Before the train left Elliott cabled again to Henninger, this time
using the usual code for abbreviation’s sake:
“Found what we wanted. Am coming with Bennett. Have expedition ready
at Delagoa Bay, not Zanzibar. Buy arms. Wire American Line, New York.”
He also telegraphed to New York for berths on the Southampton steamer
sailing on the eighth day from that time. He reserved three berths,
though he was resolved that only two should be used. “She may as well
come on to Chicago,” he reflected, “or even to New York. The East is a
better place than the West to leave her.” But somewhere on the
cross-continent journey he intended to convince her of the folly of
her resolution.
But somehow he did not feel equal to the endeavour at present, so he
established Margaret comfortably in a chair-car, and went to smoke
with Bennett.
“This is a nice state of things,” he said, biting a cigar irritably in
two. “Why didn’t you back me up? I thought you were against having
women in a man’s game.”
“So I am,” replied Bennett, who did not appear dissatisfied. “But I
never argue with a woman when she’s made up her mind. Give her time
and she’ll change it herself. Miss Laurie will give us the map all
right, and if she won’t—”
“Then she’ll have to go with us.”
“No. We can take it”
“Take it? Do you mean by force?”
“Yes, if necessary. Of course we’ll give her a square divvy.”
“By heavens, Bennett!” said Elliott, “if you ever try to lay a hand on
that girl I’ll shoot you. Yes, I will. So there’s your plan of robbing
her, and you can put that in your pipe and smoke it. That map’s her
own, and I’m here to see that she does as she likes with it.”
“All right; have it your own way,” said Bennett, easily. “I don’t care
a twopenny hang if she does sail with us. She seems to be a sensible
sort of girl who wouldn’t bother. It was you who kicked about it.”
“I know it was, and you’ll see that I’ll convince her yet,” replied
Elliott, gloomily. After a long pause, “What do you think of her?” he
demanded, almost uncontrollably.
“Oh, I don’t know,” responded Bennett, between puffs. “Regular Western
type, isn’t she? Sensible, nice girl, I guess. I didn’t see much in
her.”
Elliott stared in amazement at such lack of penetration, threw down
his cigar, and went back to the car where Margaret was settled with a
heap of magazines, which she was not reading. Bennett meanwhile smiled
thoughtfully at the approaching foot-hills with the air of a man for
whom life has no more surprises.
There was plenty of time now to argue the question of Margaret’s
accompanying the expedition, and Elliott argued it. The girl did
little more than listen, sometimes smiling at the floods of polemic
that were poured upon her all the way across the foot-hills, through
the gorges and tunnels and trestles of the mountains, and down the
slope to the desert. She would listen, but she would not discuss. She
would talk of any other subject but that one. It seemed to Elliott’s
watchful eye, however, that she was becoming a little more cheerful,
that she was beginning to recuperate a little from the terrible strain
of her experiences, and he said, mentally, that it was perhaps a good
thing, after all, that she should go as far as New York.
Bennett absolutely refused to assist him, and remained for the most
part in the smoking-car while the train skated down the eastern slope
and roared out upon the great desert. At Ogden Elliott noted with
satisfaction that they were maintaining schedule time. At Denver they
were only an hour late. The country was becoming level, so that there
were no topographical obstacles to speed.
“This is my country!” exclaimed Margaret. She was watching the
gray-green rolling plain slowly revolve upon the middle distance. A
couple of horsemen in wide hats and chaparejos were loping across it
half a mile away. “How I should like to get off, get a horse, and just
tear across those plains!”
“Do it, for goodness’ sake,” said Elliott. “We’ll be in Kansas City
to-morrow, and you can wait there or in Lincoln till we come back with
your share of the plunder.”
“No, I’ve something else to think of. Are we going to catch the
steamer, do you think?”
“You are not,” Elliott retorted.
She smiled rather wearily, trying to see the cow-punchers, who were
out of sight.
“How on earth can I convince you of your foolishness? You seem to have
no idea of the rough sort of a trip it will be, nor the gang of
cutthroats we may ship for a crew. Why, you don’t even know what sort
of men my partners are.”
“I suppose they’re like you and Mr. Bennett. I’m not afraid of them,
nor of anything else.”
“But can’t you trust us—can’t you trust me?—to look after your
interests?”
“You know it isn’t that,” cried Margaret. “It’s unkind of you to put
it that way. Oh, don’t harass me!” she appealed. “I am wretched enough
as it is. Don’t you see that I have to do something to keep myself
from thinking?”
Against such an argument a man is always defenceless, and Elliott
abandoned the attack, baffled again. But he was not the less
determined that she should not leave America, and he reserved himself
for a final struggle at New York.
They arrived at Omaha on Thursday night, and on the following morning
they were in Chicago. They had just thirty-five minutes for a hurried
breakfast and a brief walk up and down the vast, smoky platform before
they left for Buffalo. It was almost the last stage of the land
journey.
“We’ll make it without a hitch,” said Bennett, cheerfully. “This is
better than the way I raced across the continent before on this job.
Do you remember that?”
But they missed connections at Buffalo for the first time on the
transcontinental journey, and were obliged to wait for several hours
for the New York express. But Buffalo was left behind that night, and
on the next morning they arrived at Jersey City, and crossed the
ferry. New York harbour, sparkling in the mild September sunshine,
seemed to congratulate them. It was Sunday morning, and there was
plenty of time, for the _St. Paul_ did not sail till Monday noon.
Margaret went to a quiet, but expensive hotel, which Elliott selected
for her, while he lodged himself with Bennett at the same house where
the party had made rendezvous with Sullivan four months ago. The place
looked the same as ever, and it was hard to realize that he had
circled the globe since that time, and it was not pleasant to remember
that he did not seem to be appreciably nearer the lost treasure.
However, they had a definite clue at last,—or, rather, Margaret had
one. It was now only a question of time, and of obtaining this clue
from its possessor, who must go no further eastward.
At the offices of the American Line, Elliott found a cablegram from
Henninger awaiting him. It read:
“Wire directions. Dangerous to wait.”
Elliott showed this message to Margaret. “This settles it, you see,”
he said. “Henninger probably has his expedition all ready to sail, and
we’ll all have to stay here till the work is done.”
“Are you going to stay, too?” she interrogated.
“Well,” Elliott hesitated, having no such intention. “I guess Bennett
and I will go on, though I don’t expect we can get there in time to
join the boys before they sail. But you’ll stay here, of course. Would
you rather stay in New York, or go into the country?”
“I’m going to South Africa,” remarked Margaret, looking out the
window.
“You’ve gone just as far as you are going.”
“I haven’t. You need me. Now, don’t rehearse all your arguments to me;
I’ve heard them all, and they’re all sound. But I know the one you are
thinking of, but daren’t mention—that it would be unladylike and not
respectable for me to go.”
Elliott laughed. “I must confess that that argument hadn’t entered my
mind.”
“Then I’m not going to give up what I want to do, just because I
happen to be a girl. I expect I’d be as useful as any one of your
party. I’m strong; and I can outride you and outshoot you, as you know
very well. Do you think I care what any one will say? Nobody in the
world takes interest in me enough to say anything. Do you want me to
remind myself again that I have no money? I’ve been living on you; I
know it. But I can endure that because I shall soon be able to pay
back every cent, but I’m not going to sit here and wait till you come
back from your adventures and give me what you think my secret is
worth. I’m going to share in it all, whatever comes—fortune or
fighting. There’s nobody in the world now who cares whether I live or
die, or—what’s more important, I suppose—whether I’m ladylike or not.”
“How about me?” said Elliott. He hesitated, and then plunged
desperately ahead. “Margaret, you’ve said that before, and I can’t
stand your feeling like that. Look here, I may as well tell you now:
all that gold is nothing to me in comparison with your unhappiness or
danger. Let me look after you and think of you; you’ll find me better
than nobody. I’m asking you to marry me, Margaret.”
He felt at once conscious of having blundered, but it was too late.
“Oh, how dare you!” she flashed. She jumped up, and stood vibrating in
every nerve. “Do you think that I would marry you because you pity me?
Perhaps you thought that I was trying to work on your feelings, so
that you had to say that to me! Don’t be afraid; I’m not going to
accept you. I’m not going to South Africa merely to be in your
society. I suppose you thought that! How dared you?”
She sank down on the sofa again and burst into passionate sobbing,
with her face buried in the cushions.
“Margaret—” ventured Elliott, approaching her.
“Go away!” she cried, lifting a face in which the eyes still blazed
behind the tears. “I will go with you—I will—now more than ever—but
I’ll never speak to you!”
Elliott went away as he was ordered, sore and angry at Margaret, at
himself. He could not understand how she could so have misconceived
him. He felt almost disposed to let her go her own way and take her
own chances; and yet he felt that he must be always at her side to see
that she suffered nothing. He walked over to Broadway, inwardly
fuming, and stopped at a cable agency, where he sent another message
to Henninger:
“Can’t wire clue. Am bringing it. Be ready at Delagoa.”
He had considerable trepidation in calling for Margaret the next
morning, but he found her cold and calm. Her pallor had returned, and
she looked as if she had not slept.
“Are you still determined to go?” he asked.
“Certainly.”
“It’s time to go, then. The ship sails at noon. There’s a cab
down-stairs for you.”
Her valise was already packed and strapped; so was her small steamer
trunk, and she had nothing to do but put on her hat. She had been
expecting him, and in half an hour they were on board the great liner,
and had been shown their staterooms. Bennett was waiting for them at
the wharf, and the big ship swung majestically from her moorings and
moved down the bay, past the rugged sierra skyline of brick and
granite that had stimulated Elliott’s fancy when he last sailed from
this port on the apparently endless trail of gold.
During the first half of the voyage he did not find Margaret
conversational; she appeared to endure his presence with bare
patience. She had plenty of other society on board, but neither did
she seem to care much for the men who tried to scrape acquaintance
with her with the relaxed etiquette of travel. She appeared to take a
fancy for Bennett, however, and spent hours in long talks with him
when she was not reading or gazing meditatively from her deck-chair
across the dark, unstable sea.
Elliott perceived that he had done wrong, but he did not see how to
remedy it. He had indeed been tactless and brutal; he had, or it
looked as if he had, tried to force himself upon her while she was
virtually his guest. Still, he thought that she might have
misunderstood him less violently; and, while he admitted that he had
been served rightfully, he felt aggrieved that he had not been served
more mercifully. However, since she appeared to have no taste for his
conversation, he was prepared, for the present, to dispose of it
elsewhere.
But she called him to her that afternoon on deck, and pointed to an
unoccupied chair beside her own. He sat down and looked at her with an
expression that he tried to make severe, but which failed in the face
of her smile.
“Don’t you think it’s very absurd for fellow passengers not to be
friends?” she asked.
“Very,” he replied, a little stiffly.
“Come, you see I’m making the advances. You were rude and unkind to
me, and you haven’t apologized as you should. Are you sorry?”
“In one way—yes.”
She made a little face. “That’s not good enough. But I’ll let you off.
I’ll forget what you said, on condition that you make no more
objection to my going where I please. Is it a bargain?”
“I suppose so—for my objections have no effect anyway.”
“Not a bit. They only spoil everything. Don’t you understand,” she
went on, earnestly, “that I had to do this? If I had stayed at home,
or wherever I tried to make a home, I would have died; I would have
gone mad with loneliness and trouble. You don’t know what I have
suffered. Perhaps you think I am forgetting it, but it follows me
night and day. I daren’t think of it, or speak of it. I have to do
something—anything. Don’t you understand?”
“Perhaps not altogether. But you shall go where you like, without let
or hindrance,” said Elliott, gravely.
“We’re friends again, then?”
“I think so.”
“Ah, but you must be sure,” she insisted.
“Well, then, I am sure,” he said, laughingly; though in his heart he
felt no such certainty. But he saw clearly that friendship would have
to do till the treasure-hunt were finished. On that expedition they
were comrades and fellow adventurers, and nothing more.
During the remainder of the passage he therefore endeavoured to return
as far as possible to the easy spirit of the Hongkong days, though
Hongkong was a place of which neither cared to speak. Margaret
appeared to welcome this regained camaraderie, and her spirits seemed
to grow brighter than at her landing in America. They talked of many
things, but they avoided the subject of the treasure-ship; that was
dangerous to touch; it was too near their hearts. Yet in the intervals
of silence there was an image upon Elliott’s inward eye, an image that
came to be almost permanent, of another steamer, this one ploughing
through the heated blue of the Indian Ocean, and of two men leaning
over her bow, with their faces and thoughts running forward to the
same spot as his own. The same sort of vision must have presented
itself to Margaret, for she once, though only once, exclaimed:
“Do you think we’ll be in time?”
“I don’t know. It would have been safer if you had let us cable the
directions. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve somehow felt that the
game was up,” responded Elliott.
“It’s not!” she cried. “I know it. We will be in time. We must.”
“Well, we’re doing all we can,” said Elliott. “We’re due to reach
Southampton to-morrow at ten in the forenoon, and the Cape Town
steamer sails the next day at noon. We’re cutting it pretty fine.”
The _St. Paul_ arrived punctually at her dock, and her passengers
scattered, most of them taking the steamer special train for London.
Elliott saw Margaret established in a comfortable hotel for the day
and night, and went down to the steamer offices with Bennett to see if
by chance there was any telegram. There was one, and Elliott ripped it
open:
“For God’s sake,” it read, “wire clue immediately. Other
party at Zanzibar. Can’t wait.
“Henninger.”
Bennett read the message, and whistled low. The two men looked at each
other.
“Can’t you persuade her to tell us?” Bennett asked.
“No. She’s determined to go.”
“Well, she’ll make us lose the whole thing.” He reflected a moment.
“We’ll have to take it from her.”
“I told you what I would do if you tried that,” said Elliott, in an
even voice. “I’ll do it; you can count on me. I’m just as keen on
getting that stuff as you are, but by fair play. After all, Sevier and
Carlton can’t be so much ahead of us, and they don’t know where to
look.”
“I expect I’m as quick as you are, if it came to shooting,” said
Bennett. “But a row would spoil everything, bring in the police and
all sorts of nastiness. But look there—that’s what I’ve been looking
at.” He indicated a large placard bearing the sailing dates of the
ships of the Union Castle Line for South Africa. “Didn’t you say that
our ship sailed Tuesday noon? That card says Monday noon, and that’s
to-day, and it’s eleven-forty now.”
“By Jove, that’s so!” said Elliott, looking hard at the card. “The
agent in New York certainly said Tuesday. Here,” he called to a clerk.
“Is that sailing list right? Does the _Avon Castle_ sail to-day?”
“Sails at noon sharp, sir,” the clerk assured him.
Elliott exploded an ejaculation and shot out of the office. Luckily
there was a cab within a few yards; luckily again, it was a
four-wheeler.
“Hotel Surry, quick as you know how!” shouted Bennett, and the driver
whipped up his horses. There was just eighteen minutes, and to miss
the steamer would entail a delay of three or four days, when every
hour was worth red gold.
“Won’t you hear reason?” said Bennett. “Won’t you help me to make her
give up that map? Everything may depend on this minute.”
“No, I won’t,” countered Elliott, flatly.
“You’re as bad as she is. If I had Henninger here, we’d coerce you;
and by Jove, you’d better think what you’ll say to the boys when they
hear that you’ve queered the whole game.”
“I’ll take the blame,” said Elliott; though in his heart he disliked
the situation almost as much as his companion did.
Fortunately Margaret had not yet unpacked anything, and Elliott
brought her down the stairs with a rush, and hurried her into the cab.
It was only a few hundred yards to the dock, but as they neared it
they heard the gruff warning whistle of the liner.
“Oh, is it too late?” gasped Margaret, who was very pale.
The gangplank was being cleared as the party rushed down the platform;
the plank was drawn ashore almost before they had reached the deck.
There was another hoarse blast from the great whistle; a shout of “All
clear aft!” and then the space between the wharf and the ship’s side
began to widen.
“Safe!” said Bennett. “It’s an omen.”
But Elliott pulled the crumpled telegram from his pocket where he had
crammed it, and showed it to Margaret.
“I don’t care,” said she, still breathing hard from the race. “We will
be there before them. I feel it.”
“Heaven send you’re right. You’re taking a big responsibility,”
replied Elliott, gravely.
“That reminds me that we didn’t have time to answer that cable,”
Bennett put in. “Never mind. Henninger will be wild, but we had
nothing to say.”
It is a long way from Southampton to Cape Town, even when one is not
in a hurry. But when life and death, or money, which in modern life is
the same thing, hangs upon the ship’s speed, the length of the passage
is doubled and tripled, for the ordinary pastimes of sea life become
impossible. Shuffleboard is frivolous; books are impertinent, and
there is no interest in passing ships or monsters of the deep. The
three adventurers hung together, talking little, but mutely sharing
the strain of uncertainty. Late one night in the second week, Elliott
suddenly proposed poker to Bennett.
“Big stakes,” he said, “payable from our profits later? It’ll kill the
cursed time.”
But Bennett shook his head. “I’ve just sense enough left to keep away
from gambling now. If we started we wouldn’t stop till we’d won or
lost every cent we’ll ever have.”
Elliott acquiesced moodily. The strain was wearing on his nerves, and
he went out of the smoking-room and walked along the deserted deck. It
was a brilliant blue night; the stars overhead blazed like torches,
and the dark line of the foremast plunged through the Southern Cross
as the bows rose and fell. The steamer shook with the pulsations of
the screws, and the water foamed and thundered back upon her sides,
but to Elliott she seemed barely to crawl. It occurred to him that the
treasure must be then almost directly east of him, on the other side
of Africa.
The _Avon Castle_ ran into a gale off Cape Frio which kept most of the
passengers below decks for a day or two. Thence the weather was fresh
to the latitude of the Cape, where it became equinoctially blustering.
It was not sufficiently rough to affect the speed materially, however,
and at last the cloud swathed head of Table Mountain loomed in sight
above the long-desired harbour. It seemed as if the long trail was
almost done, for success or failure.
Cape Town was swarming with uniforms and campaign khaki, and animated
with just renewed peace and the business of peace, but they stayed
there only six hours before they caught the boat for Durban.
Here was a check. There was no railroad to Lorenzo Marques, unless
they took the long détour through Pretoria, over a line choked with
military service, and there was no regular steamer plying. After the
two men had spent a fevered day of searching the harbour, however,
Bennett discovered a decayed freighter which would sail the next day,
and he promptly engaged three passages at an exorbitant figure.
Then there was a day to wait, and two days more at sea, and these
proved the most trying days of all. It was so near the goal,—a goal
which, perhaps, they would never reach! The sun blazed down hotly on
the unshaded decks as the rusty steamer wallowed along at the speed of
a horse-car, while they all three leaned over the bows, watching for
the first glimpse of the Portuguese harbour.
They reached it just before sunset. A white British gunboat was lying
in the English River, and there was little shipping in the bay except
native craft. A flock of shore-boats swarmed about the steamer as she
dropped anchor, the customs launch having already come aboard.
“See that! By thunder, that’s Henninger!” cried Bennett, pointing to a
good-sized and very dirty Arab dhow lying some fifteen fathoms away.
She was the nearest craft in the harbour, and there were a dozen or
more men moving about her decks. Standing in the stern with a glass to
his eye, which was turned on the steamer, was a white man who looked
familiar to Elliott as well.
“I believe you’re right. That’ll be his ship. Yes, I caught a flash of
eye-glasses on another fellow—that’ll be Sullivan,” exclaimed Elliott,
excitedly, and Bennett sent a long hail over the water.
“Ahoy! The dhow! Hen-ning-er! How-oop!”
The man with the glass waved his hat, and two other men hurried up to
the dhow’s stern.
“Come along. Let’s go aboard her now,” Bennett exclaimed, on fire with
impatience.
Elliott looked sharply at Margaret. She was flushed with excitement,
as he could see in the quick tropic twilight, and her lips were set in
a determined line. Her baggage was hurried on deck and sent down into
a shore-boat at the end of a line, and in another minute they were
being ferried to the dhow.