TWO MEN AND A MAID
Ichi rapped softly on the door of Captain Dabney’s room. The door
opened a space, and a clear, fearless voice demanded—
“Well, what do you wish?”
The happy thrill Martin felt at the sound of that undaunted voice was
nowise dampened by the knowledge that Moto, the torturer, stood behind
his chair, with fingers ready to Carew’s bidding. Martin, for the
instant, had but eyes and ears of love.
“My dear miss, we would consider it a favor of much greatness if you
would but spare us a few moments of your honored time,” said Ichi,
bowing profoundly to the crack in the door. “If you will but grant us
the delightfulness of your presence for a very short time—then you may
return to carefulness of the honorable Dabney.”
Ruth stepped out of the berth and softly closed the door behind her.
Then she faced about and saw Martin sitting stiffly on the edge of his
chair, with his arms behind his back.
“Oh, Martin!” she cried.
Martin caught his breath as he returned her look, while a sudden surge
of feeling clogged his throat and stabbed his heart with a thrust half
pain, half pleasure. She was beautiful! She was glorious!
She stood there, swaying easily to the gentle motion of the riding
ship, her wide-open eyes full upon his with a look that held a world of
anxious love. Her face appeared like a bright, rare flower, in contrast
with her blue blouse and skirt, and the dark wood-paneling behind her.
The night had placed its mark upon her features—there were dark circles
beneath her eyes, and a droop at the corners of the sweet mouth. But
courageous self-reliance was still her bearing; and the haggard hints
of suffering on her face but enhanced its loveliness.
She was glorious, superb! Martin, his own love in his kindling gaze,
recalled of a sudden how she had looked that night when he had stolen
the kiss. A glancing moonbeam had that time lighted her beauty. So,
too, this time a light ray brightened her—a sunbeam darting through the
open skylight set her in a golden frame.
A sharp, sobbing intake of breath came from the head of the table where
Carew sat. Ruth directed her gaze from Martin to the outlaw, and her
mouth became grim, and her eyes, but now so soft with love, became hard
and alert.
Martin, too, looked at Wild Bob. And the sight of the man’s face brewed
wild rage in Martin’s soul, stirred the elemental instinct that makes
the male fight to keep his mate. For Carew was also staring at Ruth,
much the same as Martin had been staring. His face was hungry, avid,
with desire—desire for the wonderful woman before him. His very soul
was in his burning gaze, and it was an ugly, bestial soul.
The man was mad—mad with love, insane with a heedless, reckless passion
for the girl. Martin could well understand now Wild Bob Carew’s
turbulent and persistent wooing of Ruth. His whole ruthless, lawless
nature was dominated by his evil passion; for so long balked, his love
had fed wildly upon itself till now it was his master.
Yet, in that brief, illuminating moment when Martin regarded the
other’s passion-heated countenance, he beheld something that soothed
his rage, checked his panic, and made his heart suddenly swell with
pride and tenderness for his love. For behind the lustful glistening in
Carew’s eyes there lurked a shadow of fear.
Carew was afraid of the girl! Martin, with the lover’s insight,
discerned and interpreted that lurking shadow. For Carew’s fear was
bred of man’s nature, and made strong by the intensity of his wild
emotion; the fear was a vicious nature shamed, an impure love abashed,
by the virgin goodness of the woman.
The fleeting glance Martin had of the conflict in Carew’s mind conveyed
meaningful information to his own love-sharpened senses. Carew was
baffled by the girl.
It was Ichi who interrupted the tense silence that followed Ruth’s
entry. He beckoned to Yip, and then bowed low before Ruth.
“But, miss, will you not be seated?” he said.
Charley Bo Yip left his work at the table and brought a chair, placing
it, at the Jap’s direction, directly opposite Martin, but several feet
distant.
Ruth sat down, ignoring Ichi, but smiling an acknowledgment of the
service to the impassive Chinaman. Her hand, Martin noticed, brushed
against Yip’s hand as she took her seat. Yip returned to his labors and
immediately left the cabin with a tray-load of dishes.
Martin’s speech at last broke through the host of emotions and
impressions that had swarmed upon him during the past few moments.
Ruth’s eyes were on him again. For a moment there was a swift, though
broken, conversation.
“Oh, Ruth, how is it with you? Have they——”
“Safe, Martin. And you—oh, the beasts! Your arms!”
“Nothing, dear. Captain Dabney——”
“Alive—unconscious. The bo’s’n—Billy? What——”
“Billy’s alive, Ruth! Free! How——”
“Enough of that!” broke in Carew roughly. “You two were not brought
together for conversation. Any more of that chatter and I’ll have Moto
place a finger on ‘dear Martin’s’ windpipe!”
As if obeying an order already given, Moto became alive. Martin had for
the time being forgotten the ju-jitsu man standing behind his chair,
but now Moto suddenly leaned forward and gently stroked his neck with
long and supple fingers.
Ruth’s eyes widened at the action, and horror crept into them as she
looked past Martin and observed the cruel, impassive calm of Moto’s
yellow face. She turned to Carew.
“You beast! Have you brought us together, then, to torture us?” she
cried.
Martin saw the red blood mantle the renegade’s cheeks. But Carew held
check on his tongue. It was Ichi who answered the girl’s scornful words.
“Torture? Ah—no, no! It is, ah, persuasion,” said Ichi. “But let us
trust, my dear miss, you will not compel us to persuade. Believe me, my
honored captain and myself are your very fine friends; it would muchly
harrow our gentlemanness to order Moto to make painful the person of
esteemed Mr. Blake, and thus make disturbful your own honorable mind.
We would not like to be hurtful to dear Mr. Blake—ah, no.”
“You gloating, yellow cat!” was Ruth’s response. “Why, you are
torturing him now. Look at his arms!”
“Well, well! You seem to be greatly exercised over the comfort of your
pet!” broke out Carew angrily; his mouth was sneering; Martin saw the
devils of jealousy were prodding him. “Well, milady, your fancy boy is
ironed up because we have learned from somewhat harsh experience that
he is rather impulsive in the use of his hands. I do not care to have
him assault me and be compelled to kill him—at least, not yet. His arms
will remain as they are. And as to whether Moto will work upon him,
why, that depends upon you, my girl!”
Martin drew a breath of thankful relief. He had tried to check Ruth’s
outburst with a frown; he feared her words might cause them to unlock
the handcuffs. Cruelly as his arms ached, he much preferred the pain to
having them discover the cuffs had been tampered with. If his bracelets
were once closely examined, and they learned he could remove them at
will, he knew that a prompt investigation would forestall the boatswain.
Carew’s decision pleased him. He knew there was no danger now of their
loosing his bonds—they were pleased to see him suffer; Carew, because
of jealousy, and Ichi, because of native cruelty. He determined to
bear his lot with stoicism. If they were about to command this yellow
fiend with the deadly fingers to torture him, why, he would stand it.
He would not give them the satisfaction, nor Ruth the pain, of hearing
him squeal. He would keep his arms behind him and his mouth shut though
Moto did his worst.
“It depends upon me? Why, what do you mean?” demanded Ruth, staring
from Carew to Ichi.
“Ah, yes, on you,” purred Ichi. “Just a morsel of information, you
could with such easiness give——”
“Tell them nothing!” burst out Martin. “Don’t mind me, dear. They can’t
hurt——”
The fingers suddenly pressed hard upon a spot on the back of Martin’s
neck. His speech was choked. Sharp pain flooded his body. Despite
himself, Martin squirmed.
“Oh, you fiends! Stop! Stop!” cried Ruth.
She sprang to her feet, with the evident intent of flinging herself
upon Moto. Ichi grasped her two wrists. She exclaimed with pain and
sank back into her seat.
“Here—stop that, Ichi!” roared Carew. “None of your —— tricks with
the girl! Don’t dare place a hand on her again! Be still, Ruth! Your
darling is not being murdered! Ease up, Moto! Next time wait for
orders!”
The fingers lifted from Martin’s neck. The relief from the shooting
pain was instant, though his misused nerves continued to prick their
protest.
Ruth panted to master her emotion. Then she flung hot words at Carew,
words colored with scorn and loathing.
“Oh, you unspeakable brute!” she cried. “You coward! It is like you to
find pleasure in inflicting pain upon a helpless man, and a defenseless
woman! What is it you wish me to tell you? Come, speak up. Don’t sit
cringing in that chair!”
“By Heaven, girl, you’ll go too far!” commenced Carew.
“Ah—we wish to know such a little thing,” interrupted Ichi, answering
Ruth’s demand. “We wish to know the directions that lead to the
ambergris hidden ashore, in the mountain. Ah, yes, you recall you
boasted of your knowledge of the code directions, and dared us to
unlock your memory? But now you will so nicely tell us—yes, please?”
“Yes, that is what we are after, Ruth,” added Carew. “And, by Jove, you
should be jolly well thanking me, instead of calling me names. You know
well enough that but for me, Moto would be playing his fingers upon
your nerves, instead of Blake’s.”
“I see. And in order to spare me, you are going to torture this bound
man in my presence, in order that his agony will make me speak!”
retorted Ruth. “What a hypocritical beast you are, Captain Carew! I
suppose that next you will apologize to Mr. Blake for the inconvenience
my stubbornness is causing him. Of course, you are sorry for him!”
Carew swore at the girl’s gibing.
“Sorry!” he exclaimed. “By Heaven! I’d like to twist the young
blighter’s neck with my bare hands! Don’t go too far, milady, or it
will be the worse for this fine lover of yours!”
He suddenly left his chair, and strode to Martin’s side. He favored
Martin with an angry, jealous glare, and then turned tempestuously upon
the girl.
“Look at me, woman!” he cried. “By ——! Am I not a man? Compare us,
girl! Compare me with this half-baked cub you ogle so sweetly! Am I not
the better man? Why, I could break that booby in two! Compare us, girl!”
He drew himself up with shoulders back and stood there, a splendid
figure of a man. His face was flushed and working, showing plainly the
jealous passions and the intolerable longing for the girl’s approval
which had whipped him into this melodramatic outburst. Ruth faced him
with silent, contemptuous scorn. Martin’s gorge rose to fever pitch.
With difficulty he restrained himself from slipping the cuffs and
springing at the insolent egotist’s throat.
“It is not ambergris I want!” went on Carew. “It is you, Ruth. I
want you of your own free will. Look at me, Ruth! Am I hideous, or
a weakling? By Heaven! Women in plenty have come to me ere now, and
without my pleading! I am the mate for you. This pup, this runaway
clerk, has no right to you. I could kill him for his presumption! Come
to me. Ruth, you shall be anything, everything, you wish! I’ll make you
a fine lady—a queen—I know islands——”
“An island where you will install me as queen of your harem, I
suppose,” interrupted Ruth acidly. “Have you informed the other ladies
you mentioned of your intentions?”
“You are the only one. There will never be another, I swear to you!”
avowed Carew. “Those other women—they did not matter. But you—you will
be my wife! A true marriage. I can give you a great name, a clean name,
not the name of Carew.”
“And I suppose we are to live up to your great name with the treasure I
am to deliver into your hands?” scoffed Ruth.
“No, no! I do not want you for that!” asserted Carew. “It is you, you
alone! The ambergris goes to my employers, to Ichi, here, and his
partners. I must get it for them. It is the bargain I made. My own
share will not be great, Ruth; I would gladly give a hundred times as
much for your favor. But I am rich, girl. I have plenty salted away.
I’ll make my peace with my family, and we shall go home, to England.
You’ll be my wife, my legal wife!”
“I would rather be dead than your wife!” declared Ruth with vehemence.
“I hate you!”
“And I say I will take you, hating me, rather than lose you!”
returned Carew. His manner of impassioned pleading changed abruptly
to threatening. “I’ll beg no more of you, my haughty minx! But I will
suggest that you reflect upon the reality of your condition. In any
event, what will become of yourself? Hey? And what will become of this
darling crew of yours, we hold prisoners below? And what will become of
this scrub, here in the chair—this apple of your eye?”
“By Jove! You had better jolly well think about it! Would you rather
have your grandfather, and the crew, and this lover of yours, set upon
some safe shore—or, have the other thing happen to them? It rests with
you!”
Martin’s rage mounted to boiling-point during Wild Bob’s remarkable
wooing. The man’s raw insults made him furious; the stormy browbeating
of the woman he loved set him a-tingle with the strongest desire he
had ever known—a desire to fling himself upon this sneering wretch and
vindicate his manhood by battle. His hands crawled in their restraint,
in their lust to batter upon that supercilious face. But he dare not.
He knew that an outbreak on his part would mean the death of their
chance to regain the ship.
So he held himself in check, biting his lips over his enforced
impotence. But Carew’s final threat wrung speech from him, for he saw
speculation in Ruth’s eyes, as she measured her tormentor. The dreadful
thought occurred to Martin, “Ruth will barter herself to save the rest
of us!”
“No, no, Ruth!” he cried out. “Pay no attention!”
“Shut up!” roared Carew, wheeling furiously upon him. “If you speak
again, I’ll have Moto put a clapper on your tongue!” He turned to Ruth
again. “And now, my girl, you will do the begging! We’ll listen to you
beg for this pretty boy! Are you going to tell us how to reach the
ambergris or shall I order Moto to commence his work?”
“The information—ah, but I am certain the lady will tell us with much
gladness,” spoke up Ichi.
He had been waiting patiently and impassively while Carew underwent his
travail of heart. Now he was again his smirking, leering self.
“You know ju-jitsu,” continued Carew. “Moto is an expert—he will pick
your darling to pieces and make him a screaming lunatic, here, before
your eyes, unless you speak. And if you speak, be sure and speak truth;
for Blake goes ashore with the gang, and God help him if you direct us
wrongly! Now decide, please!”
Ruth looked at Martin soberly. Martin smiled at her, but his mind was
busied with fresh information. He was to go ashore with the gang! So
Carew said. Then this yellow band would be divided. If he could hold
them ashore until the boatswain attempted his coup, the odds would
not be so great against the _Cohasset_ lads. If he only knew how the
boatswain was progressing down below; whether he had gained to the
forecastle crowd! Anyway, it was a chance to take.
“Martin, dear, I had better tell them,” said Ruth.
“Yes, yes, tell them,” urged Martin feverishly. “Why—I know the code
myself, by heart. I’ll tell them.”
“Ho, ho! See how your brave knight stands the gaff!” guffawed Carew to
Ruth.
Ruth stared searchingly at Martin. Martin writhed in spirit. He longed
to shout to her that he was not craven, that it was policy dictated his
course.
But Ruth was evidently satisfied by what she saw in his face, for she
smiled brightly and said without any trace of disappointment:
“Of course, Martin. It would be foolish to allow them to torture the
words out of either of us. I shall speak.”
“Ah—but just a moment!” exclaimed Ichi.
He drew a pencil and note-book from his pocket, and extended them to
Ruth.
“If the young lady will be of a kindness,” he said, “she will perhaps
write the directions down on the paper. Then we shall compare it with
dear Mr. Blake’s directions. Yes, please?”
Ruth took the proffered articles and, without hesitation, scribbled a
couple of lines. Ichi recovered the book.
“Ah—so!” he exclaimed, after glancing at the writing. “Now, Mr. Blake,
will you be of such a kindness? I make the comparing. Yes, please?”
Martin spoke, also without hesitation. His memory was exceptional, and
he had read often and attentively John Winters’ code writing.
“South end beach—in elephant head—four starboard—windy cave—two
port—aloft—north corner dry cave,” Martin rattled off.
“Ah! So, it is of a correctness!” sang out Ichi with more feeling than
Martin had yet seen him exhibit. He waved the book at Carew. “They
speak the same. And observe, captain, here is our error so great. It
says ‘aloft.’ We searched with much diligence all about, and beneath.
But we did not search overhead—so missed the cave of dryness. But now,
ah!”
The little wretch almost danced for happiness.
Carew accepted the intelligence with calmness. It was apparent to
Martin that Carew had spoken true words to Ruth—the man was more
interested in the girl than in the treasure.
“Well, you had better go ashore after the stuff,” he said to Ichi.
“Take a full boat’s crew, and Blake, here—yes, be sure and take Blake
with you. I’ll remain aboard—snatch forty winks, if I can, for I’ll get
no rest tonight if we pull out of this hole. You may return to your
grandfather, Ruth!”
Ruth stood up. She half turned, as if to step for the door of Captain
Dabney’s room, then, swift as a flash, she darted to Martin’s side and
threw her arms about him. Her cool cheek pressed against his for an
instant, and she breathed swift words in his ear.
“Courage, dear. There is a plan——”
Carew, with a snarled oath, placed his hand upon her shoulder, and drew
her away with some violence, though he lifted his hand immediately.
“Nothing like that!” he admonished her. “By Heaven! I’ll not stand by
and watch you cuddling that cub! Get back to your room—go!”
Ruth threw a beaming, hope-filled glance to Martin. Then Captain
Dabney’s door closed behind her.