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[Illustration: _"Clay Had Lost Control of His Limbs"_]
THE SECRET OF THE REEF
By HAROLD BINDLOSS
AUTHOR OF
"Thurston of Orchard Valley," "By Right of Purchase,"
"Masters of the Wheatlands," Etc.
_With Frontispiece in Color_
A. L. BURT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
_Published by Arrangement With Frederick A. Stokes Co._
_Copyright, 1914, by_
_Frederick A. Stokes Company_
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
- CHAPTER I--DISMISSED
- CHAPTER II--A NEW VENTURE
- CHAPTER III--THE FURY OF THE SEA
- CHAPTER IV--THE ISLAND
- CHAPTER V--AN INTERRUPTION
- CHAPTER VI--BLOWN OFF
- CHAPTER VII--GRUBSTAKED
- CHAPTER VIII--PUZZLING QUESTIONS
- CHAPTER IX--THE MINE AT SNOWY CREEK
- CHAPTER X--THE WRECK OF THE _KANAWHA_
- CHAPTER XI--FATHER AND SON
- CHAPTER XII--READY FOR THE FRAY
- CHAPTER XIII--THE REPULSE
- CHAPTER XIV--FIGHTING FOR A LIFE
- CHAPTER XV--ILLUMINATION
- CHAPTER XVI--A GHOST OF THE PAST
- CHAPTER XVII--THE STRONG-ROOM
- CHAPTER XVIII--BOGUS GOLD
- CHAPTER XIX--A DANGEROUS SECRET
- CHAPTER XX--HOUNDED
- CHAPTER XXI--JIMMY'S EMBARRASSMENT
- CHAPTER XXII--A WARNING
- CHAPTER XXIII--THE FIRST ATTACK
- CHAPTER XXIV--THE GIRL IN THE BOAT
- CHAPTER XXV--PAYING A DEBT
- CHAPTER XXVI--AN UNEXPECTED DELAY
- CHAPTER XXVII--ON THE BEACH
- CHAPTER XXVIII--A TRUCE
- CHAPTER XXIX--THE HIDDEN GOLD
- CHAPTER XXX--THE LAST OF THE WRECK
- CHAPTER XXXI--A GIFT FROM THE DEAD
- CHAPTER XXXII--THE BARRIERS GO DOWN
THE SECRET OF THE REEF
CHAPTER I--DISMISSED
The big liner's smoke streamed straight astern, staining the soft blue
of the sky, as, throbbing gently to her engines' stroke, she clove her
way through the smooth heave of the North Pacific. Foam blazed with
phosphorescent flame beneath her lofty bows and, streaking with green
and gold scintillations the long line of hull that gleamed ivory-white
in the light of a half moon, boiled up again in fiery splendor in the
wake of the twin screws. Mastheads and tall yellow funnels raked across
the sky with a measured swing, the long deck slanted gently, its
spotless whiteness darkened by the dew, and the draught the boat made
struck faint harmonies like the tinkle of elfin harps from wire shroud
and guy. Now they rose clearly; now they were lost in the roar of the
parted swell.
A glow of electric light streamed out from the saloon-companion and the
smoking-room; the skylights of the saloon were open, and when the notes
of a piano drifted aft with a girl's voice, Jimmy Farquhar, second mate,
standing dressed in trim white uniform beneath a swung-up boat, smiled
at the refrain of the old love song. He was in an unusually
impressionable mood; and he felt that there was some danger of his
losing his head as his eyes rested admiringly on his companion, for
there was a seductive glamour in the blue and silver splendor of the
night.
Ruth Osborne leaned on the steamer's rail, looking forward, with the
moonlight on her face. She was young and delicately pretty, with a
slender figure, and the warm coloring that often indicates an
enthusiastic temperament. In the daylight her hair had ruddy gleams in
its warm brown, and her eyes a curious golden scintillation; but now it
arched in a dusky mass above the pallid oval of her face, and her look
was thoughtful.
She had fallen into the habit of meeting Jimmy when he was not on watch;
and the mate felt flattered by her frank preference for his society, for
he suspected that several of the passengers envied him, and that Miss
Osborne was a lady of importance at home. It was understood that she was
the only daughter of the American merchant who had taken the two best
deck rooms, which perhaps accounted for the somewhat imperious way she
had. Miss Osborne did what she liked, and made it seem right; and it was
obvious that she liked to talk to Jimmy.
"It has been a delightful trip," she said.
"Yes," agreed Jimmy; "the finest I recollect. I wanted you to have a
smooth-water voyage, and I am glad you enjoyed it."
"That was nice of you," she smiled. "I could hardly help enjoying it.
She's a comfortable boat, and everybody has been pleasant. I suppose
we'll see Vancouver Island late to-morrow?"
"It will be dark when we pick up the lights, but we'll be in Victoria
early the next morning. I think you leave us there?"
The girl was silent for a few moments, and in her expression there was a
hint of regret that stirred Jimmy's blood. They had seen a good deal of
each other during the voyage; and it was painful to the man to realize
that in all probability their acquaintance must soon come to an end; but
he ventured to think that his companion shared his feelings to some
extent.
"In a way, I'm sorry we're so nearly home," Ruth said frankly; and
added, smiling, "I'm beginning to find out that I love the sea."
Jimmy noted the explanation. He was a handsome young Englishman of
unassuming disposition, and by no means a fortune-hunter, but he had
been bantered by the other mates, and he knew that it was not an
altogether unusual thing for a wealthy young lady to fall in love with a
steamboat officer during a long, fine-weather run. Miss Osborne,
however, had shown only a friendly liking for him; and, as he would see
no more of her after the next day, he must not make a fool of himself at
the last moment.
"The sea's not always like this," he replied. "It can be very cruel; and
all ships aren't mailboats."
"I suppose not. You mean that life is harder in the others?"
Jimmy laughed. He had been a _Conway_ boy, but soon after he finished
his schooling on the famous old vessel the death of a guardian deprived
him of the help and influence he had been brought up to expect. As a
result of this, he had been apprenticed to a firm of parsimonious
owners, and began his career in a badly found and undermanned iron
sailing ship. On board her he had borne hunger and wet and cold, and was
often worked to the point of exhaustion. Pride kept him from deserting,
and he had come out of the four years' struggle very hard and lean, to
begin almost as stern a fight in steam cargo-tramps. Then, by a stroke
of unexpected luck, he met an invalid merchant on one of the vessels,
and the man recommended him to the directors of a mail company. After
this, things became easier for Jimmy. He made progress, and, after what
he had borne, he found his present circumstances almost luxuriously
easy.
"Steam is improving matters," he said; "but there are still trades in
which mates and seamen are called upon to stand all that flesh and blood
can endure."
"And you have known something of this?"
"All I want to know."
"Do tell me about it," Ruth urged. "I am curious."
Jimmy laughed.
"Well, on my first trip round Cape Horn we left the Mersey undermanned
and lost three of our crew before we were abreast of the Falkland Isles;
two of them were hurled from the royal yard through the breaking of
rotten gear. That made a big difference, and we had vile weather: gales
dead ahead, snow, and bitter cold. The galley fire was washed out half
the time, the deckhouse we lived in was flooded continually; for weeks
we hadn't a rag of dry clothes, and very seldom a plateful of warm food.
It was a merciful relief when the gale freshened, and she lay hove to,
with the icy seas bursting over her weather bow while we slept like logs
in our soaking bunks; but that wasn't often. With each shift or fall of
wind we crawled out on the yards, wet and frozen to the bone, to shake
the hard canvas loose, and, as it generally happened, were sent aloft in
an hour to furl it tight again. Each time it was a short-handed fight
for life to master the thrashing sail. Our hands cracked open, and the
cuts would not heal; stores were spoiled by the water that washed over
everything, and some days we starved on a wet biscuit or two; but the
demand for brutal effort never slackened. We were worn very thin when we
squared away for the north with the first fair wind."
"Ah!" exclaimed Ruth. "It must have been a grim experience. Didn't it
daunt you, and make you hate the sea?"
"I hated the ship, her skipper, and her owners, and most of all the
smart managing clerk who had worked out to the last penny how cheaply
she could be run; but that was a different thing. The sea has a spell
that grips you, and never lets go again."
"Yes," said Ruth; "I have felt that, though I have seen it only in fine
weather and from a liner's saloon deck." She mused for a few moments
before she went on. "It will be a long time before I forget this voyage,
steaming home over the sunlit water, with the wind behind us and the
smoke going straight up, the decks warm, everything bright and
glittering, and the glimmer of the moon and the sea-fire about the hull
at night."
There was an opening here for an assurance that the voyage would live
even longer in his memory; but Jimmy let it pass. He feared that he
might say too much if he gave the rein to sentiment.
"Were you not charmed with Japan?" he asked.
Ruth acquiesced in the change of topic, and her eyes sparkled
enthusiastically.
"Oh, yes! It was the time of the cherry-blossom, and the country seemed
a fairyland, quainter, stranger, and prettier than anything I had ever
dreamed of!"
"Still, you must have seen many interesting places."
"No," she said with a trace of graveness. "I don't even know very much
about my own country."
"All the Americans I have met seemed fond of traveling."
"The richer ones are," she answered frankly. "But until quite lately I
think we were poor. It was during the Klondyke rush that my father first
became prosperous, and for a number of years I never saw him. When my
mother died I was sent to a small, old-fashioned, New England town,
where some elderly relatives took care of me. They were good people, but
very narrow, and all I heard and saw was commonplace and provincial.
Then I went to a very strict and exclusive school and stayed there much
longer than other girls." Ruth paused and smiled. "When at last I joined
my father I felt as if I had suddenly awakened in a different world. I
had the same feeling when I saw Japan."
"After all, you will be glad to get home."
"Yes," she said slowly; "but there's a regret. We have been very happy
since we left; my father has been light-hearted, and I have had him to
myself. At home he often has an anxious look, and is always occupied. I
have some friends and many acquaintances, but now and then I feel
lonely."
Jimmy pondered, watching her with appreciative eyes. She was frank, but
not with foolish simplicity; quite unspoiled by good fortune; and had
nothing of the coquette about her. Indeed, he wondered whether she
realized her attractiveness, or if the indifference she had shown to
admiration were due to pride. He did not know much about young women,
but he thought that she was proud and of strong character.
"You must come to see us if you are ever near Tacoma," Ruth said
cordially.
Jimmy thanked her, and soon afterward left her, to keep his watch on the
bridge. As they were still out of sight of land he had no companion
except the quartermaster at the wheel in the glass-fronted pilot-house.
There was no sail or smoke trail in all the wide expanse his high view
point commanded. Rolling lazily to port and starboard, the big boat
cleft a lonely sea that was steeped in dusky blue save where a broad
belt of moonlight touched it with glittering silver. The voices and
laughter gradually died away from the decks below, the glow of light was
lessening, and the throb of the screws and the roar of flung-off water
grew louder. A faint breeze had sprung up, and the smoke stretched out,
undeviating, in a broad black smear over the starboard quarter; Jimmy
noticed this while he paced to and fro, turning now and then to sweep a
different arc of horizon. The last time he did so he stopped abruptly,
for the smoke had moved forward. For a moment he fancied that the wind
had changed, but a glance at the white-streaked wake showed him that the
vessel was swinging round. Then he sprang to the pilot-house, and,
looking in through the open door, saw the quartermaster leaning slackly
on the small brass wheel. His face showed livid in the moonlight, and
his forehead was damp with sweat.
"What's this, Evans?" Jimmy cried.
Pulling himself together with an effort, the man glanced at the compass
in alarm.
"Sorry, sir," he said thickly, spinning the wheel. "She's fallen off a
bit. Something came over me; but I'm all right now."
"It may come over you once too often. This isn't the first time," Jimmy
reminded him.
A shadow obscured the moonlight; and, turning abruptly, Jimmy saw the
captain in the doorway. The skipper looked at the compass and studied
the quartermaster's face; then he beckoned Jimmy outside. He had come up
in soft slippers which made no noise, and Jimmy was keenly concerned to
know how long he had been there. Jimmy had never got on well with his
captain.
"Evans had his helm hard over; was she much off her course?" the captain
asked with an ominous calm.
"About thirty degrees, sir."
"How long is it since you checked his steering?"
Jimmy told him.
"You consider that often enough?"
"I had my eye on the smoke, sir."
"The smoke? I suppose you know a light breeze is often variable?"
"Yes, sir," said Jimmy. "She couldn't swing off much without my noticing
it."
"One wouldn't imagine so after what I discovered. But I gathered that
Evans had been seized in this way during your watch before."
"Yes, sir," Jimmy repeated doggedly.
"Didn't it strike you that your duty was to report the matter? You knew
that Evans has a weakness of the heart that may seize him unexpectedly
at any time. If it did so when we were entering a crowded harbor or
crossing another vessel's course, the consequences might prove
disastrous. In not reporting it you took upon yourself a responsibility
I can't allow my officers. Have you anything to say?" Jimmy knew he
could make no answer that would excuse him. When, as is now usual, a
fast vessel's course is laid off in degrees, accurate steering is
important, and he had been actuated by somewhat injudicious pity. Evans
was a steady man, with a family in England to provide for, and he had
once by prompt action prevented the second mate's being injured by a
heavy cargo-sling.
"Perhaps the best way of meeting the situation," the captain said
curtly, "would be for you to voluntarily leave the ship at Vancouver.
You can let me know what you decide when you come off watch."
Jimmy moodily returned to his duty. He thought his fault was small, but
there was no appeal. He would have no further opportunity for serving
his present employers; and mailboat berths are not readily picked up. He
kept his watch, and afterward went to sleep with a heavy heart.
The next evening he was idling disconsolately on the saloon deck when he
saw Miss Osborne coming toward him. He was standing in the shadow of a
boat and stayed there, feeling in no mood to force a cheerfulness he was
far from feeling. Besides, he had now and then, when the girl was
gracious to him, found it needful to practise some restraint, and now he
felt unequal to the strain.
"I have been looking for you," she said. "As I suppose everybody will be
busy to-morrow morning, I may not see you then. But you seem downcast!"
Jimmy shrank from telling her that he had been dismissed; and, after
all, that was a comparatively small part of his trouble. The girl's tone
was gentle, and there was in her eyes a sympathy that set his heart
beating. He wished he were a rich man, or, indeed, almost anything
except a steamboat officer who would soon be turned out of his ship.
"Well," he said, "for one thing, the end of a voyage is often a
melancholy time. After spending some weeks with pleasant people, it's
not nice to know they must all scatter and that you have to part from
friends you have made and like."
A faint tinge of color crept into Ruth's face; but she smiled.
"It doesn't follow that they're forgotten," she replied; "and there's
always a possibility of their meeting again. We may see you at Tacoma;
it isn't very far from Vancouver."
Jimmy was not a presumptuous man, but he saw that she had given him a
lead and he bitterly regretted that he could not follow it. Though of
hopeful temperament, stern experience had taught him sense, and he
recognized that circumstances did not permit of his dallying with
romance. There was nothing to be gained and something to be lost by
cultivating the girl's acquaintance.
"I may have to sail on a different run before long," he said.
She gave him a glance of swift but careful scrutiny. The moonlight was
clear, and he looked well in his white uniform, which showed his solid
but finely molded figure and emphasized the clean brownness of his skin.
He had light hair and steady, dark blue eyes, which had just then a hint
of trouble.
"Well," she responded, "you know best; but, whether you come or not, my
father and I are in your debt. You have done much to make this a very
pleasant voyage." She gave him her hand, which he held a moment. "And,
now, since you wish it, good-by!"
When she turned away, Jimmy leaned on the rail, watching her move
quietly up the long deck. He was troubled with confused and futile
regrets. Still, he had acted sensibly: it was unwise for a dismissed
steamboat officer to harbor the alluring fancies he had sternly driven
from his mind.