the hills,

crossed the steepest pitch, and indicated how the horses had reached an

easier gradient. Yet to ride along the channel looked horribly risky,

and Kit thought the bank of cinders had recently slipped down and

carried away the path.

"Give me the bridle," said Olivia.

"You're not going to get up?"

Olivia smiled. She had pluck and rode like a Spaniard. Moreover, in the

Canaries, the hill roads are generally bad. Then perhaps she was willing

Kit should see her cross the awkward spot.

"My sister is waiting for me. Can you hold the stirrup?"

"I won't try! You mustn't ride along the channel."

The blood came to Olivia's skin. Jacinta ruled all the men she knew and

Olivia thought something of her sister's power was hers. Then she was

proud and young, and the fellow had told her she _must not_.

"Do you mean you won't help me up?" she said. "After all, I can get up

without you."

Kit went forward a few yards and then turned and fronted her. He blocked

the way and his mouth was firm. Olivia looked at him haughtily and her

eyes sparkled. His object was plain; he meant to stop and force her to

go another way.

"Move back, please!" she said sharply.

"Not yet," said Kit and indicated the watercourse. "You see, for a few

yards there's nothing but the channel. You couldn't walk across the

cinders and lead the horse. The pitch is very steep."

"One could ride along the channel."

"I think not. The top's rounded and the cement's smooth. The horse would

slip."

"Do you know much about horses?" Olivia asked.

Kit coloured, because he imagined he understood her taunt. "I know

nothing; until this morning I hadn't mounted a horse. All the same, the

risk is obvious."

Olivia looked at her wrist-watch. "My sister has some engagements for

the afternoon and needs me. I ought to be at home. This is the shortest

line to the town, but since you won't let me use it, perhaps you have

another plan."

"I have," said Kit. "I'll ride the horse across."

With an effort he got into the saddle. The saddle was a man's, but he

had not long since finished his first riding lesson, and all his muscles

ached. Olivia marked his awkwardness and hesitated, although she let him

go. The thing was not so risky as he thought and the horse was steady.

Still she admitted that the fellow's nerve was good.

Kit's heart beat and his look was strained. He expected to fall and

might roll over the cliff. Then he noted that the horse tried the

treacherous cinders with its feet as it climbed obliquely to the

watercourse. He thought the animal was used to the hill-tracks, and if

it knew how to get across, he would let it. One could not go up hill

because of the rocks, and on the other side the slope was precipitous.

Not far off, the bank of cinders stopped and one saw nothing but a

vulture poised against the sky. He left the bridle slack and the horse

went on. After a few minutes the animal stepped off the watercourse and

headed cautiously down the slope.

To brace himself back hurt horribly, but Kit did so. They had nearly

passed the top of the cliff and in front a slump of cactus grew beside a

winding path. If he could hold out until they reached the clump, he

could get down. In the meantime, his stiff, galled knees had no grip and

the animal's cautious movements jarred his aching back. He sat like a

sack until the horse stepped on a rolling stone, and then his feet came

out of the awkward Spanish stirrups. He struck the ground, and rolled

into the cactus. A cloud of dust marked his plunge.

When the dust blew away Kit was rather surprised to find he had stuck to

the bridle and the horse had not run off. Then he was conscious of a

strange pricking over much of his body, as if he had been stung by

nettles. He looked at his clothes and saw they were pierced by small

spines like needles. He pulled out a number, but they stuck to his hands

and it was plain both ends were sharp. Then he looked at the cactus and

understood why it was called prickly pear. The needles grew in tufts on

the round fruit and thick, fleshy leaves. He got up and shook his

clothes, but could not shake off the tormenting spines. While he was

occupied Olivia joined him.

"Since you have got across, I expect you see you're not very logical,"

she remarked.

"It looks like that," said Kit. "Nevertheless, I was logical as far as I

knew."

Olivia studied him quietly and Kit got embarrassed. His clothes and skin

were smeared by dust and he felt like a pincushion. The prickling was

intolerable and he wanted to rub his leg. Olivia's charm was strong,

but he wished she would go. In fact, he imagined she knew this, because

her eyes twinkled.

"Your logic's not very sound," she resumed. "For example, I began to

ride when I was eight years old, and you admitted you began this

morning. Why did you imagine you could ride along the channel when I

could not? However, you have kept me for some time and I mustn't stop."

Kit did not know what he ought to do, but he gave her the bridle and

held the stirrup.

"Not that way! Keep your hand firm and your arm stiff," she said, and

putting her foot on his hand, sprang to the saddle. Then she turned and

smiled. "You have pluck, but you had better get back on board and change

your clothes."

She started the horse, and leaning back in a strangely graceful pose,

let the animal go. The pitch was steep, and the soil was loose, but they

plunged down the hill. Kit knew nothing about a horse's paces; he rather

thought it skated. When Olivia had gone he tried to pull out the spines,

but finding that for the most part they stuck to his hands he gave it

up. Then he lighted a cigarette and reflected moodily.

To begin with, it looked as if Miss Brown knew all about prickly pear,

and her amused sympathy annoyed him. Then his battling her was obviously

not justified, and as he watched her speed down the slopes below he

frowned. He had refused to let a girl who rode like that undertake a

feat he had tried; and then had fallen into the prickly pear. The thing

was ridiculous. In the meantime, his skin was tingling; he must get off

his clothes, and he started for Las Palmas.

CHAPTER V

MRS AUSTIN'S VERANDA

Don Erminio and Kit were fishing in the bay behind the Isleta, the hill

of volcanic cinders that shelters the Port of Light. Off-shore, the

Trade-breeze was fresh, but in the bay the rocks broke the sea. The

captain had moored his _barquillo_ to a reef and stood in a pool, with

the warm, green water washing about his knees. His legs and arms were

bare, as were Kit's, but they wore rawhide sandals, because where the

sea-urchin grows one protects one's feet. Don Erminio carried a dripping

bag, in which something moved, and a pole with a sharp hook like a

salmon gaff. Kit carried a short fishing rod and was rather wet.

Stepping out on a dry ledge, he looked about.

A quarter of a mile off, the long, white-topped combers rolled across

the bay and then broke on the north shore of the island in a belt of

foam. Mist had begun to creep down the mountain wall, and in the

distance Galdar hill rose against the sunset. Farther off, across a belt

of shining sea, Teneriffe's snowy peak glimmered upon a background of

dull green and red. Some distance from land, a small ketch-rigged vessel

steered for the Isleta. It was nearly six o'clock and would soon be

dark.

"_Vamos!_" said Don Erminio. "One does not get rich while one looks

about, and the salt fish I sent home from San Sebastian is almost gone."

Kit remarked that the captain had sent a large box and asked if Senora

Martinez liked salt fish.

"She does not, but it is not important," said Don Erminio. "Children are

always hungry and meat costs much. When one is a sportsman, fish costs

nothing, and there is more money for me."

He stepped on some wet weed, and staggering across the ledge, declared

the man who made his sandals had no shame, but Don Erminio was seldom

angry long, and Kit admitted he was a sportsman. They were looking for

the big, yellow-striped eel, which in the Canaries is a delicacy, and

when the captain got his breath he plunged into the shallow water and

began to whistle.

"_Salta, morena!_" he called in a thin, high-pitched note.

The _morena_ feeds on pulps, the squid and octopus, which blow out air

with a whistling noise when the pools get dry. The Spaniards eat the

small pulps, but some are large and _morena_-fishers state they eat men.

After a time Don Erminio jumped into a chasm where the surge swung to

and fro, and presently stopped in front of a dark cave. Long weed tossed

about with the wash, and the light that touched the rock was broken by

puzzling reflections, in which the captain's legs shone lividly white.

Kit, standing behind him, rather wished he would leave the cave alone.

Somehow the dark hole looked forbidding, but Don Erminio declared he had

seen a _morena_ go in and Kit resigned himself to wait.

By and by he remarked, under water, a dark object stretched across a

rock. It was spotted and looked rather like a thick stalk of weed. He

thought it wavered, but the movement of the water might account for

this, and Don Erminio began to pull about the weed. When Kit looked down

again, the object was curved and thicker than he had thought. It

obviously moved and its outer end was getting near the captain's leg.

Then Kit saw another, and for a moment stood stiff and quiet while

something throbbed in his ears. He knew the objects were the arms of an

octopus.

He roused himself, and pushing the captain back, lifted his rod and

struck. Don Erminio saw and shouted, but turned to the cavern and his

pole jarred on Kit's. The weed tossed, the water got disturbed and

thick, and Kit saw indistinctly three or four waving arms. It looked as

if the thing was coming out, and he struck in savage panic at the spot

he thought it occupied. Then Don Erminio leaped on to a dry ledge and

pulled Kit up. When they looked back an indistinct, spotted horror

writhed about the mouth of the cave. For a few moments Kit fought

against a sense of nausea and the throbbing in his ears got worse.

"_Buen mozo!_" said the captain, beating his shoulder. "One has enough;

the big pulpo is the devil. _Vamos!_ In English, we get out."

While they pulled their boat to the rocks a man some distance off

crossed the reef, and waved a white jacket. It looked as if he signalled

and Kit saw the ketch he had noted was nearer land, but thought her too

far off for the crew to see. The man, however, saw the boat, for he

began to scramble across the rocks, shouting to Don Erminio.

"The ketch is Senor Jefferson's and they do not want her to make the

port, where she must pay some dues," the captain said to Kit. "She is to

go on to Africa, but the fellow says his boat is damaged and he cannot

carry the message. Me, I think the wind is too strong for him. However,

Senor Jefferson is very much a gentleman and the thing is possible."

Kit looked at the sea and doubted. The wind was fresh and outside the

shelter of the rocks the combers were white and big, but Don Erminio

could handle a small sailing boat. Kit signed agreement and the captain

turned to the fisherman.

"Go home, mackerel-eater, and say two sailors have taken on your job."

They got on board, and while the captain rowed Kit reefed the latine

sail. The boat plunged and spray began to blow about. When the sail was

hoisted Kit got on the windward gunwale and the captain took the helm.

The _barquillo_ was small and did not carry much ballast, and the reefed

sail pressed her, but in order to reach the ketch she must be driven to

windward boldly. The others saw her coming for they hove their vessel to

some distance off. Kit knew they durst not run far into the rocky bay.

The long yard began to bend and foam leaped about the gunwale. The

_barquillo_ was fast, and the latine sail took her well to windward, but

a small boat going to windward is generally wet. When she lurched

obliquely across the rollers the spray blew in clouds from her weather

bow, and now and then their tops broke on board. Kit durst not get down

to throw out the water; his weight was needed for a counterbalance on

her lifted side, and he presently imagined she could not stand much

more. Don Erminio's clothes and face were wet, but he met the big,

curling seas with cool confidence, and somehow the boat went across.

When Kit could look ahead he saw the ketch was not far off. Her mainsail

was lowered and, with jib and mizzen set, she swung her forefoot out of

the foam and sank until her rail was hidden. It was plain the boat could

not reach her on one tack, and by and by Don Erminio waved his cap.

"Let them do something. Now they must come to us," he said.

The ketch's helm went up, she swung round before the wind, and when she

luffed the boat was close under her lee. Don Erminio and the _patron_

shouted, a letter was thrown across, the ketch hoisted her mainsail, and

Kit slacked the latine sheet. Going back, the wind was fair and they

sped, with bows out of the water, across the long seas, while a wedge of

foam stood up above the depressed stern. When they landed behind a reef

it was nearly dark and Don Erminio studied Kit with a grin.

"Senor Jefferson is very much a gentleman and the letter is important,"

he said. "If you go by the _triana_ and do not stop near the lights,

nobody will see you. I must take the fish to my senora before she buys

some meat."

Kit did not want to go. For one thing, his thin, wet clothes stuck to

his body, he wore rawhide sandals, and could not find one sock. Yet he

would rather like to meet Jefferson, who no doubt expected the letter.

He started for the town and after a time stopped at a house in a quiet

street. Somebody opened an iron gate in a narrow arch and Kit crossed

the _patio_. He saw the stars shine over the court and shadowy

bougainvilleas trail from the balconies. A fountain splashed in the

gloom, and he smelt flowers. Then Jefferson came from a lighted room and

took him in. He gave Kit a quick glance and noted his wet clothes, but

did not look surprised. To look surprised was not Jefferson's habit.

"You have saved me some port dues and an awkward delay," he said when he

had read the letter. "Will you take a drink?"

Kit refused politely and Jefferson resumed: "My wife can't receive you;

she's at Palma, and there's something about which I ought to put Austin

wise. Will you come along? I expect you know Mrs. Austin?"

"Perhaps I can claim to know Miss Brown?" Kit replied and then indicated

his clothes.

"You're near my height and I can fix you; I didn't mean to let you go

off like that," said Jefferson smiling.

Kit wanted to go and when he had put on a white suit of Jefferson's they

started. Mrs. Austin's house was modern and occupied a natural terrace

on the hill behind the town. A veranda ran along the front, and Kit saw

a group of people in basket chairs. When Jefferson presented him Mrs.

Austin's smile was kind and Olivia gave him her hand. Presently Kit sat

down in a corner and looked about.

The veranda was wide and Mrs. Austin used it for a drawing-room. English

and Spaniards owned her influence, she meddled benevolently with other's

affairs, and presided over something like a salon of the old French

school. At one end of the veranda a lamp stood on a bronze pillar, and

bright beams shone out from the rooms behind, but Kit's corner was in

the gloom and he was satisfied, since he rather doubted the fit of

Jefferson's clothes. In front, one saw the clustered lights of the town

and the white belt of surf that ran back to the shadowy Isleta. The sea

sparkled in the moon's track, and then melted into the blue dark behind

which was the African coast.

Kit studied his hosts. Mrs. Austin was slender and small. Her skin was

olive and he noted some white in her hair. She was very graceful, but

her glance was rather thoughtful than commanding. Austin loafed in his

easy-chair. He was handsome, but looked languid--his hands were white

and finely-shaped, his glance was careless. Kit could hardly picture him

the hero of Macallister's romantic tale. In fact, Austin and Jacinta

rather disappointed Kit.

On the whole, it was easier to picture Jefferson doing something big. He

was thin, and although he was quiet, looked resolute and, so to speak,

rough-hewn. Kit thought his was the Abraham Lincoln type. The others,

however, were not really important when Olivia was about. She wore black

and amber; a Spanish dress of diaphanous material and lace. Her olive

skin was faintly touched, like a peach, by red. Kit thought her

strangely beautiful and got a hint of pride and conscious power. By and

by she crossed the floor and joined him.

"Have you gone for another ride?" she asked.

"Not yet," he said. "We have been at sea and one ride is enough for some

time."

"Do you mean, you were shaken by your fall? If so, I'm sorry."

"I don't mean the fall. Going up the _barranco_ to the hills shook me

worse. I think you know it was my first adventure on horseback. Anyhow,

you saw its inglorious close."

"But I rather thought you enjoyed adventures," Olivia replied with a

twinkle. "Shortly before you arrived I was at a shop in the _triana_,

and you crossed the front of the window."

Kit coloured, for he had seen his reflection in Jefferson's dressing

glass; he imagined Olivia knew his shoes pinched and the clothes he wore

were not his. Her quiet amusement jarred, but he reflected that clothes

were not really important.

"My last adventure was on board a boat not long since," he said.

"However, I do know a little about a boat."

"Mr. Musgrave certainly does know," Jefferson remarked. "He went off to

meet _Cayman_ in a fresh breeze that scared the fellow I sent."

"Now you ought to be satisfied!" said Olivia.

"I'm not satisfied. I didn't expect Mr. Jefferson to back my

statement."

"Then you didn't want to persuade me you can manage a boat?"

"Not at all," said Kit. "I wanted to state that when you stick to things

you know, you're not ridiculous. When I met you at the maize field I was

ridiculous, because it was pretty obvious I couldn't manage a horse. In

fact, I feel I ought to apologise."

"I wonder. You declared you were logical as far as you knew, and when I

thought about it I agreed. You imagined the channel wasn't safe and saw

I was obstinate. In consequence, you resolved to ride the horse across.

On the whole, I think you were nice!"

"Are you disputing?" Mrs. Austin asked.

"Oh, no," said Olivia. "I am trying to persuade Mr. Musgrave he was

rather noble. Not long since he rode my horse across a spot he didn't

think safe for me."

"Then I reckon his nerve is pretty good!" Jefferson remarked.

Austin laughed, Mrs. Austin said nothing, but looked interested, and the

blood came to Kit's skin. He almost thought Olivia shabby. Anyhow, he

had had enough. If he stopped, he might look like a fool again, and he

declared he must write out some cargo lists. Mrs. Austin told him he

might come back, and after a glance at Olivia he turned to Jefferson.

"Thank you for the clothes," he said in rather a loud voice. "I'll send

them home to-morrow."

He went off and Mrs. Austin said: "I don't altogether see----"

"It isn't very obvious," Olivia replied. "However, I imagine Mr.

Musgrave has some grounds for thinking I ought to understand." She

smiled and resumed: "Well, one gets rather tired of the banana men, and

although Mr. Musgrave has some drawbacks I think he's good stuff. What

do you think, Jake?"

"I reckon you _know_," said Jefferson, who looked at Mrs. Austin. "You

see, I brought the young fellow."

"Oh, well," said Olivia, "we will admit that is something, but perhaps

it's not important. Mr. Musgrave has engaged to return your clothes. If

you had trusted anybody else on board his ship, I expect you would not

have got them back. The _correilleros_ keep all they get."

CHAPTER VI

THE INJURED PASSENGER

The red sunset shone behind Lanzarote's broken hills, and the Trade-wind

had, for an hour or two, dropped to a light breeze. _Campeador_'s boat,

under jib and spritsail, was beating up the coast. Don Erminio held the

tiller; Kit sat on the gunwale and smoked and looked about. Between sea

and mountains ran an empty plain, crossed by lava ridges and covered by

sand that had blown, for sixty miles, from the Sahara. In the distance,

the little whitewashed port of Arrecife glimmered against the dark sea.

The landscape was clean-cut and arid. Kit thought it looked like

pictures of Palestine.

Rabbits and vividly-coloured fish occupied the bottom of the boat, for

Don Erminio was a keen sportsman and made his sport pay. As a rule, his

other ventures were not profitable, and he had taken Kit along the coast

to look at a new tomato farm, in which he had bought shares. They found

a rude wall, enclosing a belt of sand in which Kit imagined nothing

could be forced to grow, and the captain stormed about the knavery of

the people who had persuaded him to speculate, until he saw a goat. Now,

however, he was resigned and philosophical.

"Business is not for sailors, who are honest people," he remarked in

English. "You have seen the _finca de tomate_. _Buen' ejemplo!_"

Kit had seen, and sympathised with the captain.

"Did you invest much money?" he asked.

"Fifty-dollar. Money of my senora, and when I arrive at my house she

make _escandolo_. When they start the _finca_ there is a feast, mucho

talk and drinky. Me I say, '_Viva la industria._ Take my fifty-dollar.'

_Hombre_, when I calculate the vermouth fifty-dollar buy!"

Kit said it was hard luck and tried not to smile, for the captain's

speculations were something of a joke at Las Palmas.

"Other time I buy the mule cart," Don Erminio resumed. "I say, if the

merchant want his cargo, he must use my cart. The plan is good, I buy

more cart and get rich quick. _Vaya!_ The cart is on the mole, two good

mule in front. Comes the _locomotura_, pushing the concrete block. _Mal

rayo!_ The driver not look, and the mule is in the sea. I am no more

_commerciante_; I am anarchist!"

Kit thought he understood the accident, for the mole at Las Palmas is

narrow and the concrete blocks, carried on rails to its end, are large.

The captain paused and coughed.

"Don Pedro savvy much; he buy whisky," he went on. "Now I have seen the

_finca_ mi t'roat is like the lime pit."

Kit's throat did not bother him. He had inherited an ascetic vein and,

in a country where wine is cheap, he was abstemious. For all that, he

was hungry and he looked ahead to see if the little port got nearer. He

hoped the breeze would not freshen much before they arrived. Then he

heard blocks rattle and looked astern. A schooner had gone about behind

them and was overtaking the boat. Her forefoot swung out of the smooth

swell, and a thin streak of foam marked her waterline; her high sails

were black against the sunset. As she came up she swerved, a jib was

hauled aback to stop her, and her after-canvas flapped.

"_La Malaguena_," said Don Erminio. "Now we get a drink!"

When the schooner forged past somebody threw a rope, Kit pulled down the

boat's mast, and in a few minutes he and Don Erminio got on board. She

was a beautifully-modelled vessel, belonging to the fruit-carrying

fleet, but Kit understood an English merchant had recently chartered

her. When he jumped down from the bulwarks, Wolf, the merchant, crossed

the deck.

"If you'll come below and smoke, we'll tow your boat," he said and

addressed Don Erminio in good Castilian. "Hallo, my friend! How do

things go?"

"They do not go well," said the other. "I have seen the tomato farm."

Wolf laughed and took them to the small stern cabin, where he got out

two or three bottles, some figs, and cigars. Kit took a _copita_ of

sweet, white muscatel and studied his host. Wolf was dark-skinned and

wore white clothes, Canary rawhide slippers and a Spanish sash, but his

English was good. Although he was fat, his movements and glance were

quick.

"We'll put you on board your steamer when we anchor off the town," he

said presently.

"Then, you're not going in?" said Kit.

"I think not. Arrecife is an awkward port to make in the dark. If the

wind holds light, we'll anchor and wait for daybreak."

"The wind she freshen," said Don Erminio. "I know the reefs like a fish.

I pilot you."

A steward had lighted the swivelled lamp and Kit occupied a locker

behind the small swing table. Don Erminio and Wolf were opposite and Kit

thought the captain's offer embarrassed the merchant. He, however,

smiled and said they would wait. They could not land cargo until the

morning, the casino was dull, and to win three or four pesetas was not

exciting. Then he turned to Kit.

"Since you sail for Las Palmas soon, I'll give you a passenger. I expect

you know we are trying to start a trade with the tribes on the Sahara

coast. One of my men got hurt, and if he goes with you, the doctor will

look after him to-morrow. I'd like you to send on a note I'll give you

as soon as you arrive and keep the man on board until a boat comes. Then

perhaps you needn't register him in your passenger lists. He's not a

Spanish subject and we don't want the _commandancia_ officers to make

inquiries about the accident."

"The officers are animals. Me, I know them!" Don Erminio remarked.

"Sometimes they bother one," Wolf agreed. "However, I'll pay the

_sobrecargo_ for a first-class berth."

Don Erminio spread out his hands indignantly. "No, senor! A friend of

yours is a friend of mine. There is no use in being captain if one's

friends must pay."

"Oh, well," Wolf said, smiling. "I expect the _sobrecargo_ is

accountable for the passengers."

He put down an envelope and some money. Kit counted the coins and pushed

back three or four.

"You have given me too much."

Wolf looked at Don Erminio, and Kit thought he slightly lifted his

brows. Don Erminio shrugged, and Wolf leaned forward to pick up the

money. Kit did not know if he got it, for the schooner lurched and the

floor slanted. One heard the water rush along her side and a noise on

deck. Loose canvas banged, ropes and blocks rattled, and it was plain

the breeze had not kept light. As a rule, the boisterous north-easter

freshens after dark.

Don Erminio jumped for the ladder and a few moments afterwards Kit got

on deck. All was dark and showers of spray blew about, but he saw the

schooner was now lying-to, and the crew had partly lowered the big

mainsail. The indistinct figures hanging on to the long boom were trying

down a reef. Presently they rehoisted the sail and when the schooner

started, foam boiled about her lee bulwarks and all forward was lost in

a cloud of spray. Kit looked aft and saw _Campeador_'s boat, lifted half

her length out of water, at the end of the towrope.

They made two tacks and then hove the schooner to with the lights of the

little town abeam. The crew pulled up _Campeador_'s boat, and Kit,

balancing on the schooner's rail, waited for a minute before he jumped.

Long, white-topped combers ran in the dark, the schooner rolled, lifting

her wet side out of the foam. Sometimes the boat bumped her planks and

sometimes swung away on the backwash. At length Kit jumped, and held her

off while Don Erminio, rather unsteadily, came down a rope. Then two men

appeared at the gangway, carrying another. The boat swung towards the

vessel, Kit, bracing himself to bear a load, reached up, and next moment

the man fell upon him.

A rope splashed, he stepped the little mast and hoisted the jib. Don

Erminio seized the tiller, the schooner vanished, and the boat headed

for Arrecife. The passenger lay in her bottom and did not move. By and

by _Campeador_'s lights tossed in the dark ahead, for there was no moon

and the gloom was thickened by spray and blowing sand. The steamer

rolled savagely and Kit knew if they missed her, it would be awkward to

make the shallow, surf-swept port. One could not trust the captain's

pilotage; Wolf had been generous with his liquor.

Riding on a comber's crest, they sped past _Campeador_'s stern and Kit

saw her side, pierced by lights, lengthen out. He jumped for the mast

and dropped sail while Don Erminio shoved down the helm. The boat ran

on towards the illuminated square of the gangway under the saloon-deck,

and a rope came down. Then Kit, pulling out the mast, held her off with

the hook and the steamer rolled her bilge out of the water. Gangway and

ladder went up, her side looked like a high, slanted wall; and then she

rolled back and buried the ladder in swirling foam.

Indistinct figures cut against the light and scrambled down the ladder.

Kit let the boat swing in, and somebody seized the passenger and dragged

him out of the boat. Next moment Kit was on the platform at the bottom

of the ladder with the water about his knees, helping the others, who

pulled their load through the gangway. The officers' mess-room was

opposite, and carrying in the man they put him on the locker cushions.

He looked young, but his eyes were shut, he breathed heavily, and a

dirty bandage covered the lower part of his face. When they entered

Macallister got up.

"Wha's this? Where did ye get him?"

"His name's Scot and we brought him from Wolf's schooner. He's hurt."

"Maybe; the bandage indicates it," said Macallister, who studied the

man. "For a' that, I alloo he's drunk."

Kit was surprised and rather indignant, but Macallister grinned.

"I'm telling ye, and I ought to ken."

"_Verdad!_" said the captain. "Don Pedro savvy much. Me, I savvy

something too. _Es cierto._ The animal is drunk."

The ship was crowded by emigrants for Cuba and when they had put a

pillow under Scot's head, Kit went for his dispatch box and got to work.

At midnight he returned to the mess-room and found Scot sitting up with

his back against the bulkhead. His eyes were dull and his pose was

slack, but he awkwardly sucked up some liquor through a maize stalk.

Macallister sat opposite, looking sympathetic.

"Is that stuff good for him?" Kit asked.

"D'ye ken what the stuff is?" Macallister rejoined.

Kit admitted that he did not and remembered that the other sometimes

doctored the captain from the ship's medicine-chest. When Don Erminio

had friends on board his throat was generally bad.

"Anyhow," Kit added, "I only see one glass."

"He can hear ye, although he canna talk," Macallister resumed.

"Where were you when you got hurt?" Kit asked.

Scot moved his hand over his shoulder and Kit thought he meant to

indicate the African coast.

"How did you get hurt?"

The other felt in his pocket and taking out a piece of lead dropped it

on the table. Kit saw it was a bullet and the end was flattened.

"Hit a bone," Macallister remarked.

"But how did they get the bullet out? Wolf has not a doctor on board."

Macallister smiled scornfully. "When ye have gone to sea langer ye'll

ken a sailor's talents. For a' that, ye'll no trust the captain if the

boat carries an engineer. But I'm modest and will not boast."

_Campeador_, steaming before the big rollers, plunged violently. One

heard the measured beat of engines and roar of broken seas. The

mess-table slanted and Kit picked up the bullet, which rolled about and

struck the ledge. He wanted to ask Scot something, but Macallister waved

his hand.

"Dinna bother the puir fellow. Away and count your tickets!"

Kit went and got a bath, and was afterwards occupied until _Campeador_

steamed into the Port of Light, when he sent off Wolf's note. Some time

afterwards a boat with a Portuguese runner from a big hotel came

alongside and they put Scot on board. In the evening Kit went to ask for

him, but the clerk declared Scot had not arrived, and he doubted if

their runner had gone to meet the _correillo_. Muleteers and

camel-drivers from Arrecife did not stop at fashionable hotels. Kit was

forced to be satisfied, but he thought the thing was strange.

CHAPTER VII

THE BULLET

All the basket chairs on Mrs. Austin's veranda were occupied and two or

three young men leaned against the posts. Mrs. Austin used no formality.

People came and went when they liked. Jacinta had a smile for all; to

some she talked in a low voice and with some she joked. She knew things

her guests hid from everybody else, and held a clue to numerous

intrigues. The others revolved about her; Jacinta, so to speak, occupied

the middle of the stage.

Austin, as usual, was satisfied to leave his wife alone. The evening

reception was her business, and if she needed his help he would know. In

the meantime, he talked to Jefferson and Kit. Kit was half conscious

that he owed his hostess much. His clothes were better and the colours

did not clash. He had dropped one or two mannerisms Mrs. Austin quietly

discouraged, and had begun to take for models her husband and Jefferson.

Jefferson was thin and hard and often quiet, although his smile was

friendly. Austin was urbane and looked languid, but Kit now imagined he

was not. In fact, both had a calm and balance Kit admired. They had

risked and done much, but they did not talk down to him; to feel they

weighed his remarks was flattering.

Notwithstanding this, he was rather annoyed by the young man who talked

to Olivia. The fellow had returned from England and was telling her

about cricket and tennis matches and London restaurants. Olivia looked

interested, and Kit was jealous. His cricket was elementary and he knew

nothing about tennis, but he thought Olivia ought to see Nasmyth was a

fool. For one thing, he wore Spanish alpaca clothes, a black Spanish hat

and a red sash, and looked like a brigand from the opera. Kit

instinctively hated a theatrical pose, and wished Olivia had seen the

fellow crumple up after a few minutes' dispute with Macallister about

some coal.

He was not in love with Olivia; this was, of course, ridiculous. She did

not move him, as Betty had moved him, to a shy tenderness that was

mainly protective. When he was with Olivia he was romantic and

ambitious; she inspired him with vague resolves to make his mark and use

his talents. Her charm was strong, but Kit knew his drawbacks.

By and by Jefferson asked: "Did you see Wolf's schooner when you were on

the Lanzarote coast?"

"Why, yes," said Kit. "We went on board one evening and brought back a

hurt man."

He stopped for a moment. Wolf had asked him not to enter Scot on the

list of passengers, but then he had not asked him not to talk about it.

Besides, the thing was puzzling, and Kit was curious. He narrated their

getting Scot on board and sending him off with the hotel runner at Las

Palmas. When he stopped he thought Austin looked thoughtful.

"Do you know Wolf?" Austin asked.

"I do not," said Kit. "I hadn't met him before. He was polite, but, of

course, he knew my post."

"You mean, he reckoned you were not worth cultivating?" Jefferson

remarked. "Sometimes a mail-boat's _sobrecargo_ is a useful friend."

"I don't expect Wolf has much use for me. He's trading in North-west

Africa, is he not? What does he get?"

"The Sahara's not all desert. There are oases, and _wadys_ where water

runs. The Berber tribes have goods to trade and some of the stuff that

comes out of the hinterland is valuable. In fact, the caravan roads may

presently go west to the Atlantic and not north to Algiers."

"What sort of fellows are the tribesmen?"

"Physically, they're magnificent; I reckon it's the proper word. Six

feet tall, muscular and hard as rawhide. We don't know much about their

morals, but they're fearless, proud, and distrust strangers. Anyhow,

they're a pretty tough crowd to get up against."

"Have you got up against them?" Kit asked.

Jefferson smiled. "We have had disputes. I reckon you know Austin and I

send the _Cayman_ across now and then. Sometimes she brings back sheep

and barley and sometimes other goods. The trouble is the Spanish crew

are not keen about anchoring on the Sahara coast; they know the _Moros_.

But the fellows are not Moors, but Berbers of a sort. The true Berber is

rather short and light; these folk are big and dark."

"Whose is the country?"

"The Berbers'?" Austin replied with some dryness. "Nominally, the Rio de

Oro belt belongs to Spain. France claims the hinterland, the coast south

of Rio de Oro and some territory north. However, did you look up the

fellow Scot?"

"I tried. He was not at the hotel, and when I went to the house where

Wolf's note was sent, the old Spaniard I saw knew nothing about him."

"Where is the house?" Austin asked.

Kit told him and he looked at Jefferson, who knitted his brows.

"Oh, well," said Austin. "Do you know how Scot got hurt?"

Kit took out the bullet. "He couldn't talk, but when we asked about his

injury he put this on the table. The boat was rolling and I thought the

thing would jump off."

Jefferson examined the bullet and gave it to Austin, who said nothing

for a few moments and then lighted a cigarette.

"Strange and perhaps significant!" Austin remarked.

"Why is it strange? We know the man was shot," said Kit.

"The Berbers use long, smooth-bore, muzzle-loading guns; beautiful guns,

with inlaid stocks, probably made long since in Persia and India. I

don't know how they get them, but these people are not savages. They

have a pretty good trading system and caravan roads. This bullet was

fired from a modern rifle; a Mauser, I think. Do you want it?"

Kit said he did not and Austin glanced at Mrs. Austin, who presently

beckoned Jefferson. He went off, and Kit pondered. On the surface, the

others had been frank, but he doubted if they had told him all they

knew. Then it was perhaps strange Mrs. Austin had signed to Jefferson.

"Looks as if the bullet interested you," Kit ventured.

"That is so," Austin admitted with a smile. "We imagined we knew the

range of the Berbers' smooth guns. Since they make very good shooting,

we found this useful; but a modern rifle is another thing. In fact, I

begin to see----"

Kit was intrigued by the hint of romantic adventure, but Austin stopped

and got up, for Olivia advanced. Sitting down by Kit, she opened her

fan.

"Since you come to see us, I expect you're not bored," she said.

"Not at all," said Kit. "I feel I owe Mrs. Austin much for leave to

come. All's so new to me."

"The people? Well, I suppose we're rather a mixed lot."

"I didn't altogether mean the people, although they are new. At

Liverpool, my friends were of a type; the industrious clerk's type. We

had our rules; you must be sober and punctual, you must look important,

and your aim was to get on. At Las Palmas, you're not a type but

individuals, doing what you like. Still I think the new surroundings

count for more. After the shabby streets, the rows of little mean

houses, to come to this----"

He indicated the dark volcanic mountains whose broken tops cut the

serene sky, the Atlantic sparkling in the moon's track, and the

twinkling lights along the belt of surf. When he stopped he heard the

sea and the _Cazadores'_ band playing in the _alameda_. The smell of

heliotrope came from the dusty garden.

"All is really beautiful, anyhow at night, when you can't see the port,"

Olivia agreed. "It looks as if you felt its charm, but I think you

resist. Some people don't trust beauty!"

"In a sense, to come South was like coming out of a dark room when the

sun is bright. I'm, so to speak, dazzled and can't see which way to go."

"You're not emancipated yet," Olivia rejoined. "In Spain, we don't

bother where we go, so long as the road is easy and the sun does shine.

However, we won't philosophise. You did look bored not long since."

Kit had not imagined Olivia had noted his annoyance when she talked to

the young man in the theatrical clothes, but he was beginning to know

her.

"Don't you think I was justified?" he asked.

She laughed. "The charm of the South's insidious. When you arrived you

were a Puritan; something of Jefferson's stamp. Well, he doesn't flatter

one, but one trusts him."

"I think him and Austin fine," Kit declared. "They're quiet and Austin's

humorous, but you feel what they say goes. Then you know their

politeness is sincere. But since Jefferson's American, why does he live

at Las Palmas?"

"I'll tell you his story. He was mate of an American sailing ship, some

time since when sailing ships were numerous. She was wrecked and when

she was sinking the crew got at some liquor and tried to kill their

officers. I believe they did kill one or two, and then Jefferson got

control."

"You can picture his getting control," Kit remarked. "But this doesn't

account for----"

"The survivors' story was tragic and Jefferson lost his post. He came to

Las Palmas and went to the coaling wharf. In the meantime, he had met on

board a steamer the girl he married."

"Ah!" said Kit. "Calm nights in the tropics, with the moon on the sea!

The girl was romantic and liked adventure?"

"Not at all! Muriel Gascoyne was conventional; the daughter of a

remarkably disagreeable clergyman, who came out to stop the marriage,

but arrived too late. Macallister had something to do with that. He

delayed the _correillo_ when Gascoyne was crossing from Teneriffe. Then

Jefferson got a small legacy and bought the wreck of the _Cumbria_.

Austin went to help him and when they floated the ship, married my

sister. The doctors said Mrs. Jefferson could not stand a northern

climate and Jefferson stopped at Las Palmas; he and Austin had earned

rather a large sum by their salvage undertaking. I think that's all, but

the story's romantic. Doesn't it fire your ambition?"

"To begin with, I don't expect a legacy," Kit remarked. "Then I'm not

like Austin."

Olivia smiled and shut her fan. "No, you are something like Jefferson.

He married a clergyman's daughter! Well, I imagine Jacinta wants me."

She went off and Kit's heart beat. Olivia thrilled him, but he was not a

fool. For one thing, he knew she knew he was not her sort; then wrecks

that poor adventurers could float were not numerous. All the same, when

he talked to Olivia he was carried away, and wondered whether he could

not by some bold exploit mend his fortune. He frowned and lighted a

fresh cigarette.

Soon afterwards Wolf came up the steps. With his dark skin, soft black

sombrero and black silk belt, he looked like a Spaniard; his urbanity

was rather Spanish than English. When he stopped by Mrs. Austin, Kit

somehow imagined she was not pleased, but she laughed and they talked

for a few minutes. Then Wolf joined another group and afterwards pulled

a chair opposite Kit's.

"I must thank you for landing Scot. Looks as if you used some tact. Your

getting him quietly was an advantage."

"A hotel runner brought his boat, but when I went to look him up the

clerk knew nothing about him," Kit replied.

Wolf smiled. "A dollar carries some weight with a hotel tout, and I

didn't want to put the Port captain's men on the track. Since Scot

landed in the hotel boat, they'd take it for granted he was a sick

English tourist, and unless we're engaged in business, the Spanish

officials don't bother us."

Kit rather doubted if Wolf was English, as his remark implied, and

reflected that he had not much grounds for trusting him. For one thing,

when he paid Scot's passage he put down a larger sum than was required,

and Kit, thinking about it afterwards, imagined the fellow expected him

to keep the money. Then Macallister declared Scot was drunk, and Kit had

noted that he was strangely dull. To some extent, however, Wolf's

frankness banished his doubts.

"Is Scot getting better?" he asked.

"He's not making much progress. In fact, since the town is hot just now,

we have sent him away."

Kit noted that he did not state where Scot had gone, but perhaps this

was not important, and he wanted to be just.

"Are you satisfied with your post on board the _correillo_?" Wolf

resumed.

"In a way," said Kit "I like my job, but the pay is small."

Wolf looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you ought to stop until you know the

country and the Spanish merchants, but I might help you by and by. We'll

talk about it again."

He crossed the floor and by and by Kit got up. Mrs. Austin gave him her

hand and Olivia went with him to the steps.

"Is Mr. Wolf a friend of yours?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Kit. "I think he's friendly."

Olivia knitted her brows. "Jacinta receives him, but sometimes I

wonder---- Anyhow, I imagine she approves you and you might find her a

useful friend. People come to her when they can't see their way."

She let him go, and Kit returned to his ship, wondering whether her

remarks indicated that he ought to consult Mrs. Austin before he made

friends with Wolf.

CHAPTER VIII

A SWIMMING MATCH

A light breeze touched the long swell that splashed about the coaling

mole, for the range that runs down the middle of Teneriffe cut off the

Trade-wind. The sun was near the mountain tops and cool shadow touched

Santa Cruz. The houses on the hillside had faded to grey, but the lower

town shone dazzlingly white, and the sea was like wrinkled silver. At

the end of another mole, across the flatly-curving bay, a beach of black

sand and a green house with balconies marked the citizens' bathing

place. The _correillo_ rode at anchor near the mole's seaward end, and

an African mail boat rolled upon the sparkling swell between her and the

coaling station.

Kit, standing in the shade of a truck, pulled off his clothes and

glanced at the water. The strong light pierced the smooth undulations

and he saw the stones three or four fathoms down. A young clerk from a

merchant house, half undressed, sat upon a lava block, and three or four

others were stripping in the shadow of a neighbouring truck. One

bantered Macallister, who wore a towel and talked at large.

"I was a swimmer before ye were born," the engineer rejoined. "Weel, I

alloo ye're soople and a bonny pink, but ye're saft. When I get in the

water, I'll let ye see!"

"You're not really going in?" remarked another, and a lad seized

Macallister's arm.

"Put on your clothes, Mac. We'll let you off your bet."

"Ye're generous, but it's possible ye canna pay. Though I'd feel shame

to rob ye, I never made a bet I didna try to win," Macallister replied

and, stretching his arms above his head, balanced on his toes. "Thirty

years sin' ye would not have seen me go, but the cares o' the world have

worn me, no' to talk aboot keeping steam wi' short-weight coal."

Kit turned to his companion. "Perhaps it's curious, but I haven't seen

Macallister in the water. Since he started the match, I suppose he can

swim?"

"You can't argue like that about Don Pedro," said the other. "Anyhow, I

think Nelson doubts; he tried to stop him."

Kit glanced with some curiosity at the young man who had meddled.

Crossing the plaza on the evening before, he stopped in front of a hotel

and heard somebody singing. Perhaps it was because the song was English

and, heard among the tall, white Spanish houses, had an extra charm, but

Kit was moved by the music and thought the voice very fine. Entering the

hotel, he found Macallister in the group about the piano, and when the

engineer admitted that Nelson's song was good, but declared he, himself,

could beat any Englishman, singing, riding, or swimming, the match was

arranged.

"Nelson's at the coaling sheds, I think?" Kit remarked.

"That is so," agreed the other. "Don Arturo heard him sing in a church

choir at home and gave him the coaling job."

"Because he can sing?"

The other laughed. "Doesn't look very logical, but Don Arturo's

reasoning isn't always obvious. You don't know why he likes you and this

has some advantages."

Kit threw off his shirt, and when he walked to the edge of the mole in

his thin swimming suit, the other gave him an approving glance. His head

was well poised on his sunburned neck, his figure was tall,

finely-lined, and muscular. He looked hard and athletic but he was

tired, for it was not long since he had laboured with Don Erminio across

the high rocks of Gomera to look for suppositious wild goats.

"The sun's hot and I wish they'd send us off, but I don't see the launch

to take our clothes across," he said.

"That's Nelson's job and Nelson forgets. They tell you in the sheds he

sometimes forgets how many bags of coal go to a ton, which leads to

complications, since they don't fix the weight by scale and beam. But

Don Juan is coming. Get ready to start."

A man carrying a watch jumped on a truck, shouted a warning, and began

to count. White figures leaped from the wall, and for a moment Kit

turned his head. He saw Macallister advance to the edge of the mole and

the _Campeador_'s mate seize him from behind. There was a struggle and

the mate and Macallister fell, but next moment Kit heard his number and

threw himself forward in a long flat plunge. He came up on top of a

roller, and shaking the water from his eyes, saw the African boat and

_Campeador_ cut the dazzling sky. Then a long green slope rose in front.

He swung out his left arm and dropped his hand in front of his head. His

head went under with the impetus he got, and when he came up he saw

Santa Cruz glimmer pearly-grey. The shadow had crept across the town and

was moving out to sea. Kit did not see the others; when one uses the

overhand stroke one does not see much, and for the most part he was down

in the hollow of the trough. He made the best possible speed he could,

but after a time found the effort hard. Kit was not a mountaineer, and

climbing across broken lava for eight or nine hours is strenuous work.

Besides, the water was colder than he had thought, and when he swung up

on a long undulation he stopped and looked about.

The sun had gone and the sea was dark. Between him and the beach a small

white object broke the surface and vanished; farther back, he saw a dot

like a swimmer's head. He was too far out: the bathing house looked a

long way off, he could not see the launch. Then he sank into the hollow

and the view was lost.

Kit changed his stroke and swam on his chest. He must economise his

strength, because he doubted if he could reach the sandy beach, and to

land on the reefs would be awkward. In fact, it began to look as if he

was not altogether swimming for sport. Perhaps he ought to steer for the

_correillo_, but she was some distance off. By and by he heard a faint

shout and paddled easily until a man overtook him.

"Hallo, Nelson!" he said. "Are you trying to get past?"

"Not at all," gasped the other. "I've had enough. Saw you were going

away and made a spurt."

Kit, swimming slowly, could talk without much effort, and asked:

"Where's Macallister?"

"On the mole; wish I was! Where are you heading?"

"I thought about the _correillo_."

Nelson blew the water from his sinking lips. "Too far. I'm going to the

African boat."

"We have got no clothes."

"It's not important. Let's get out of the water."

"Clothes are important," Kit rejoined. "I expect she has a crowd of

tourists on board and don't see myself walking about the saloon-deck in

a bathing suit."

"Get on and stop talking," Nelson spluttered.

"Now I'm going easy, I can talk all right."

"_Don't!_" growled Nelson. "You'll have to help me before long."

Kit got level with him. "Brace up, go slow, and keep stroke with me."

They went on; sometimes seeing for a few moments the slanted hull and

white deck-houses of the African boat, sometimes nothing but sky and

heaving water. Still the ship was getting near, and by and by her

whistle shrieked.

"Wants the water-barge," said Nelson. "She can't start yet."

Kit was relieved to know this. The steamer had finished coaling, and if

she started before they reached her, it would be awkward. After a few

minutes he lifted his head and looked about. The liner, rolling on the

long swell, was now close in front. He saw her wet plates shine as she

lifted them from the sea and the groups of passengers about her rail.

Some had glasses and he thought they were watching him and his

companion. The vessel was obviously taking home the last of the winter

tourists, and Kit frowned when he noted women's dresses. It did not look

as if he could get on board quietly. All the same, he must get on board,

because he could go no farther.

He encouraged Nelson, and passing her high bow, they swam along her

side. The ladder was aft and all the passengers on the saloon-deck came

to the rail. Kit seized the ladder and when he had pulled Nelson on to

the platform hesitated. No shore boats were about and he could not swim

to the beach.

"Embarrassing, but let's get up," gasped Nelson.

Kit set his mouth and went up. A steward who wore neat uniform met him

at the top.

"Have you got a ticket, sir?"

"I have not," said Kit; "do I look like a passenger?"

"Ship's cleared, sir. All visitors sent off. We're only waiting for the

water-boat."

Kit made an effort for control. To get savage would not help and the

fellow had no doubt been ordered to let nobody come on board. For all

that a number of amused passengers were watching the dispute. The thing

was ridiculous, and he was cold. He thought he knew one of the

passengers and tried to signal, but the fellow went behind a boat.

Although an iron ladder a few yards off led to the well-deck, the

steward resolutely blocked the way. Then a very smart mate crossed the

deck.

"Why have you come on board? What do you want?" he asked.

"Clothes, to begin with," said Kit. "Anyhow, we have got on board and

we're going to stop until we get a boat."

The whistle shrieked and drowned the other's reply. He turned, Nelson

pushed Kit, and they ran for the ladder. Plunging down, they reached an

alleyway and Nelson laughed.

"I don't expect the fellow will come after us; a liner's mate has got to

be dignified. If you want help when things are awkward, try the

engineer."

They went up the alleyway and met a short, thin man, wearing a stained

blue jacket and greasy trousers. He stopped and studied them, without

surprise.

"Weel?" he said. "Are ye going to a fancy ball?"

"We want to borrow some clothes; dungarees, overalls, anything you've

got," said Kit. "We had to give up a swimming match and couldn't reach

my ship, astern of you."

"The little Spanish mailboat? Ye're with Macallister?"

"Of course. He got up the match, although I think he didn't start."

"It's verra possible," said the other dryly. "Mack canna swim. But if ye

are friends o' his, I must get ye clothes."

Kit thanked him, and then, looking at the man thoughtfully, added that

he doubted if the things would fit.

"I wasna meaning to lend ye my clothes," the engineer replied. "If ye're

no fastidious, the second's aboot your size. Since he's occupied below,

I dinna think he'll mind."

He took them into the mess-room, gave them some white clothes, and went

off, remarking: "Ye'll be ready to go ashore with the water-boat. When

they've filled my tanks we start."

"He won't start for some time," said Nelson. "You see, until we were on

the mole, I forgot to tell Felix they wanted water. Jardine sent the

coal, but the water's my job."

"You seem to forget rather easily," Kit remarked.

"Oh, well," said Nelson, "Don Arturo gave me the post because I can

sing." He paused and added apologetically: "I really can sing, you

know."

Kit laughed. He thought he liked Nelson. "Where do you think the others

went?"

"There's a sandy spot near the _barranco_ and I expect they crawled out.

Of course, the distance was too long, but Macallister insisted we should

go right across."

"Yet the engineer declared he can't swim."

"He can't swim; I have gone in with him at the bathing beach. All the

same, I don't think this would bother Mack. If your mate had not

meddled, he'd have started."

"But the thing's ridiculous!" Kit exclaimed. "If you can't swim and jump

into deep water, you drown."

"Unless somebody pulls you out. Anyhow, Mack is like that, and I forget

things; Don Arturo's men are a fantastic lot. A number of us have

talents that might be useful somewhere else, and, so far as I can see, a

number have none, but we keep the business going and beat Spaniards,

French and Germans at jobs they've studied. I don't know if it's good

luck or unconscious ability. However, we'll go on deck and look for the

water-boat."

They went up the ladder and saw a tug steaming for the ship with a barge

in tow. A few minutes afterwards the passenger Kit thought he knew

crossed the deck.

"Mr. Scot?" said Kit, looking at him hard.

"I am Scot," said the other. "Met you on board the _correillo_. Come to

the smoking-room and let's get a drink."

The smoking-room was unoccupied and they sat down in a corner. Kit

thought Scot had not wanted to meet him, and was curious. The fellow

talked awkwardly and the side of his face was marked by a red scar.

"You picked up my bullet," he said.

"I did," Kit admitted. "Meant to give it you back, but I forgot. Do you

want the thing?"

"I'd like to know what you did with it."

"Austin got the bullet. I gave it him one evening when we were talking

about Africa."

"You gave it Austin!" Scot exclaimed. "After all, perhaps, it doesn't

matter. I have had enough and am not going back."

"How did you get hurt?"

"For one thing, I'd put on a cloth jacket--the evenings are pretty

cold--and dark serge doesn't melt into a background of stones and sand.

I imagined the tribe knew me."

"Perhaps a stranger fired the shot."

"There are no strangers about the Wady Azar. I carried an automatic

pistol, but I reckoned the other fellows knew it wouldn't pay to shoot.

In fact, I don't yet see why I was shot."

"The bullet was not from a smooth-bore, but a rifle," said Kit.

Scot gave him a keen glance and smiled. "Oh, well, I've had enough of

Africa. Suppose we talk about something else."

Nelson and Scot talked about London until the tug's whistle blew and

they ran to the gangway. The ladder was hauled up, but Kit and Nelson

went down a rope to the water-boat, and as she sheered off the engineer

came to the steamer's rail.

"Ye'll mind aboot the clothes when we come back," he shouted.

CHAPTER IX

KIT GIVES HIS CONFIDENCE

_Campeador_, bound for Teneriffe, rolled with a languid swing across the

shining swell. Her slanted masts and yellow funnel flashed; her boats

and deck were dazzling white, and Kit, coming out of his dark office,

looked about him with half-shut eyes. When he joined the _correillo_ he

had not expected to find the Spanish crew kept her clean, but she was as

smart as an English mail-boat, and Kit admitted that some of his British

prejudices were not altogether justified. Now, however, she was not

steaming at her proper speed. The throb of engines harmonised in a

measured rhythm with the roar at the bows, but the beat was slow. Kit

turned and saw Macallister watching him with a grin.

"Ye look glum," said the engineer.

"It's possible. We are late again, and I don't see how I'm to finish my

business at Santa Cruz before we start for Orotava. Have your muleteer

firemen got too much rum? Or did you forget to chalk the clock?"

Macallister smiled. "Ye're hipped. I'm thinking Olivia wasna kind; but

ye have not much notion o' amusing a bonny lass. They're no' all

satisfied to be looked at. Man, when I was young---- But ye needna tell

me ye didna go til Mrs. Austin's. I saw ye, stealing off, with your new

silk belt and your shoes fresh chalked."

"Miss Brown has nothing to do with the boat's arriving late."

"I mind a trip when her sister had much to do with our arriving verra

late indeed. Gascoyne, Mrs. Jefferson's father, was on board, going to

stop the wedding, and Jacinta gave me a bit hint, but that's anither

tale. The trouble is, when ye're short o' fuel ye cannot keep steam. I

allood I kenned a' the tricks o' the coaling trade, but a lad with the

looks and voice o' a cherub let me down two hundred-weight a ton. Weel,

I might have kenned, after the innocent set on Juan to hold me so I

couldna win the swimming match."

"You're near the limit, Mack," Kit remarked and went off.

He was disturbed, but _Campeador_'s slowness did not account for all.

Before she sailed a letter arrived from his mother, who stated in a

postscript that Betty did not look well. The girl felt the cold of an

unusually bleak spring and worked too hard. Mrs. Musgrave understood the

doctor thought she ought to go South, but Betty, of course, could not.

Kit walked up and down the deck and pondered. Betty had refused him and

he had resigned himself to let her go. In fact, he had begun to think he

had not really loved her much. Now, however, to know she was ill, hurt.

He wanted to help, but it was impossible.

Then he remembered that Mrs. Austin and Mrs. Jefferson were on board.

Perhaps he ought to see if they were comfortable; besides, to talk to

them might banish his moodiness. He found them sitting to lee of the

deck-house, and leaned against the rail opposite. Beneath him, in the

moving shadow of the ship, the water was a wonderful blue; farther back,

the long undulations, touched here and there by white, melted into the

shining plain of the Atlantic. In the distance, Teneriffe's high range

was streaked by silver mist, from which projected a glittering cone.

Mrs. Austin held a book and rings sparkled on her hand. Mrs. Austin was

fond of rings. Kit knew she was the daughter of a merchant who began his

business career by selling sailors cheap tobacco, but he thought her

like an old French marquise; a marquise with a salon where plots were

made.

Mrs. Jefferson was not like that. She was not fashionable and one felt

her gentle calm. Somehow Kit knew the calm was inherited; one could not

altogether get it by cultivation. She had quiet eyes, her sympathetic

voice moved him. Now and then he was rather afraid of Mrs. Austin; he

loved Mrs. Jefferson. He owned it strange he should enjoy the society of

ladies like these.

In the meantime, Mrs. Austin studied Kit. Although he was very raw when

he arrived, he was, so to speak, toning down. She had taught him

something. Mrs. Austin had educated a number of raw young men, but since

it looked as if Olivia were interested in his progress, she wondered

whether she was rash to meddle with Kit. For one thing, he was rather

handsome; he carried himself well, and his figure was good. He was

honest, and his frank look had some charm. Then he had begun to choose

his clothes properly; Mrs. Austin admitted she had given him some hints.

Now, however, he was obviously disturbed and she had grounds for

curiosity. She knew she could persuade him to give her his confidence

and she did so with a cleverness Kit did not note. By and by he gave her

impulsively his mother's letter.

"I'm bothered about the thing," he said.

Mrs. Austin passed on the letter to Mrs. Jefferson. On the whole, she

was conscious of some satisfaction, because she thought Mrs. Musgrave's

use of the postscript significant.

"One doesn't like to hear one's relations are ill," she remarked in a

sympathetic voice.

For a moment or two Kit hesitated. Mrs. Austin was Olivia's sister and

he had not meant to talk about Betty. Sometimes he did talk when he

ought to be quiet.

"Betty is not a relation, but I'm bothered about her being ill," he said

and indicated the snowy peak, silver mist and shining Atlantic. "I feel

shabby, as if the thing's not just. You see, I've got so much and Betty,

who needs all I've got more, is shivering in the cold. You don't know

Liverpool when the east winds blow in spring."

"I know other English, and some American, towns in winter," said Mrs.

Jefferson. "When my husband found I could not stand the cold, he brought

me back to the Canaries. I think I can sympathise with Betty."

"Not altogether," Kit rejoined. "When you are tired, you can rest; Betty

can't. You have not to go to an office at nine o'clock, knowing that if

you're ill for a week or two you may lose your job. You are not forced

to stop until nine o'clock in the evening, without extra pay, when trade

is good."

"Are office girls paid nothing extra for extra work?"

"All I know are not," said Kit. "Perhaps five pounds at Christmas, if

the house is remarkably prosperous; but I don't think Betty minded this.

You feel the dreariness most; the poor food you eat in the middle of a

crowd; the fight for the tram-cars when it rains, and the long walk

through muddy streets when you can't get on board. I expect a girl hates

to sit all day in wet clothes. Besides, it isn't good. Then Betty's

office is dark, and she writes entries in a book until her eyes ache.

The thing's, so to speak, hopeless. You feel you've got to go on like

that for ever----"

He paused and his look was very gentle when he resumed: "Betty bore it

cheerfully. She has pluck, but I knew she was tired, and now she's

ill!"

"Was she going to marry you?" Mrs. Austin asked.

"No," said Kit, blushing like a girl. "When I got my post I wanted her

to promise she would marry me when I came back, but she refused."

"This was just before you sailed?" Mrs. Austin remarked thoughtfully.

"Of course. Until Don Arturo sent for me, I knew it might be long before

I could support a wife. Betty knew, but she went about with me.

Sometimes we went to small concerts and sometimes, on Saturday

afternoons, across the river. On the Cheshire side you can get away from

the streets. There's a wood one can reach from a station, and primroses

and hyacinths grow in the dead leaves. Betty was happy among the

flowers; she loves things like that. She used to watch the thin birch

sprays swing across the white trunks. I didn't know they were birches

until she told me, but I sometimes thought her eyes were like the

hyacinths. However, I've talked a lot and I'm boring you."

"We are not bored," said Mrs. Jefferson, and Mrs. Austin mused.

Kit's voice was very gentle; it looked as if he had not known passion,

and Mrs. Austin thought Betty had qualities. One could picture a girl

whose life was dreary using all her charm to get a lover; but Betty

obviously had not. She had refused Kit, although nothing he had said

indicated that she was calculating and ambitious. Well, one sometimes

met a girl whose thought was not for herself.

"After all, a _sobrecargo_'s pay on board the _correillo_ is not large,"

she said.

"That is so," Kit agreed. "But one has so much besides; the sea, the

sunshine, friends I could not have got at Liverpool. One feels

confident; there are better jobs, and perhaps one is not forced to be

poor always. Anyhow, Betty didn't bother about the pay; she can go

without things, but when I tried to persuade her she was firm. Well, I

think it's done with, she won't marry me. All the same, if I could bring

her out to rest and get strong in the sun----"

He stopped, with some embarrassment, and resumed: "I have bored you and

must get the captain to sign the manifests."

He went off and Mrs. Austin looked at Mrs. Jefferson.

"Well?" she said.

"I like him," said Mrs. Jefferson. "I think I'd like the girl. One feels

he drew her better than he knew."

"Yet he's not her lover."

"He doesn't know he is her lover, but it's important that when he thinks

about her being ill he's strongly moved. To know she might get well here

but he can't help, hurts. I'm sorry she can't come."

"I don't know that it's impossible," Mrs. Austin replied.

Mrs. Jefferson gave her a thoughtful glance. Jacinta was generous and

often helped people, but Mrs. Jefferson imagined she had an object now.

"You don't know her and I expect she's independent."

"For all that, I don't imagine she would refuse a good post, and a post

where the work is light might be got. We'll talk about it again."

When _Campeador_ arrived at Santa Cruz, Mrs. Austin and Mrs. Jefferson

drove across the island to Orotava and Kit went round with the ship.

Orotava is open to the Atlantic and landing is sometimes awkward, but

onions were cheap and the company had engaged to load a barque for Cuba.

Kit sent off a quantity on board the cargo launches and then went to the

agent's office to pay for the goods. In Spanish countries, business is

not transacted with much speed and when he started for the harbour it

was dark. He wore deck-shoes and thin white clothes, and his pockets

bulged with documents. At the _marina_ he met Mrs. Austin, Olivia, and

Jefferson.

"We came down after dinner to see the surf; it's rather grand to-night,"

Olivia remarked. "I suppose you are going on board?"

Kit said he was going. He carried the ship's papers, and she could not

sail until he arrived. Then he asked Jefferson: "Have you seen my boat?"

"They ran her up when the sea began to break. I reckon you'll have some

trouble to get off."

This was obvious. At Orotava the surf is not quiet long, and while Kit

was engaged at the agent's the rollers had got high and steep. For a

moment or two he looked up the famous horseshoe valley. Mist floated

about the shoulders of the giant Peak, but the mist was still, and

lights high up on the shadowy slopes did not twinkle. The illumination

about the big hotel on the cliff was steady. One got no hint of wind;

the night was calm and hot. For all that, the Atlantic was disturbed,

and the crash of breakers rolled about the little town. The air throbbed

with the measured roar.

Kit looked seawards. Two short moles enclosed a break in the lava rocks,

but their ends were lost in phosphorescent foam, and a white turmoil

marked the gap between. Now and then most part of a wall vanished and a

yeasty flood ran far up the beach. Kit saw a group of indistinct figures

standing about a boat and left the party.

"Can one get a boat off?" Mrs. Austin asked Jefferson.

"It's risky. Musgrave means to try. The danger spot is where the rollers

break on the shallows at the harbour mouth. Beyond that, they're

smooth."

After a few minutes Kit returned and Jefferson said, "Well?"

Kit laughed. "They're not keen about going, but the promise of a bottle

of _cana_ carries some weight and old Miguel is a useful man at the

steering oar. Anyhow, I've got to try. Keeping up steam costs something,

and a barque at Palma waits for the onions."

"D'you reckon a _sobrecargo_'s pay covers the risk?" Jefferson asked.

They stood near a lighted wine shop and Kit gave him a puzzled look.

"Perhaps we ought to get paid for an extra awkward job, but in a sense,

the pay has nothing to do with it. When you sign on, you engage to do

what's required. But you ought to see----"

Jefferson saw and his eyes twinkled. Kit was embarrassed, because he had

remembered the others and thought he was talking like a prig. All the

same, the young fellow was staunch.

"Miguel will come to the steps for me," Kit resumed, and they went with

him along the wall. A quarter of a mile off, the _correillo_'s lights

tossed in the dark.

The boat was a thirty-foot cargo launch, rowed double banked by sturdy

fishermen, but swinging about on the white turmoil, she looked small.

Sometime when a thundering roller broke across the mole she vanished. To

get on board was awkward, but when she stopped opposite some steps Kit

ran forward and stood, stiffly posed, at the top.

"_Ahora, senor!_" somebody shouted.

Kit jumped. The others saw his white figure plunge and vanish. A crash,

half drowned by the roar of the sea, indicated that he had got on board,

and the boat went out on the backwash that rolled down the harbour like

an angry flood. There was no moon, but one could see her dark hull

against the phosphorescent foam. The men were pulling hard; their bodies

swung and fiery splashes marked the big oars' path. At the mouth of the

harbour she lurched up, almost perpendicular, over a white sea, plunged,

and melted into the dark.

"They have got out," said Olivia. "It was very well done!"

"Then we'll go back to the hotel," Mrs. Austin remarked, rather coolly.

"You are wearing your dinner dress and the spray is thick!"

"I'm not going yet," Olivia declared.

Mrs. Austin knew her sister and waited, although she was annoyed. One

could not blame Kit for doing what he ought, but the thing was unlucky.

After a minute or two, Jefferson jumped on a lava block and Olivia cried

out. Just outside the harbour a long dark object rolled about in the

foam. The object was like a boat, but it was obviously not the proper

side up.

"She may clear the head of the mole," said Jefferson, and he and Olivia

plunged into the spray.

Mrs. Austin hesitated and was too late. A sea washed across the wall,

the others had vanished, and she durst not go alone. Men began to run

about and she saw the boat was coming back extraordinarily fast. She was

upside down, but two or three white objects clung to her, and swimmers'

heads dotted the frothing surge that carried her along. Jefferson and

Olivia ran back and Mrs. Austin went with them to the beach. The boat

struck the lava and was pulled up. A group of dripping men pushed

through the crowd and Jefferson stopped the _patron_.

"Have you all got back?" he asked.

"All but Senor Musgrave," said the other, "We held on to the boat; he

went on."

"He went on!" Olivia broke in. "Do you mean swimming? Where did he go?"

"To the ship, senorita. He shouted he must get on board."

The man went off and Jefferson remarked: "I reckon Musgrave will make

it. The surf-belt's narrow and there's nothing to bother him after he

gets through. If he'd come back, he might have washed past the harbour

and hit the rocks. I'll wait at the agent's office and see if the

_correillo_ starts."

"I'll stop with you," said Olivia firmly.

They waited for half an hour and then _Campeador_'s whistle pierced the

roar of the surf. Her lights began to move and Jefferson said, "She's

steaming off. Musgrave has made it!"

Olivia thrilled, but said nothing. Mrs. Austin said they had better go

back to the hotel and pondered while they climbed the steep path to the

cliff. Kit had tried to get on board because he thought he must; he had

not, consciously, wanted to persuade Olivia he had pluck. All the same,

he had done a bold thing, with an object that justified his rashness,

and Olivia had seen the risk he ran. Mrs. Austin however was rather

sorry she had suggested their going to the mole.

CHAPTER X

MRS. AUSTIN MAKES SOME PLANS

Mrs. Austin's veranda was not as crowded as usual. For one thing, a

steamer that touched at Las Palmas regularly had arrived from the

Argentine and her captain was giving a ball, to which Mrs. Austin had

resolved she would not go. Captain Farquhar's friends were numerous but

rather mixed; his feasts were not marked by the strict observance of

conventional rules, and at Las Palmas Jacinta Austin was something of a

great lady. When Kit came up the steps she gave him a gracious smile.

"I'm flattered because you have not, like the others, deserted me," she

said.

"You are kind to hint you would note if I came or not," Kit replied.

"However, I must own I don't dance."

"Then, if you did dance, you would have gone to Captain Farquhar's

ball?"

Kit smiled. "I think not. To begin with, I'd sooner come here, and I

went on board _Carsegarry_ when she called on her outward run. Captain

Farquhar's kind, but I had enough. In another sense, so had Macallister

and Don Erminio."

"You would be nicer if you knew where to stop," Mrs. Austin remarked.

"If you'll let me stop now for half an hour, I'll be satisfied," said

Kit.

"Satisfied?" said Mrs. Austin. "Oh, well, I know you're frank.

Frankness has advantages, but perhaps it's not always necessary."

She noted that his glance wandered to Olivia, and she began to talk

about something else. He was not going to join Olivia, but while she

talked she studied Kit. He was an honest, sober young fellow, and had

recently begun to make allowances for others, and had learned to laugh.

In the meantime, however, she thought his laugh was forced.

"If you are not amused, you needn't make an effort to be polite," she

said. "When you arrived I knew you were moody."

"Then I'm duller than I thought," Kit rejoined. "You oughtn't to have

known. On your veranda one's bothers vanish."

"Why were you bothered?"

"I got another letter and Betty's worse," said Kit. "My mother states

she has been warned she must give up her post. Her work's too hard; she

must get the sun and fresh air. I feel I ought to help, but it's

impossible. Thinking about this, I've begun to see my job on board the

_correillo_ leads nowhere. Perhaps they'll let me stop when my

engagement's up, but there's no promotion."

Mrs. Austin knew the Spanish manager was satisfied and meant him to

stop.

"All the same, you like your job?" she said.

"For the most part, but one gets some jars. Recently we have been buying

onions. A ship is going to Cuba, the freight is low, and Havana

merchants give a good price for onions, but the _peons_ who grow them in

the mountains know nothing about this. They have got a big crop that

nobody wants to buy and the price has fallen to a very small sum. The

poor folks are a remarkably frugal, industrious lot."

"I don't know a country with finer peasants," Mrs. Austin agreed.

"Still, if they're willing to sell you the onions, why should you not

buy?"

"We are buying too cheap."

Mrs. Austin turned to Jefferson. "Mr. Musgrave puzzles me. He grumbles

because he's buying onions too cheap."

"Let him state his case," said Jefferson.

"I'll try. Our plan's like this," said Kit. "At daybreak _Campeador_

steams up to a beach from which cargo can be shipped. Don Erminio and I

get horses and go off to the hills, where nobody knows about the

steamer. Don Erminio stops at a village wine shop and plays the guitar

while I talk to the _peons_. They're an unsophisticated lot with the

manners of fine gentlemen, and live on maize, bananas, and goat's milk

cheese. Yet, for all their poverty, I must eat membrillo jelly and drink

a cup of wine before we get to business. They have stacks of onions, and

at Havana onions are short, but the _peons_ don't know and my job's to

buy their crop very cheap. The worst is, the fellows are grateful and

try to make us a feast. If they got half the sum their goods are worth,

they'd be rich. It's rather like robbing a trustful child."

"I am a merchant's daughter and doubt if I ought to sympathise," said

Mrs. Austin. "To buy at the lowest price the seller will take is a sound

business plan. Were you not a business man at Liverpool?"

"At Liverpool nobody I knew made a profit of a hundred per cent," Kit

rejoined. "The thing's not honest; besides, one feels it's not sound."

Jefferson laughed. "On the whole, I reckon Musgrave's justified. You can

fool people once or twice; you can't fool them all the time. When they

find you out, they charge you double or sell to another."

Kit looked at Olivia. She was talking to two or three young men and the

position of their chairs would make it awkward for him to join the

group. Moreover, he imagined Mrs. Austin had not meant him to do so. By

and by he looked at his watch.

"I must go. It's later than I thought, and I've got to stop at the

_Carsegarry_."

"You said you were not going to the ball."

"I'm not going to dance. We sail at ten o'clock and I must get

Macallister and Don Erminio on board."

"Then I allow you have undertaken something of a job," Jefferson

remarked.

"That is so," Kit agreed. "The last time I went for them I got rather

damaged and they tore my clothes. Don Erminio's excitable and

Macallister is big. All the same, somebody must go. Don Ramon at the

office is patient, but I've known him firm. After all, he's accountable,

and we carry the Spanish mail."

He went off and Mrs. Austin laughed. "Kit's naive, but I like him. He's

a good sort."

Olivia sent off the young men and stopped for a moment by her sister's

chair.

"Kit Musgrave is a very good sort, but his luck is to get a knock-about

part."

"One's luck turns," said Jefferson. "If Musgrave gets another part, I

reckon he'll play up."

Olivia went into the house and Mrs. Austin said to Jefferson: "If Harry

has finished his writing, bring him to me."

When Jefferson went for Austin she knitted her brows. Kit was obviously

attracted by Olivia and Mrs. Austin did not approve, although in other

ways she meant to be his friend. She had married a poor man, and rousing

him to use his talent, had helped him to get rich; but she doubted if

Kit had much talent. Moreover, she had qualities Olivia had not, and Kit

was not like Harry.

Mrs. Austin did not know about Olivia. She thought her sister saw Kit's

drawbacks, but the tourists only stopped for a few months in the winter,

and for the most part, the coaling and banana men were dull. In fact,

Mrs. Austin resolved to run no risk.

When Jefferson returned with Austin she said, "You work too long, Harry.

You began this morning as soon as you got up."

"I'm forced to work," Austin replied. "Since Jake and I started the

African business I'm pretty closely occupied. For one thing, he won't

write the English letters, and my Spanish clerks can't."

"Vinoles speaks good English."

"That is so," Austin said with a smile. "You speak good Castilian, but

to write a foreign language is another thing. In fact, I remember a note

of yours that embarrassed a sober Spanish gentleman. Anyhow, Vinoles'

method of addressing an English merchant house is, _Senor Don Bought of

Thomas Dash_."

"What about engaging an English clerk?"

Austin shook his head. "The experiment's risky. When the pay's not

large, you must get them young and don't know your luck until they

arrive. Some come out for adventure--I imagine these are worst--and some

come to loaf. If Musgrave wanted another job, I might engage him."

"I think not," said Mrs. Austin firmly. "Why not try an English business

girl? She wouldn't lose her pay at the casino and borrow from you. She

wouldn't make disturbances at cock-fights."

"It might work," Austin replied. "In fact, I begin to see where I'm

being gently led. I expect you know a candidate, but she mustn't be

pretty. Modern business has nothing to do with romance."

"The girl I thought about is a friend of Musgrave's."

"Ah!" said Austin, with a twinkle, "the plot thickens!"

"Now you're ridiculous!" Mrs. Austin rejoined. "Anyhow, my plan has some

advantages."

She indicated the advantages and enlarged upon Betty's business talents,

about which Kit had not said much. When Mrs. Austin felt her cause was

good she was not fastidious. Moreover, she knew her husband and

Jefferson, and felt she was on firm ground when she drew a moving

picture of Betty's struggle against failing health and poverty. It

counted for much that Muriel Jefferson could not stand the winter in the

North. When she stopped Jefferson glanced at Austin.

"Perhaps we might risk it. Muriel would look after the girl."

Austin agreed and Mrs. Austin let them go. Her plans had worked, but she

was not altogether selfish. She liked to help people and thought Betty

needed help. In the meantime, however, Kit must not know; she would

write to Mrs. Musgrave, for when Kit gave her the letter she had noted

where his mother lived. Mrs. Austin's habit was to note things like

that. So far, the scheme went well, but she had not gone far enough.

After all, Betty had refused Kit and the _correillo_ stopped at Las

Palmas for three or four days every two weeks. Betty would be occupied

by her business duties, but Olivia had none. Mrs. Austin admitted that

her supposition about the girl's grounds for refusing Kit might not be

accurate, and imagined a longer voyage for Kit was indicated. By and by

Wolf entered the veranda and she saw a plan. Yet she hesitated. She had

no logical grounds for doubting Wolf, but she did doubt him.

"Mr. Scot, whom you sent home after his injury, has not come back," she

said presently.

Wolf said he did not think Scot would come back, and waited.

"Are you not embarrassed without him?"

"To some extent," Wolf replied. "I can't, however, go to England, and to

engage a young man you haven't seen is risky. Then I don't know a

coaling clerk I'd care to hire."

"But you do want help?"

Wolf agreed and Mrs. Austin looked thoughtful.

"Perhaps it's lucky, because I'd like to get Mr. Musgrave a good post. I

expect you know I'm a meddler and managing people's affairs is my

habit."

"I know you are kind and a number of people owe you much," Wolf replied.

Mrs. Austin gave him a gracious smile. "Well, I really think Mr.

Musgrave is the man you want. He's honest and resolute, and although I

don't know if he's very clever, he's not a fool."

Wolf thought his luck was good. He did want a resolute young man, but

did not want him clever, and had for some time thought about Kit. Then

he had an object for satisfying Mrs. Austin, who did not disown her

debts.

"Well," he said, "I imagine I could give Musgrave a post he'd be willing

to take. In fact, when my schooner comes back from Africa I'll probably

send for him----"

He stopped and Mrs. Austin waited with quiet amusement. She knew Wolf

did nothing for nothing.

"Senor Ramirez arrived from Madrid a few days since," he resumed. "I

understand Don Arturo comes from Liverpool by the next boat. I would

like to meet them."

"But this ought not to be difficult."

"In a way, not at all difficult. One can go to a public function and, if

one is lucky, talk for a few minutes to the honoured guest, who forgets

one immediately afterwards. There is not much use in this; but to meet

an important man at a friend's house is another thing."

Mrs. Austin pondered. Ramirez was a Spanish officer of high rank and

came to the Canaries now and then on the government's business. Don

Arturo had invested much money in the islands and West Africa. Austin

knew both gentlemen and Wolf wanted to meet them at her house. It looked

as if he knew Ramirez was going to dine with Austin. On the whole, Mrs.

Austin did not want to indulge him, and imagined Austin would not

approve. Yet Wolf had promised to give Kit a post.

"Why do you want to meet Senor Ramirez?" she asked.

"I rather think it's obvious. The Spaniards are jealous about the Rio de

Oro belt, and I am a foreigner. There are rules about trading with the

Berbers that stand in my way. A quiet talk to Ramirez might help me

much, and I imagine he would be interested."

Jacinta saw something must be risked, and after all Ramirez knew men. He

would not take Wolf's honesty for granted because he was her friend.

"Very well," she said. "Senor Ramirez will dine with us one evening, and

I will tell you when the time is fixed. I don't know about Don Arturo

yet."

"You are very kind," said Wolf. "I had meant to send for Musgrave, but

now I feel I must use an extra effort to give him a good post."

He went off and soon afterwards Mrs. Austin told Austin, who frowned.

"I don't know if I altogether approved the fellow's coming to the

veranda, but this didn't imply much; his coming to dinner does."

"He promised he'd give Kit a post," Mrs. Austin replied.

Austin looked at her rather hard.

"You might have helped Musgrave at a cheaper cost. However, one doesn't

cheat Ramirez easily and so long as you are satisfied----"

"Do you imagine Wolf will try to cheat him?"

"It's possible," said Austin dryly.

Mrs. Austin laughed. "Anyhow, Ramirez is just and won't make you

accountable. Besides, if he is cheated, Wolf is cleverer than I think."

CHAPTER XI

THE PLANS WORK

Dinner was over, the night was hot, and Mrs. Austin had taken her party

to the veranda. Wolf had gone; he declared he could not put off another

engagement, but Mrs. Austin wondered. The fellow was clever and knew

when to stop. A man like that did not go farther than was necessary and

risk losing ground he had won. All the same, Mrs. Austin was satisfied.

She had paid her debt, and although she had hesitated about asking Wolf,

she now felt her doing so was justified. He had interested her famous

guests; the dinner party had gone well.

Senor Ramirez occupied a chair by a table that carried some fine glass

_copitas_ from which one drinks the scented liquors used in Spain. His

family was old and distinguished, and his post important. He was thin,

dark-skinned and marked by an urbane dignity. As a rule, he looked

languid, but sometimes his glance was keen.

Don Arturo sat opposite. He was strongly built and getting fat. Although

his hair and eyes were very black, he was essentially British. He had

known poverty, but now controlled large commercial undertakings and

steamship lines. Don Arturo was loved and hated. Some found him

strangely generous, and some thought him hard and careless about the

tools he used and broke. He made bold plans, and had opened wide belts

in Africa to British trade.

Mrs. Jefferson, Austin, and two or three others occupied the background.

They were, so to speak, the chorus, and in the meantime not important.

Austin knew when to let his wife play the leading part.

"When I was honoured by your opening your house to me I knew my

entertainment would be good, but I must own it was better than I

thought," Ramirez presently remarked.

"Ah," said Mrs. Austin, "I hesitated. You have public duties; I doubted

if you could come."

"Duties are always numerous and pleasures strangely few. Besides, at Las

Palmas, you command. But if one is allowed to talk about your other

guest----"

"Senor Wolf wanted to meet you. I hope you were not bored."

Ramirez smiled. "Some people want to meet me and some do not, but I was

not bored at all. Your friend is an interesting man; he told me much

about which I must think. You have known him long?"

"Not long," said Mrs. Austin. She wanted to hint that she did not

altogether make herself accountable for her guest, and resumed: "Still,

at Las Palmas, we are foreigners, and since he is English----"

"Then you imagine Senor Wolf is English?"

"I have imagined so," said Mrs. Austin with some surprise. "However, his

skin is rather dark."

"Darker than mine, for example?" Ramirez rejoined with a twinkle. "Well,

the colour of one's skin is not important. In Spain there are

descendants of the Visi-Goths whose colors is white and pink. One must

rather study mental characteristics."

"Then you think Wolf's mentality is foreign?" said Don Arturo.

"It is not English. One notes a touch of subtlety, an understanding of

one's thoughts, a keen intelligence----"

Don Arturo laughed and Mrs. Austin waved her fan.

"But, senor, I am patriotic. Are we very dull?"

"My lady, your grounds for patriotic pride are good. Your people have

qualities. Let me state an example. In these islands our _peons_ are

frugal, sober, and industrious; a fine race. Our merchants are

intellectual and cultivated. In mathematics, philosophy, and argument I

think no brains are better than ours. It is possible we got much from

the Moors----"

"My coaling and banana clerks are not philosophical, and I doubt if many

are cultivated," Don Arturo remarked.

Ramirez spread out his hands. "You use my argument! I admit you have

qualities. These raw English lads do things we cannot. They load in a

night bananas we cannot load in two days, they get the best fruit, they

use our fishermen and labourers to coal your ships. The profit and all

that is good in Grand Canary goes to you. At the hill villages where the

_peons_ went to bed at dark, your mule carts arrive with cheap candles

and oil. The shops are full of English clothes and tools. When the

_peon_ finds he needs your goods he grows things to sell. Sometimes we

are jealous, but we trust you."

"It looks as if you trusted Wolf, although you imagine he is not

English," Don Arturo said dryly.

"He is the senora's guest," said Ramirez, bowing to Mrs. Austin.

"Ah," said Mrs. Austin, "this does not carry much weight! I am not a

clever politician, and perhaps my judgment is not very sound."

"All the same, I did trust Senor Wolf. He wanted some concessions; a

little slackening of our rules about trading on the African coast."

"Your rules are rather numerous," Don Arturo remarked.

"It is so, my friend. Our possessions in Africa are small and the Moors

of Rio de Oro are fierce and troublesome, but I think that belt of

Atlantic coast will some time be worth much. Valuable goods cross the

Sahara from the West Soudan, and when we have made harbours, caravans

that now go to Morocco and Algiers will arrive. Well, perhaps we are

cautious. We have greedy neighbours, and when one has not got much, one

keeps what one has."

Don Arturo looked thoughtful. "West Africa's my field, and I don't know

the North, but now France has got all the hinterland, I sometimes think

the dispute about the Atlantic coast may be reopened. I imagine the

Spanish Government is not a friend of Islam."

"When we are not anarchists we are staunch Catholics," Ramirez agreed.

"Well, in North Africa the sun and the tribesmen's blood are hot. A

strange, wild country, where the agreements diplomatists make do not go.

But this is not important. I think the senora's talented friend

interested you."

"I promised to charter him a steamer," said Don Arturo dryly.

"A Spanish steamer?"

"She is now an English cargo-boat of two thousand tons. I do not know if

Wolf will hoist the Spanish flag. Perhaps this might be allowed."

Ramirez's eyes twinkled. "It is possible. We are poor and cannot pay our

officers much. But two thousand tons? To carry a few sheep!"

"I understand Wolf will send her to Mojador and Saffi for maize and

beans."

"Oh, well," said Ramirez, "we will talk about something else." He turned

to Mrs. Austin. "My lady, you have seen our politeness is not as deep as

people think, but you will make allowances. When one meets a famous

English merchant, and a man of talent who knows the Rio de Oro, like

Senor Wolf----"

"Although he is not English," Mrs. Austin remarked, but Ramirez smiled

and turned to the others, who played up.

After a time the guests went off and Mrs. Austin said to her husband.

"Somehow I feel I've meddled with a bigger thing than I knew. In fact, I

rather wish I had not."

"Your object's good," said Austin. "You have got Kit a job. I suppose

this was all you wanted?"

Mrs. Austin smiled. "I didn't want to help Wolf, and if I have helped,

it's because one gets nothing unless one pays. However, we'll let it

go."

When Kit returned to Las Palmas he found a note from Wolf, and in the

evening went to a house in an old quarter of the town. The street was

narrow, quiet and dark, but the moon touched one side with misty light.

Kit heard the throbbing rumble of the surf, and coming from the noisy

steam tram and the lights of the main street, he got a hint of mystery

in the quietness and gloom. The houses had flat tops and looked like

forts. Their straight fronts were pierced by a few narrow slits and a

low arch. The slits were high up and barred. Kit thought that part of

the city looked as if it had not been built by Europeans; it rather

belonged to Egypt or Algiers. There was something romantic but sinister

about it.

He knocked at a door and an old man took him across a _patio_ where a

ray of moonlight fell. The man showed him into a room furnished like an

office, and Kit waited and looked about. There was no window, but an

arch opened on to a passage with dark wooden pillars supporting a

balcony. A few maps occupied the wall, and Kit began to study one of the

Rio de Oro belt. Maps drew him; they called one to countries one had not

seen, and this map pictured a wild land white men did not know much

about. For all that, Kit thought it good. Green rings marked the oases,

blue threads the wadys where water sometimes runs, and the red lines

were the tracks by which loaded camels came from the Soudan. The marks,

however, were not numerous, and Kit mused about the blank spaces.

Then he turned with a start and saw Wolf. He had not heard the fellow

come in, and noted that he wore slippers of soft red leather. His shirt

and trousers were white, but he wore a red silk sash and a Fez cap.

"My map interests you?" he said. "Well, I doubt if the Spanish

government owns one as good. I expect to have noted that for the most

part it is not printed?"

Kit had noted that the caravan roads and wadys were drawn by a pen.

"I was studying the unmarked spaces," he replied.

Wolf smiled and indicated a chair. "The explorer's instinct; there's

something about the unknown that pulls. All the same, more is known

about the country than some people think, and in one sense, it is not a

desert. Then the people are not savages, although their rules are the

rules the Arabs brought a thousand years since. They spring from famous

stocks; Carthaginian, Roman; Saracen adventurers who pushed across the

Atlas range and vanished. The country's intriguing, but to know it one

must be resolute."

"I suppose the tribes are Mohammedans?" Kit remarked.

Wolf gave him some scented wine and a cigarette with a curious taste,

and while he smoked Kit heard the measured beat of the surf. Somebody on

a neighbouring roof played a guitar and the music was strange and

melancholy.

"Some of the tribes are fanatics," Wolf replied. "Islam was born in the

desert and its driving force comes from the wilds. When the prophets

were made caliphs they lost their real power. The Turk has got slack and

meddles with forbidden things, but the faith lives and has spread far

recently. Its missionaries, however, do not come from Constantinople.

Lean John Baptists appear in the desert and found fierce, reforming

sects. One has grounds for imagining their job is something like this."

"Ah," said Kit. "Do they expect a new Mohammed?"

"I think they expect a new prophet," Wolf said quietly. "Not a political

caliph, but a man from the wilds who will re-enforce the ancient Arab

laws. They have waited for him long and have sometimes been cheated.

Their habit is to wait. It is possible they will be cheated again."

Kit was young, and romance and mystery appealed. "Well," he said, "I'd

like to see something of North-west Africa."

"Then the chance is yours. I am sending a steamer to the Morocco coast

and want a man I can trust to meet the Jew merchants and put on board

the maize and beans I've bought. Then she'll steam south to pick up

goods at Rio de Oro, and my agent must go inland with an interpreter to

meet the tribesmen. If you like, you can go."

Kit's eyes sparkled. "I'll take the post," he said, and then stopped and

frowned. "I forgot," he resumed. "My engagement with the _correos_ runs

for some time."

"This is not much of an obstacle. I am chartering the steamer from the

company and expect Don Ramon will let you off."

"If Don Ramon is willing, there is no obstacle," Kit declared, and when

Wolf told him about his pay and duties his resolve was keener. He would

use a power and responsibility he had not yet known and be richer than

he had thought.

"Very well," said Wolf. "When you come back from Palma you had better

see Don Ramon. In the meantime, I'll get things in trim."

Kit went down the street with a light step. The old Spanish house, the

map, and Wolf's talk had fired his imagination. Adventure called. In a

week or two he was going to see the desert and try his powers.

PART II

RESPONSIBILITY

CHAPTER I

OLIVIA'S EXPERIMENT

When the _correillo_ returned from Palma and Kit went to the company's

office he was bothered by doubts. Don Ramon, the Spanish manager, had

been kind, and Kit felt shabby. He had engaged to serve the company for

twelve months and doubted if his asking the other to release him was

justified. For all that he wanted to go to Africa.

He was shown into the private office, and Don Ramon, after indicating a

chair, occupied himself for a few minutes with the papers on his desk.

Kit's embarrassment was obvious, and the manager was amused.

"I have studied your notes about business at the ports _Compeador_

touched on her new round," he said presently. "Some of your suggestions

are useful. I expect you wanted to talk to me about this?"

"Not altogether," Kit replied.

"Then, perhaps, you meant to talk about painting the passengers' rooms?"

"No," said Kit. "The rooms need painting, but I really meant to ask you

to let me off my engagement. I have heard about another post."

Don Ramon studied him quietly for a few moments. Kit's glance was

direct, but the blood had come to his skin. The Spaniard was very subtle

and knew something about young Englishmen; he rather approved Kit.

"A better post?" he said.

"It is better, but I'm not altogether influenced by this," Kit replied

awkwardly. "I haven't much scope on board _Campeador_. One likes to feel

one is responsible and doing something worth while."

"Ah," said Don Ramon, "a number of your countrymen arrive at this office

with the resolve to do as little as possible. However, I imagined you

were satisfied on board."

"In a way I am satisfied. The captain and engineer are my friends, I

like the company's agents, and your clerks make things easy. In fact, if

you think I ought to stop, I will stop."

"You imply that you are willing to give up the better post unless we

agree to your leaving us?"

"Of course!" said Kit. "I won't urge you to agree."

Don Ramon smiled. "After all, your joining Mr. Wolf has some advantages,

particularly since the steamer he has chartered is ours, and I don't

know that it is necessary for you to break your engagement with us. If

it is not broken, you could go back to _Campeador_ after the other

boat's return, and, in the meantime, will get your pay. I expect Mr.

Wolf did not state how long he wanted you."

"He did not," said Kit and pondered.

Perhaps it was strange, but he had not stipulated that he must be

employed for a fixed time. He ought to have stipulated. Then he was

surprised because Don Ramon knew his object for wanting to go. Don Ramon

was clever and his remarks hardly indicated much confidence in Wolf.

"You are generous," Kit resumed. "However, I doubt if I can honestly

work for you and Wolf. You see, the office now and then buys corn at the

Moorish ports."

"I think I see," Don Ramon replied with a twinkle. "You imply that so

long as you take Wolf's pay you are his man, and we must not expect you

to study his business for our benefit? Well, we do not expect this, and

you will find Wolf's business is, for the most part, transacted at a

neighbourhood we leave alone. All the same, the chartered steamer is

valuable, and although we have asked for some guarantees, we would like

a company's servant on board. Don Erminio and Macallister will join the

ship."

Kit's hesitation vanished. His luck was strangely good, and he thanked

Don Ramon, who presently sent him off. While his double engagement

lasted he would be rich, and when he returned to the _correillo_ he

wrote to his mother, asking her to make some plan for helping Betty. For

example, Betty might take a holiday and, if Mrs. Musgrave used proper

tact, need not know Kit had borne the cost. He wanted Betty to get a

holiday that would brace her up. Yet it was obvious he was not in love.

His reflections were disturbed. A fowl, cackling in wild alarm, came

down the ventilator shaft that pierced the ceiling of his small room. It

struck the rack above the folding washstand, and Kit's hairbrush and a

box of brass buttons fell. The buttons rolled about the floor and under

his berth. Then the fowl swept his desk with fluttering wings and the

inkpot overturned. Kit frowned and put his letter in the envelope. His

friends on board liked a rude joke, and a fowl had come down the shaft

before. Kit had thought he had spoiled the joke by painting the inside

of the bowl-head on deck, but the paint did not long keep wet. He tried

to catch the fowl, with the object of putting it in Macallister's bed,

and finding he could not, opened the door, and drove it out. Soon

afterward Macallister came in and indicated the stained desk.

"She's no' rolling, but it looks as if ye couldna' keep your inkpot

right-side-up," he said. "Weel, I've kenned Garcia's sherry account for

stranger things than yon."

"I've known it account for your losing your boots," Kit rejoined.

Macallister grinned. "The night was balmy. I was tired and my feet were

sair. Ye'll mind I scalded them, saving the ship when the boiler tubes

burst----"

"I was not on board," said Kit. "Anyhow, Don Erminio states Felix, your

stoker, stopped the tubes. But you certainly lost your boots."

"How was I to ken the Spaniards would rob me while I slumbered? And I

have my doubts. Mills o' the _Estremedura_ was tacking along the mole,

and they're no' a' gentlemen aboard yon boat. But we'll let it go. Ye

dinna ken what auld Peter has done for ye?"

"My notion is, you have done enough," Kit remarked. "It's some time

since the mate and you sold my clothes when I was ashore, but you

haven't paid me yet."

"If my luck is good, ye will be paid, and ye have not heard my news. The

company is chartering the old _Mossamedes_ and ye're to gang to Africa

on board. I got ye the job."

"Go on," said Kit dryly. "I expect it's a romantic tale."

Macallister lighted his pipe and put his coaly boots on the locker

cushions.

"It was like this. Don Ramon called me to the office. 'We have chartered

_Mossamedes_ for a run to the Morocco coast,' says he. 'Captain Erminio

is no' much o' a navigator and the mate's eyes are no' very good, but if

ye're in the engine-room, I'll ken all's weel. Then we need a

_sobrecargo_. Whom would ye like?'

"'Maybe Mr. Musgrave would suit,' says I. 'He's slow and dour, but for a

crabbit Englishman, he has some parts. Besides, when he gangs ashore the

lassies will not bother him. He's no' the sort to charm a fastidious

e'e. If ye send Mr. Musgrave, ye'll not go far wrang.'"

"Did you argue in Scots or Castilian?" Kit inquired.

"In Edinburgh Scots; better English than ye use. What for would I use

Castilian?"

"I see one important obstacle," said Kit. "When a man who has long been

chief-engineer on board a Spanish ship is forced to paint the pressure

gauge and chalk the clock, in order to let his firemen know what steam

must be raised----"

"There's no' a shabby hotel tout who canna speak six languages,"

Macallister rejoined. "Don Arturo and I use English. Since I dinna

convairse with foreigners, what for would I learn their language? If

they want to talk to me, they must use mine."

He went off and Kit laughed. He owned that his conventional notion of

the grim, parsimonious Scot was strangely inaccurate. The Scots he knew

in the Canaries were marked by freakish humour and rash generosity. They

were kind with the kindness of a benevolent Puck. In fact, all the

_correilleros_ were to some extent like that, a reckless, irresponsible

lot, but Kit had known men with virtues shabbier than the sailors'

faults.

A week afterwards, he got up one evening from his revolving chair in the

_Mossamedes'_ saloon. She was going to sea at daybreak, and Don Erminio

had brought his friends on board. All the chairs were occupied, and

cigarette smoke drifted about the green trailers of a sweet-potato that

grew across the beams. The empty bottles were numerous, and at the end

of the table Don Erminio made a speech. Kit heard something about

animals and anarchists, and noted that the wine dripped from the glass

in the captain's hand. At the other end of the table Macallister sang.

Kit had had enough. He thought he had done all politeness required, and

the noisy revels jarred. It was a relief to go on deck and breathe the

cool night breeze. _Mossamedes_ was a larger boat than the _correillo_.

Riding near the harbour mouth, her masts and funnel swung languidly, and

her lights threw trembling reflections on the black water. A long

deckhouse ran aft from the captain's room and pilot house at the bridge,

and a row of stanchions carried its top level with the rail. Luminous

smoke rolled from the funnel; one heard the clank of shovels and hiss of

steam. In the background were glimmering surf, lights that twinkled in

clusters against dark rocks, and then a gap where the Atlantic rolled

back to Africa.

When he ordered his boat Kit's heart beat. His last duty before the

vessel sailed was to get some documents from the _commandancia_, and

then he was going to Mrs. Austin's. Mrs. Austin was not at home, but

Olivia received him on the veranda.

"Harry and Jacinta will not be very long," she said.

"I'm sorry," said Kit. "I can't stop, but I wanted to say good-bye, and

thank your sister."

"Then you waited for some time. Didn't you know Jacinta was going to the

Metropole?"

"Not altogether," Kit replied with some awkwardness. "I think I knew she

might go, but the captain was giving a party and I couldn't get off."

Olivia smiled. She knew her charm, and Kit was rather obvious.

"When his guests started I was at the mole and I expect the port-guards

will get some amusement when they come back," she said. "But why do you

want to thank Jacinta?"

"I imagine she had something to do with my getting the new post."

Olivia gave him a keen glance and was quiet for a few moments. Then she

said, "It's possible! You feel you ought to thank her?"

"Of course," said Kit and pondered. It looked as if Olivia were angry,

and this was puzzling.

"The post is good," he resumed. "I could get no farther on board the

_correillo_ and my work was not important. On the bigger boat I'll have

some responsibility. Wolf is not going with her and gives me control.

You see----"

"I think I do see," Olivia interrupted with a touch of scornful

impatience. "You imagine you are going to force people to own your

talents? This, of course, is enough for you, and you see nothing else.

You imagine Jacinta knew your ambition and wanted to help?"

"I'm satisfied she did want to help, and she has helped. Mrs. Austin's

kind."

Olivia laughed. Kit was very dull, but Jacinta's firm rule was sometimes

galling. Olivia saw her object and wanted to baffle her. Besides, she

doubted Wolf and knew Austin did not like him.

"Kit," she said, "suppose I asked you to do something for me?"

"Try!" he said, rather tensely, and waited.

"Then don't go to Africa. Stop at Las Palmas."

Kit's heart beat. Olivia had come nearer him; if he moved his hand he

would touch her. Her voice had a strange, soft note, and she fixed her

eyes on his. For a moment he hesitated and then braced himself to

resist. It was not for nothing he sprang from Puritan stock.

"But this is not for you, and I am forced to go. _Mossamedes_ sails in

the morning, and Wolf cannot get another man. Besides, the company

ordered me on board, and I have the ship's papers. I can't break my

engagement when the boat is ready to start."

Olivia gave him a glance that fired his blood, and then turned her head.

At the beginning she had meant to baffle Jacinta, but she had another

object now. Kit's stubbornness was a challenge, and if she could not

move him, she must own her charm was weak. Vanity accounted for

something, but not for all. His resistance moved her to passion.

"Is it a drawback that the thing I ask is rather for your sake than

mine?" she said, looking up. "Would you sooner I didn't care if you ran

a risk or not?"

Kit used stern control. Olivia was very alluring, and he noted the

tremble in her voice. He was strongly tempted, but although he thrilled

he was not a fool. She did not belong to his circle; he was poor and her

sister, with careless kindness, had tried to help him. By and by

perhaps, if he got a good post---- He pulled himself up. If he meant to

be honest and justify Mrs. Austin's kindness, he must stick to his job.

Besides, if there was a way at all, this was the way that led to Olivia.

"I think you know I'd like you to care," he said and paused. To talk

like this was dangerous. "But why do you want me to stop?" he resumed

with an effort for calm.

"Are you very dull, Kit?" Olivia asked quietly.

Kit coloured and got up. After all, he was human and knew he could not

hold out long. He thrilled and his hands shook as he turned his soft

hat. Mrs. Austin trusted him, and since he could not see another plan,

he must run away.

"If my luck is good and I get promotion, I won't refuse another time.

Now, because your sister got me the post, I must stick to it and go on

board."

Olivia gave him a cool, level glance. "Oh, well! I know your obstinacy;

you baffled me before." Then her look got softer and she added: "But be

cautious Kit! I don't like Wolf."

She let him go and when he went down the steps he frowned. He had tried

to take the proper line, but he was young and wondered whether his

scruples were extravagant.