THE CLASH
"I've heard the news!" cried Cherry, later that afternoon, shrieking to
make herself heard above the rattle and jar of the machinery.
"There seems to be a Providence that watches over fishermen," said Boyd.
"I am happy, for your sake, and I want to apologize for my display of
temper. Come away where I won't have to scream so. I want to talk to
you."
"It is music to my ears," he answered, as he led her past the rows of
Chinamen bowed before their soldering-torches as if busied with some
heathen rites. "But I'm glad to sit down just the same. I've been on my
feet for thirty-six hours."
"You poor boy! Why don't you take some sleep?"
"I can't. George is coming with another load of fish, and the plant is
so new I am afraid to leave it even for an hour."
"It's too much for one man," she declared.
"Oh, I'll sleep to-morrow."
"Did you see--her?" questioned Cherry.
"Yes!"
"She must be very proud of you," she said, wistfully.
"I--I--don't think she understands what I am trying to do, or what it
means. Our talk was not very satisfactory."
"She surely must have understood what Marsh is doing."
"I didn't tell her that."
"Why not?"
"What good would it have done?"
"Why"--Cherry seemed bewildered--"she could put a stop to it; she could
use her influence with her father against Marsh. I expected to see your
old crew back at work again. Oh, I wish I had her power!"
"She wouldn't take a hand under any circumstances--it wouldn't occur to
her--and naturally I couldn't ask her." Boyd flushed uncomfortably.
"Thanks to George's trap, there is no need." He went on to tell Cherry
of the scene with Mr. Wayland and its stormy ending.
"They have used all their resources to down you," she said, "but luck
is with you, and you mustn't let them succeed. Now is the time to show
them what is in you. Go in and win her now, against all of them."
He was grateful for her sympathy, yet somehow it made him uncomfortable.
"What was it you wished to see me about?" he asked.
"Oh! Have you seen Chakawana?"
"No."
"She disappeared early this morning soon after the yacht came in; I
can't find her anywhere. She took the baby with her and--I'm worried."
"Doesn't Constantine know where she is?"
"Why, Constantine is down here, isn't he?"
"He hasn't been here since yesterday."
Cherry rose nervously. "There is something wrong, Boyd. They have been
acting queerly for a long time."
"Then you are alone at your place," he said, thoughtfully. "I think you
had better come down here."
"Oh no!"
"I shall send some one up to spend the night at your house. You
shouldn't be left unprotected." But just then Constantine came
sauntering round the corner of the building.
"Thank Heaven!" cried Cherry. "He will know where the others are."
But when his mistress questioned him, Constantine merely replied: "I
don' know. I no see Chakawana."
"They have been gone since morning, and I can't find them anywhere."
"Umph! I guess they all right."
"There is something queer about this," said Emerson. "Where have you
been all day?"
"I go sleep. I tired from fighting last night. I come back now and go
work. Bime'by Chakawana come back too, I guess."
"Well, I don't need you to-night, so you'd better go back to Cherry's
house and stay there till I send for you."
Constantine acquiesced calmly, and a few minutes later accompanied his
mistress up the beach.
As she passed Marsh's cannery, Cherry saw a tender moored to the dock,
and noticed strangers among the buildings. They stared at her
curiously, as if the sight of a white girl attended by a copper-hued
giant were part of the picturesqueness they expected. As she drew near
her own house, she saw a woman approaching, and while yet a
stone's-throw distant she recognized her. A jealous tightening of her
throat and a flutter at her breast told her that this was Mildred
Wayland.
Cherry would have passed on silently, but Miss Wayland checked her.
"Pardon me," she said. "Will you tell me what that odd-looking building
is used for?" She pointed to the village above.
"That is the Greek church."
"How interesting! Are there many Greeks here?"
"No. It is a relic of the Russian days. The natives worship there."
"I intended to go closer; but the walking is not very good, is it?" She
glanced down at her dainty French shoes, then at Cherry's
hunting-boots. "Do you live here?"
"Yes. In the log house yonder."
"Indeed! I tried to find some one there, but--you were out, of course.
You have it arranged very cozily, I see." Mildred's manner was faintly
patronizing. She was vexed at the beauty and evident refinement of this
woman whom she had thought to find so different.
"If you will go back I will show it to you from the inside, Miss
Wayland." Cherry enjoyed her start at the name and the look of cold
hostility that followed.
"You have the advantage of me," said Mildred. "I did not think we had
met. You are--?" She raised her brows, inquiringly.
"Cherry Malotte, of course."
"I remember. Mr. Marsh spoke of you."
"I am sorry."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I say I am sorry Mr. Marsh ever spoke of me."
Mildred smiled frigidly. "Evidently you do not like him?"
"Nobody in Alaska likes him. Do you?"
"You see, I am not an Alaskan."
It occurred to Cherry that this girl was ignorant of the unexpected
change in Boyd's affairs. She decided to sound her--to find out for
herself the answer to those questions which Boyd had evaded. He had not
spoken to Mildred of Marsh. Perhaps if she knew the truth, she would
love him better, and even now her assistance would not be valueless.
"Do you know that Mr. Marsh is to blame for all of Boyd's misfortune?"
she said.
"Boyd's?"
"Yes, Boyd's, of course. Oh, let us not pretend--I call him by his
first name. I think you ought to know the truth about this business,
even if Boyd is too chivalrous to tell you."
"Why do you think he has not told me?"
"I have just come from him."
"If Mr. Emerson blames any one but himself for his failure, I am sure
he would have told me."
"Then you don't know him."
"I never knew him to ask another to defend him."
"He never asked me to defend him. I merely thought that if you knew the
truth, you might help him."
"I? How?"
"It is for you to find a way. He has met with opposition and treachery
at every step; I think it is time some one came to his aid."
"He has had your assistance at all times, has he not?"
"I have tried to help wherever I could, but--I haven't your power."
Mildred shrugged her shoulders. "You even went to Seattle to help him,
did you not?"
"I went there on my own business."
"Why do you take such an interest in Mr. Emerson's affairs, may I ask?"
"It was I who induced him to take up this venture," said Cherry,
proudly. "I found him discouraged, ready to give up; I helped to put
new heart into him. I have something at stake in the enterprise,
too--but that's nothing. I hate to see a good man driven to the wall by
a scoundrel like Marsh."
"Wait! There is something to be said on both sides. Mr. Marsh was
magnanimous enough to overlook that attempt upon his life."
"What attempt?"
"You must have heard. He was wounded in the shoulder."
"Didn't Boyd tell you the truth about that?"
"He told me everything," said Mildred, coldly. This woman's attitude
was unbearable. It would seem that she even dared to criticise her,
Mildred Wayland, for her treatment of Boyd. She pretended to a truer
friendship, a more intimate knowledge of him. But no--it wasn't
pretense. It was too natural, too unconscious, for that; and therein
lay the sting.
"I shall ask him about it again this evening," she continued. "If there
has really been persecution, as you suggest, I shall tell my father."
"You won't see Boyd this evening," said Cherry.
"Oh yes, I shall."
"He is very busy and--I don't think he can see you."
"You don't understand. I told him to come out to the yacht!" Mildred's
temper rose at the light she saw in the other woman's face.
"But if he should disappoint you," Cherry insisted, "remember that the
fish are running, and you have no time to lose if you are going to
help."
Mildred tossed her head. "To be frank with you, I never liked this
enterprise of Boyd's. Now that I have seen the place and the
people--well, I can't say that I like it better."
"The country is a bit different, but the people are much the same in
Kalvik and in Chicago. You will find unscrupulous men and unselfish
women everywhere."
Mildred gave her a cool glance that took her in from head to foot.
"And vice versa, I dare say. You speak from a wider experience than I."
With a careless nod she picked her way toward the launch, where her
friends were already assembling. She was angry and suspicious. Her
pride was hurt because she had not been able to feel superior to the
other woman. Instead, she had descended to the weak resource of
innuendo, while Cherry had been simple and direct. She had expected to
recognize instantly the type of person with whom she had to deal, but
she found herself baffled. Who was this woman? What was she doing here?
Why had Boyd never told her of this extraordinary intimacy? She
remembered more than one occasion when he had defended the woman. She
resolved to put an end to the affair at once; Boyd must either give up
Cherry or--
During the talk between the two young women Constantine had kept at a
respectful distance, but when Mildred had gone he came up to Cherry,
with the question:
"Who is that?"
"That is Miss Wayland. That is the richest girl in the world,
Constantine."
"Humph!"
"And the pity of it is, she doesn't understand how very rich she is.
Her father owns all these canneries and many more besides, and lots of
railroads--but you don't know what a railroad is, do you?"
"Mebbe him rich as Mr. Marsh, eh?"
"A thousand time richer. Mr. Marsh works for him the way you work for
me."
Being too much a gentleman to dispute his mistress' word, Constantine
merely shook his head and smiled broadly.
"She fine lady," he acknowledged. "She got plenty nice dress--silik."
"Yes, silk."
"She more han'somer than you be," he added, with reluctant candor.
"Mebbe that's lie 'bout Mr. Marsh, eh? White men all work for Mr.
Marsh. He no work for nobody."
"No, it is true. Mr. Marsh knows how rich she is, and that is why he
wants to marry her."
The breed wheeled swiftly, his soft soles crunching the gravel.
"Mr. Marsh want _marry_ her?" he repeated, as if doubting his ears.
"Yes. That is why he has fought Mr. Emerson--they both want to marry
her. That is why Marsh broke Mr. Emerson's machinery, and hired his men
away from him, and cut his nets. They hate each other--do you
understand?"
"Me savvy!" said Constantine shortly, then strode on beside the girl.
"Me think all the time Mr. Emerson goin' marry you."
Cherry gasped. "No, no! Why, he is in love with Miss Wayland."
"S'pose he don' marry her?"
"Than Mr. Marsh will get her, I dare say."
After a moment Constantine announced, with conviction: "I guess Mr.
Marsh is damn bad man."
"I'm glad you have discovered that. He has even tried to kill Mr.
Emerson; that shows the sort of man he is."
"It's good thing--get marry!" said Constantine, vaguely. "The Father
say if woman don' marry she go to hell."
"I'd hate to think that," laughed the girl.
"That's true," the other affirmed, stoutly. "The pries' he say so, and
pries' don' lie. He say man takes a woman and don' get marry, they both
go to hell and burn forever. Bime'by little baby come, and he go to
hell, too."
"Oh, I understand! The Father wants to make sure of his people, and he
is quite right. You natives haven't observed the law very carefully."
"He say Indian woman stop with white man, she never see Jesus' House no
more. She go to hell sure, and baby go too. You s'pose that's true?"
"I dare say it is, in a way."
"By God! That's tough on little baby!" exclaimed Constantine, fervently.
All that night Boyd stayed at his post, while the cavernous building
shuddered and hissed to the straining toil of the machines and the
gasping breath of the furnaces. As the darkness gathered, he had gone
out upon the dock to look regretfully toward the twinkling lights on
_The Grande Dame_, then turned doggedly back to his labors. Another
load had just arrived from the trap; already the plant, untried by the
stress of a steady run, was clogged and working far below capacity. He
would have sent Mildred word, but he had not a single man to spare.
At ten o'clock the next morning he staggered into his quarters, more
dead than alive. In his heart was a great thankfulness that Big George
had not found him wanting. The last defective machine was mended, the
last weakness strengthened, and the plant had reached its fullest
stride. The fish might come now in any quantity; the rest was but a
matter of coal and iron and human endurance. Meanwhile he would sleep.
He met "Fingerless" Fraser emerging, decked royally in all the splendor
of new clothes and spotless linen.
"Where are you going?" Boyd asked him.
"I'm going out into society."
"Clyde is taking you to the yacht, eh?"
"No! He's afraid of my work, so I'm going out on my own. He told me all
about the swell quilts at Marsh's place, so I thought I'd lam up there
and look them over. I may cop an heiress." He winked wisely. "If I see
one that looks gentle, I'm liable to grab me some bride. He says there
ain't one that's got less than a couple of millions in her kick."
Boyd was too weary to do more than wish him success, but it seemed that
fortune favored Fraser, for before he had gone far he saw a young woman
seated in a patch of wild flowers, plucking the blooms with careless
hand while she drank in the beauty of the bright Arctic morning. She
was simply dressed, yet looked so prosperous that Fraser instantly
decided:
"That's her! I'll spread my checks with this one."
"Good-morning!" he began.
The girl gave him an indifferent glance from two fearless eyes, and
nodded slightly. But "Fingerless" Fraser upon occasion could summon a
smile that was peculiarly engaging. He did so now, seating himself hat
in hand, with the words:
"If you don't mind, I'll rest a minute. I'm out for my morning walk.
It's a nice day, isn't it?" As she did not answer, he ran on, glibly:
"My name is De Benville--I'm one of the New Orleans branch. That's my
cannery down yonder." He pointed in the direction from which he had
just come.
"Indeed!" said the young lady.
"Yes. It's mine."
A wrinkle gathered at the corners of the stranger's eyes; her face
showed a flicker of amusement.
"I thought that was Mr. Emerson's cannery," she said.
"Oh, the idea! He only runs it for me. I put up the money. You know
him, eh?"
The girl nodded. "Yes; I know Mr. Clyde also."
"Who--Alton?" he queried, with reassuring warmth. "Why, you and I have
got mutual friends. Alton and me is pals." He shook his head solemnly.
"Ain't he a scourge?"
"I beg your pardon."
"I say, ain't he an awful thing? He ain't anything like Emerson.
There's a ring-tailed swallow, all right, all right! I like him."
"Are you very intimate with him?"
"Am I? I'm closer to him than a porous plaster. When Boyd ain't around,
I'm him, that's all." From her look Fraser judged that he was
progressing finely. He hastened to add: "I always like to help out
young fellows like him. I like to give 'em a chance. That's my name,
you know, Chancy De Benville--always game to take a chance. Is that
your yacht?"
"No. My father and I are merely passengers."
"So you trailed the old skeezicks along with you? Well, that's right.
Make the most of your father while you've got him. If I'd paid more
attention to mine I'd have been better off now. But I was wild." Fraser
winked in a manner to inform his listener that all worldly wisdom was
his. "I wanted to be a jockey, and the old party cut me off. What I've
got now, I made all by myself, but if I'd stayed in Bloomington I might
have been president of the bank by this time."
"Bloomington! I understood you to say New Orleans."
"My old man had a whole string of banks," Fraser averred, hastily.
"Tell me--is Mr. Emerson ill?" asked the girl.
"Ill enough to lick a den of wildcats."
"He intended coming out to the yacht last night, but he disappointed
us."
"He's as busy as an ant-hill. I met him turning in just as I came out
for my constitutional."
"Where had he been all night?" Her voice betrayed an interest that
Fraser was quick to detect. He answered, cannily:
"You can search me! I don't keep cases on him. As long as he does his
work, I don't care where he goes at quitting time." He resolved that
this girl should learn nothing from him.
"There seem to be very few white women in this place," she said, after
a pause.
"Only one, till you people came. Maybe you've crossed her trail?"
"Hardly!"
"Oh, she's all right. Take it on the word of a fire-man, she's an ace."
"Mr. Emerson told me about her. He seems quite fond of her."
"I've always said they'd make a swell-looking pair."
"One can hardly blame her for trying to catch him."
"Oh, you can make book that she didn't start no love-making. She ain't
the kind to curl up in a man's ear and whisper. She don't have to. All
she needs to do is look natural; the men will fall like ripe
persimmons."
"They have been together a great deal, I suppose."
"Every hour of the day, and the days are long," said Fraser,
cheerfully. "But he ain't crippled; he could have walked away if he'd
wanted to. It's a good thing he didn't, though, because she's done more
to win this bet for us than we've done ourselves."
"She's unusually pretty," the girl remarked, coldly.
"Yes, and she's just as bright as she is good-looking--but I don't care
for blondes." Fraser gazed admiringly at the brown hair before him, and
rolled his eyes eloquently. "I'm strong for brunettes, I am. It's the
Creole blood in me."
She gathered up her wild flowers and rose, saying:
"I must be going."
"I'll go with you." He jumped to his feet with alacrity.
"Thank you. I prefer to walk alone."
"Couldn't think of it. I'll--" But he paused at the lift of her brows
and the extraordinarily frigid look she gave him. He stood in his
tracks, watching her descend the river trail.
"Declined with thanks!" he murmured. "I'd need ear-muffs and mittens to
handle her. I think I'll build me some bonfire and thaw out. She must
own the mint."
At the upper cannery Mildred found Alton Clyde with the younger Berry
girl. She called him aside, and talked earnestly with him for several
minutes.
"All right," he said, at length. "I'm glad to get out, of course; the
rest is up to you."
Mildred's lips were white and her voice hard as she cried:
"I am thoroughly sick of it all. I have played the fool long enough."
"Now look here," Clyde objected, weakly, "you may be mistaken, and--it
doesn't look like quite the square thing to do." But she silenced him
with an angry gesture.
"Leave that to me. I'm through with him."
"All right. Let's hunt up the governor." Together they went to the
office in search of Wayne Wayland.
A half-hour later, when Clyde rejoined Miss Berry, she noticed that he
seemed ill at ease, gazing down the bay with a worried, speculative
look in his colorless eyes.
Boyd Emerson roused from his death-like slumber late in the afternoon,
still worn from his long strain and aching in every muscle. He was in
wretched plight physically, but his heart was aglow with gladness. Big
George was still at the trap, and the unceasing rumble from across the
way told him that the fish were still coming in. As he was finishing
his breakfast, a watchman appeared in the doorway.
"There's a launch at the dock with some people from above," he
announced. "I stopped them, according to orders, but they want to see
you."
"Show them to the office." Boyd rose and went into the other building,
where, a moment later, he was confronted by Wayne Wayland and Willis
Marsh. The old man nodded to him shortly. Marsh began:
"We heard about your good-fortune. Mr. Wayland has come to look over
your plant."
"It is not for sale."
"How many fish are you getting?"
"That is my business." He turned to Mr. Wayland. "I hardly expected to
see you here. Haven't you insulted me enough?"
"Just a moment before you order me out. I'm a stockholder in this
company, and I am within my rights."
"You a stockholder? How much stock do you own? Where did you get it?"
"I own thirty-five thousand shares outright." Mr. Wayland tossed a
packet of certificates upon the table. "And I have options on all the
stock you placed in Chicago. I said you would hear from me when the
time came."
"So you think the time has come to crush me, eh?" said Emerson. "Well,
you've been swindled. Only one-third of the capital stock has been
sold, and Alton Clyde holds thirty-five thousand shares of that."
The old man smiled grimly. "I have not been swindled."
"Then Clyde sold out!" exploded Boyd.
"Yes. I paid him back the ten thousand dollars he put in, and I took
over the twenty-five thousand shares you got Mildred to take."
"Mildred!" Emerson started as if he had been struck. "Are you insane?
Mildred doesn't own--Why, Alton never told me who put up that money!"
"Don't tell me you didn't know!" cried Wayne Wayland. "You knew all the
time. You worked your friends out, and then sent that whipper-snapper
to my daughter when you saw you were about to fail. You managed well;
you knew she couldn't refuse."
"How did you find out that she held the stock?"
"She told me, of course."
"Don't ask me to believe that. If she hadn't told you before, she
wouldn't tell you now. All I can say is that she acted of her own free
will. I never dreamed she put up that twenty-five thousand dollars.
What do you intend to do, now that you have taken over these holdings?"
"What do you think? I would spend ten times the money to save my
daughter." The old man was quivering.
"You are only a minority stockholder; the control of this enterprise
still rests with me and my friends."
"Your friends!" cried Mr. Wayland. "That's what brings me here--you and
your friends! I'll break you and your friends, if it takes my fortune."
"I can understand your dislike of me, but my associates have never
harmed you."
"Your associates! And who are they? A lawless ruffian, who openly
threatened Willis Marsh's murder, and a loose woman from the
dance-halls."
"Take care!" cried Emerson, in a sharp voice.
The old man waved his hands as if at a loss for words. "Look here! You
can't be an utter idiot. You must know who she is."
"Do you? Then tell me."
Wayne Wayland turned his back in disgust. "Do you really wish to know?"
Marsh's smooth voice questioned.
"I do."
"She is a very common sort," said Willis Marsh. "I am surprised that
you never heard of her while you were in the 'upper country.' She
followed the mining camps and lived as such women do. She is an expert
with cards--she even dealt faro in some of the camps."
"How do you know?"
"I looked up her history in Seattle. She is very--well, notorious."
"People talk like that about nearly every woman in Alaska."
"I didn't come here to argue about that woman's character," broke in
Mr. Wayland.
"You have said enough now, so that you will either prove your words or
apologize."
"If you want proof, take your own relation with her. It's notorious;
even Mildred has heard of it."
"I can explain to her in a word."
"Perhaps you can also explain that affair with Hilliard. If so, you had
better do it. I suppose you didn't know anything about that, either. I
suppose you don't know why he advanced that loan after once refusing
it. They have a name for men like you who take money from women of her
sort."
Emerson uttered a terrible cry, and his face blanched to a gray pallor.
"Do you mean to say--I sent--her--to Hilliard?"
"Hilliard as good as told me so himself. Do you wonder that I am
willing to spend a fortune to protect my girl from a man like you? I'm
going to break you. I've got a foothold in this enterprise of yours,
and I'll root you out if it takes a million. I'll kick you back into
the gutter, where you belong."
Boyd stood appalled at the violence of this outburst. The man seemed
insane. He could not find words to answer him.
"You did not come down here to tell me that," he said, at last.
"No. I came here with a message from Mildred; she has told me to
dismiss you once and for all."
"I shall take my dismissal from no one but her. I can explain
everything."
"I expected you to say that. If you want her own words, read this."
With shaking fingers, he thrust a letter before Emerson's eyes. "Read
it!"
The young man opened the envelope, and read, in a hand-writing he knew
only too well:
"DEAR BOYD,--The conviction has been growing on me for some time that
you and I have made a serious mistake. It is not necessary to go into
details--let us spare each other that unpleasantness. I am familiar
with all that father will say to you, and his feelings are mine; hence
there is no necessity for further explanations. Believe me, this is
much the simplest way.
"MILDRED."
Boyd crushed the note in his palm and tossed it away carelessly.
"You dictate well," he said, quietly, "but I shall tell her the truth,
and she will--"
"Oh no, you won't. You won't see her again. I have seen to that.
Mildred is engaged to Willis Marsh. It's all settled. I warn you to
keep away. Her engagement has been announced to all our friends on the
yacht."
"I tell you I won't take my dismissal from any one but her. I shall
come aboard _The Grande Dame_ to-night."
"Mr. Marsh and I may have something to say to that."
Boyd wheeled upon Marsh with a look that made him recoil.
"If you try to cross me, I'll strip your back and lash you till you
howl like a dog."
Marsh's florid face went pale; his tongue became suddenly too dry for
speech. But Wayne Wayland was not to be cowed.
"I warn you again to keep away from my daughter!" he cried, furiously.
"And I warn you that I shall come aboard the yacht to-night alone."
The president of the Trust turned, and, followed by his lieutenant,
left the room without another word.