NEWS OF DISASTER.
When the boat reached the schooner Dampier went off with one of the
men, and contrived to make a landing on the ice with difficulty only to
find it covered with a trackless sheet of slushy snow. Though he
floundered shorewards a mile or two there was nothing except the
shattered boat to suggest what had befallen Wyllard and his companions,
but the skipper, who retraced his steps with a heavy heart, had little
doubt in his mind. After that he waited two days, until a strong
breeze blew him off the ice, which was rapidly breaking up, and then
stood out for open water, where he hove the _Selache_ to for a week or
so. Then he proceeded northwards to the inlet fixed upon.
He was convinced that this was useless, but as the opening was almost
clear of ice he sailed the schooner in, and spent a week or two
scouring the surrounding country. He found it a desolation, still
partly covered with slushy snow, out of which ridges of volcanic rock
rose here and there. On two of these spots a couple of days' march
from the schooner, he made a depôt of provisions, and raised a beacon
of piled-up stones beside them. At times when it was clear he could
see the top of a great range high up against the Western sky, but those
times were rare. For the most part, the wilderness was swept by rain
or wrapped in clammy fog.
There was, however, no sign of Wyllard, and at length Dampier, coming
back jaded and dejected from another fruitless search, after the time
agreed upon had expired, shut himself up alone for a couple of hours in
the little cabin. He was certain now that Wyllard and his companions
had been drowned while attempting to make a landing on the ice, since
they would have joined him at the inlet as arranged had this not been
the case. The distance was by no means great, and there were no
Russian settlements on that part of the coast. He sat very still, with
a clenched hand upon the little table, and a set face, balancing
conjecture against conjecture, and then regretfully decided that there
was only one course open to him. It was dark when he went up on deck
again, but the men were sitting smoking about the windlass forward.
"You can heave some of that cable in, boys," he said. "We'll clear out
for Vancouver at sun-up."
They said nothing, but they shipped the levers, and Dampier went back
to the cabin, for the clank of the windlass and the ringing of the
cable jarred upon him.
Early next morning the _Selache_ stood out to sea, and once they had
left the fog and rain which hung about the coast behind, she carried
fine weather with her across the Pacific. On reaching Vancouver,
Dampier had some trouble with the authorities, to whom it was necessary
to report the drowning of three of his crew, but he was more fortunate
than he expected, and after placing the schooner in the hands of a
broker for sale, he left the city one evening on the Atlantic train.
Three days later, he was driving across the prairie towards the
Hastings homestead, and, as it happened, its inmates were sitting
together in the big general room after supper, when the waggon he had
hired swung into sight over the crest of a rise.
It was a still, hot evening, and as the windows were open wide a faint
beat of hoofs came up across the tall wheat and dusty prairie before
the waggon topped the rise. Hastings, who lay in a cane chair near the
window, with his pipe in his hand, looked up as he heard it.
"Somebody driving in," he said. "I shouldn't be astonished if it's
Gregory. He talked about coming over the last time I saw him."
"If he wants to talk about a deal in wheat, he can stay away," said
Mrs. Hastings with a certain dryness. "If all one hears is true, he
has lost quite a few of Harry's dollars on the market lately."
Hastings looked somewhat troubled at this. "I'd sooner think it was
his own dollars he'd thrown away."
"That's quite out of the question. He hasn't any."
"Well," said Hastings, with an air of reflection, "I'll get Sproatly to
make inquiries. He'll probably be along with Winifred this evening,
and if he finds that Gregory is getting in rather deep I'll have a word
or two with him. Anyway, I can't have him wasting Harry's money, and I
have some right to protest as one of the executors."
Agatha started at the last word. It had an ominous ring, and she
fancied that Hastings had noticed the effect it had on her, for he
seemed to glance at her curiously. Turning from him, she rose and
walked quietly towards the window.
The wheat stretched across the foreground, tall and darkly green, and
beyond it the white grass ran back to the rise, which cut sharp against
a red and smoky glow. The sun had dipped some little time ago, and
already there was a wonderful exhilarating coolness in the air.
Somehow the sight reminded her of another evening, when she had looked
out across the prairie from a seat at Wyllard's table, almost a year
ago.
In the meanwhile, a waggon was drawing nearer down the long slope of
the rise, and the beat of hoofs which grew steadily louder in a sharp
staccato made the memories clearer. She had heard Dampier riding in
the night Wyllard had received his summons, and now she wondered who
the approaching stranger was, and what his business could be. She did
not know why, but she scarcely thought it was Gregory.
Presently Hastings looked round again. "It's the team Bramfield hires
out at the settlement," he said. "None of our friends would get him to
drive them in. There seems to be two men in the waggon. Bramfield
will be one. I can't make out the other."
Mrs. Hastings, who was evidently becoming curious about the unexpected
guest, walked forward in turn, and they stood watching the waggon until
Agatha made a little abrupt movement.
"It's Captain Dampier," she said.
Then she stood tensely still, with lips slightly parted, and a strained
look in her eyes, while Hastings gazed at the waggon for another moment
or two.
"Yes," he said, and his voice was harsh, "it's Dampier. The other
man's surely Bramfield. Harry's not with him."
Once more he glanced at Agatha, who turned away, and sat down in the
nearest chair. She said nothing, and there was an oppressive silence,
through which the beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels rang more
distinctly.
In another few minutes Dampier came in, while his companion drove off
to the stables. He shook hands with Agatha and Mrs. Hastings
diffidently.
"You remember me?" he said.
"Of course," said Mrs. Hastings, with a trace of sharpness. "Where's
Harry?"
The skipper spread a hard hand out, and sat down heavily.
"That," he said, "is what I have to tell you. He asked me to."
"He asked you to?" said Agatha, and though her voice was strained there
was relief in it.
The skipper made a little gesture, which seemed to beseech her patience.
"Yes," he said, "if--anything went wrong--he told me I was to come here
to Mrs. Hastings."
Agatha turned her head away, but Mrs. Hastings saw the laces which hung
beneath her neck sharply rise and fall.
"Then," she said, "something has gone wrong?"
"About as wrong as it could," and Dampier quietly met her gaze.
"Wyllard and two other men are drowned."
He broke off abruptly, and Mrs. Hastings fancied she saw Agatha shiver,
but in another moment or two the girl turned slowly round with a drawn
white face. It was, however, Hastings who spoke, almost sternly.
"Go on," he said.
"I'm to tell you all?"
This time it was Agatha who broke in.
"Yes," she said with a curious quietness that struck the rest as being
strained and unnatural, "you must tell us all."
Dampier, who appeared to shrink from his task, commenced awkwardly, but
he gained coherence and force of expression as he proceeded. At least,
he made them understand something of the grim resolution which had
animated Wyllard. He pictured, in terse seaman's words, the little
schooner plunging to windward over long phalanxes of icy seas, or
crawling white with snow through the blinding fog. His companions saw
the big combers tumbling ready to break short upon the dipping bows out
of the dark, and half-frozen men struggling for dear life with folds of
madly thrashing sail. The pictures were, however, necessarily somewhat
blurred and hazy, for after all only an epic poet could fittingly
describe the things that must be done and borne at sea, and epic
poets--it is, perhaps, a pity--are not bred in the forecastle. When he
reached the last scene he gained almost dramatic power, and Agatha's
face grew strangely white and tense. She saw the dim figures pulling
in the flying spray beneath the wall of ice.
"We ran her in," he added, "with the snow blinding us. It was working
up for a heavy blow, and as we'd have to beat her out we couldn't take
sail off her. We stood on until we heard the sea along the edge of the
ice, and then there was nothing to do but jam her on the wind and
thrash her clear. There was only a plank or two of the boat, an oar,
and Charly's cap, when we came back again!"
"After all, though the boat was smashed, they might have got out,"
Hastings suggested.
"Well," said Dampier simply, "it didn't seem likely. The ice was sharp
and ragged, and there was a long wash of sea. A man's not tough enough
to stand much of that kind of hammering."
Agatha's face grew a little whiter, but Dampier, who had paused, went
on again.
"Anyway," he said, "they didn't turn up at the inlet as we'd fixed, and
that decided the thing. If Wyllard had been alive, he surely would
have done."
"Isn't it just possible that he might have fallen into the hands of the
Russians?" asked Hastings.
"I naturally thought of that, but so far as the chart shows there isn't
a settlement within leagues of the spot. Besides, supposing the
Russians had got him, how could I have helped him? They'd have sent
him off in the first place to one of the bigger settlements in the
South, and if the authorities couldn't have connected him with any
illegal sealing they'd no doubt have managed to send him across to
Japan by and bye. In that case, he'd have got home without any
trouble."
He paused, and it was significant that he turned to Agatha with a
little deprecatory gesture.
"No," he added, "there was nothing I could do."
It was evident that Agatha acquitted him, but she asked a question.
"Captain Dampier," she said, "had you any expectation of finding those
three men when you sailed the second time?"
"No," said the bronzed sailorman, with an impressive quietness, "I
hadn't any, and I don't think Wyllard had either. Still, he meant to
make quite certain." He spread a hard hand out forcibly. "He felt he
had to."
He gazed at Agatha, and saw comprehension in her eyes.
"Yes," she said, "and when you have said that, as you have done, you
could have said very little more of any man."
Then she turned her head away from them, and once more there was for a
few moments a heavy silence in the room. It cost the girl a painful
effort to sit still, apparently unmoved, but there was strength in her,
and she would not betray her distress. She felt that the latter must
be quietly grappled with. It was almost overwhelming, horribly acute,
but there was mingled with it a faint consolatory thrill of pride, for
it was clear that the man who had loved her had done a splendid thing.
He had given all that had been given him--and she knew she would never
forget that phrase of his--willingly, and it seemed to her that the
gifts he had been entrusted with were rare and precious
ones--steadfast, unflinching courage, compassion, and the fine sense of
honour which had sent him out on that forlorn hope. He had gone down,
unyielding and undismayed--she felt curiously sure of that--amidst the
blinding snow, but this was his vindication which had crowned him with
immortal laurels.
Then Mrs. Hastings rose, and set food before Dampier, while by and bye
Sproatly and Winifred arrived and were told the story. After that
Dampier, who seemed to be a man of tact, stood up. He had already,
when asked by Mrs. Hastings, promised to stay with them a day or two.
"Well," he said, "it seems to me you'll naturally want to talk over
things. If you'll excuse me, I'll take a stroll across the prairie."
He went out, and Hastings who lighted his pipe lay back in his chair
and looked at the rest.
"Harry's friends are numerous, but we're, perhaps, the nearest, and, as
Dampier said, we have to consider things," he said. "To begin with,
there's a certain possibility that he has escaped, after all."
He saw the little abrupt movement that Agatha made, and went on rather
more quickly.
"Gregory, of course, has control at the Range until we have proof of
Harry's death, though the latter made a proviso that if there was no
word of the party within eighteen months after he had sailed, or within
six months of the time Dampier had landed him, we could assume it,
after which the will he handed me would take effect," he added. "This,
it is evident, leaves Gregory in charge for some months yet, but it
seems to me it's our duty to see he doesn't fling away Harry's
property. I've reasons for believing that he has been doing it lately."
He looked at Sproatly, who sat silent a moment or two.
"I'm rather awkwardly placed," the latter said at length. "You see,
there's no doubt that I'm indebted to Gregory."
Winifred turned to him with impatience in her eyes. "Then," she said
severely, "you certainly shouldn't have been, and it ought to be quite
clear that nobody wishes you to do anything that would hurt him." She
looked at Hastings. "In case the will takes effect, who does the
property go to?"
Hastings appeared embarrassed. "That," he objected, "is a thing I'm
not warranted in telling you in the meanwhile."
A suggestive gleam crept into Winifred's eyes, but it vanished and her
manner became authoritative when she turned back to Sproatly.
"Jim," she said, "you will tell Mr. Hastings all you know."
Sproatly made a gesture of resignation. "After all," he admitted, "I
think it's necessary. Gregory, as I've told you already, put up a big
mortgage on his place, and in view of the price of wheat and the state
of his crop, it's evident that he must have had some difficulty in
meeting the interest, unless--and one or two things suggest this--he
paid it with Harry's money. Of course, as Harry gave him a share,
there's no reason why he shouldn't do this so long as he does not
overdraw that share. There's no doubt, however, that he has lost a
good deal of money on the wheat market."
"Has he lost any of Harry's?" Mrs. Hastings asked.
Sproatly hesitated. "I'm afraid it's practically certain."
Then Winifred broke in. "Yes," she said, "he has lost a great deal.
Hamilton knows almost everything that's going on, and I got it out of
him. He's a friend of Wyllard's, and seems very vexed with Gregory."
The others said nothing for a moment or two, and then Mrs. Hastings
spoke again.
"In a general way," she said, "most of us don't keep much in the bank,
and that expedition must have cost Harry a good deal. How would
Gregory get hold of the money before harvest?"
"Edmonds, who holds his mortgage, would let him have it," said Sproatly.
"But wouldn't he be afraid of Gregory not being able to pay if the
market went against him?"
Sproatly looked very thoughtful. "The arrangement Wyllard made with
Gregory would, perhaps, give Edmonds a claim upon the Range if Gregory
borrowed any money in his name. I almost think that's what he's
scheming for. The man's cunning enough for anything. I don't like
him."
Then Hastings stood up with an air of resolution. "Yes," he said, "I'm
most afraid you're quite correct. Anyway, I'll drive over in a day or
two and have a talk with Gregory."
After that they separated, for Hastings strolled away to join Dampier,
and Sproatly and Winifred walked out on to the prairie. When they had
left the house the man turned to his companion.
"Why did you insist upon me telling them what I did?" he asked.
"Oh!" said Winifred, "I had several reasons. For one thing, when I
first came out feeling very forlorn and friendless, it was Wyllard who
sent me to the elevator, and they really treat me very decently."
"They?" said Sproatly with resentment in his face. "If you mean
Hamilton, it seems to me that he treats you with an excess of decency
that there's no occasion for."
Winifred laughed. "In any case, he doesn't drive me out here every two
or three weeks, though"--and she glanced at her companion
provocatively--"he once or twice suggested that he would like to."
"I suppose you pointed out his presumption?"
"No," said Winifred with an air of reflection, "I didn't go quite so
far as that. After all, the man is my employer; I had to handle him
tactfully."
"He won't be your employer a week after the implement people open their
new depôt," said Sproatly resolutely. "Anyway, we're getting away from
the subject. Have you any more reasons for concerning yourself about
what Gregory does with Wyllard's property?"
"I've one; I suppose you don't know who he has left at least a part of
it to?"
Sproatly started as an idea crept into his mind.
"I wonder if you're right?" he said.
"I feel reasonably sure of it," and Winifred smiled. "In fact, that's
partly why I don't want Gregory to throw any more of Wyllard's money
away. In the meanwhile, you have done all I expect from you."
"Then Hastings is to go on with the thing?"
"Hastings," Winifred assured him, "will fail--just as you would. This
is a matter which requires to be handled delicately--and effectively."
"Then who is going to undertake it?"
Winifred laughed. "Oh," she said, "a woman, naturally. I'm going back
by and bye to have a word or two with Mrs. Hastings."