Larry of Lonesome Lake E-Book

Harold Bindloss

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

In summer, the Pacific Canadian slope is beautiful, and the time was on Sunday afternoon. The aim of Lawrence Bethune was the amount he wanted to withdraw from a bank in Vancouver. In Canada, he had to work hard. After all, the weak do not survive there. Therefore, he moved to the Pacific slope, where he could show his force and stand out there. But by what qualities? Rudeness and violence? Did he rely on it?

Leseprobe

Contents

I. Sleeping Beauty

II. The Tide Turns

III. Ruby Goes Overboard

IV. Summer Afternoon

V. Qualichan Sound

VI. Bourlon Ranch

VII. The Convalescent

VIII. Mrs. Loudon Advises

IX. Evening Calm

X. The Haymakers

XI. Isabel Arrives

XII. Lawrence's Choice

XIII. Lawrence Gets a Knock

XIV. The Portage

XV. Sentry Peak

XVI. The Northwest Passage

XVII. The Stone Shoot

XVIII. The New Leader

XIX. Daybreak

XX. A Fighting Chance

XXI. The Dark Hour

XXII. Alice's Return

XXIII. A Conference By the Fire

XXIV. The Wrecked Canoe

XXV. Upriver

XXVI. The Ravine

XXVII. Isabel Turns Back

XXVIII. The Last Portage

XXIX. Lawrence Takes a Rest

XXX. Isabel Goes on Her Way

CHAPTER I

SLEEPING BEAUTY

A warm wind from the Pacific touched the pines and the noise in their high tops was like the murmur of the sea. Branches swung and yellow light and trembling shadow splashed the big straight trunks. Then for a minute or two all was quiet, and Bethune heard a woodpecker tap on rotten bark. A stick cracked under his horse’s feet, red and green feathers gleamed, and the bird was gone, but in the background a blue grouse began to drum.

In summer the Canadian Pacific slope is beautiful, and the time was Sunday afternoon, but Lawrence Bethune, steering his horse down the mountain trail, tried to calculate the sum he could prudently draw from the bank at Vancouver and the quantity of hay he ought to put up. The young steers he had examined at the ranch where he had stopped for the night were useful animals, and while summer lasted would find their food in the woods. In four or five days he could drive them across the pass to his ranch by Lonesome Lake; but he must not be rash, and the oats on the ground he had recently cleared were not growing strong. In British Columbia, there was thetrouble: when one had chopped and burned the great pines, the crop for the first two or three years was thin. He ought perhaps to have sown more timothy and orchard grass.

Shining water crossed the trail, and when his horse’s feet splashed in the creek he let go the bridle and allowed the animal to drink while he rolled a cigarette. At Bourlon ranch one used economy, and American cigarettes carried a duty stamp. In England Lawrence had not bothered about things like that; but when all one had was invested in virgin forest from which one hoped to chop a ranch, one mustn’t be extravagant. Well, in four years he had cleared some ground, and before he was forced to let his hired men go they had ditched the swampy belt and the soil was drying out. To cut the trench through the hemlock roots was something of a job, but Lawrence knew himself a harder and stronger man than the young fellow who had shivered, and sometimes sweated, in the mud in France.

In Canada one must get hard, for the soft and slack went broke. All the same, the Pacific slope was a good country, and he looked about. Where the branches were thin, he saw the Cascade Range’s snow cut the serene sky; on the other side, behind the woods, the sea sparkled like a looking-glass. The trees hid the ugly settlement by the inlet under the hill.

The creek, splashing musically, splashed across smooth, quartz-veined stones. Lawrence’s glancefollowed the gliding water, and stopped. On the stony soil, the brushwood was thin, and little red wineberries shone among the glossy leaves. At the bottom of a big cedar, cradled by the spreading roots, a girl was asleep.

Lawrence put up his tobacco pouch. To study her was something of an impertinence, but at Qualichan white women were not numerous, and her type was not the mountain type. Anyhow, she certainly was asleep, and he thought fatigue had something to do with it.

Her body was thin and her face rather pinched, but, in her quiet sleep, attractive. She obviously used powder, and Lawrence doubted if the touch of strong color in her cheek were altogether natural. Her clothes, so far as he could judge, were cheaply fashionable; in fact, he imagined only her thin city shoes were good. In London or Paris she would not have excited his curiosity; under the Canadian pines, she was frankly puzzling. On the whole, she moved him to vague compassion, but he ought not to stop, and he touched his horse.

The horse splashed rather noisily through the creek, and the girl looked up. She saw a brown-skinned man on a cayuse horse. His clothes were yellow overalls, his long boots were shabby, and his large felt hat had some time since lost its shape in the rain. Yet when he met her swift glance his was rather apologetic than embarrassed. He was not remarkably young–thirty perhaps–and for all hisshabby clothes, she thought she knew his type.

“If I disturbed you, I am sorry,” he said, and lifted his hand to his hat.

She signed him to stop. Lawrence noted that she got up gracefully.

“I am rather glad you did disturb me. Do you know what time it is?”

“Half-past four,” said Lawrence, looking at the sun.

“Thank you,” said the girl with a sort of resigned shrug. “On Sundays supper is at six, and the settlement is two miles off.”

“About two miles. The trail is downhill, and you have an hour and a half–”

“The trouble is, I must help cook supper at the Tecumseh House. I am the head, and only, waitress.”

Lawrence was surprised. He had not thought her the sort of waitress Mrs. Monroe of the Tecumseh would engage. It had nothing to do with him, but now she was on her feet he thought her tired and slack. In fact, he wondered whether she was not ill.

“If you can ride, you might take my horse.”

“You are kind,” she said. “I could ride when I was six or seven years old, and I did not always use a saddle.”

Lawrence shortened a stirrup. If she could ride a barebacked horse, she could use his saddle, but her skirt was short.

“The old cayuse will go quietly. You might leavehim at the livery yard,” he said, and held his hand for her foot.

Her shoe rested in his palm for a moment, and then she was in the saddle. He remarked that she was light and agile. Balancing sideways, she touched the horse.

“You are a good sort,” she said, and vanished in the shade.

Lawrence sat down in the wineberries and lighted his cigarette. Although the mountain trail was steep, he did not think the girl would come down. He had noted her balance and confidence; anyhow, since her clothes were not at all riding clothes, he had imagined she would sooner he did not lead the horse. In fact, when he was out of sight, she might ride astride.

At the little coast settlement she was exotic, and he wondered how she got there. Then, Mrs. Monroe was a remarkably sober and rather grim Ontario Presbyterian, while the girl’s proper background was perhaps a third-class cabaret. Yet he did not know. One sensed a touch of refinement.

Lawrence wondered why she interested him. He did not think her beautiful, although she was somehow attractive, and for long he had had nothing to do with women. He was not by temperament a recluse and misogynist, and when he talked about ranching in Canada his English friends were ironically amused. Lawrence allowed them to joke. His habit was not to argue about his plans; when hehimself was satisfied he coolly went ahead. Well, he had for four years lived laboriously and frugally in the woods, and he did not regret the plunge the others had thought rash. He was, in fact, content, and if he held on for another ten years, he might begin to be prosperous.

In the meantime, he could not support the sort of wife he would care to marry, and he must leave women alone. Lawrence hoped he was logical, and so far he enjoyed his bachelor’s freedom. Yet sometimes, particularly when he came home from work on a summer evening and all he heard was the cowbells in the creeping gloom, the log-house was lonely, and he pictured another in the quiet room.

Branches tossed, the pine-tops murmured, and Lawrence got up. He had thought to wait for morning, but the wind freshened and would carry the sloop down the strait. He ought to be round Stokonish Point, twenty miles off, by dark, and instead of bothering to cook on board, he might get supper at the hotel.

The dining-room at the Tecumseh was bleak. The sun and the stove had cracked the match-boards; the chairs were hard American bent-wood, and the table was covered with thin, shining oilcloth. Lumbermen, ranchers, storekeepers, and two or three mechanics pushed into the room as the bell stopped ringing. For the most part, they were a sober, rather laconic, and industrious lot, but in the storeclothes they had put on for Sunday some were awkward and uncouth.

When Lawrence sat down, the girl he had met carried a tray across the floor. Although her load was heavy, he noted her supple carriage. She moved gracefully, and he imagined she could dance. To picture her stopping at the dreary spot was hard.

“Halibut; steak, if you like,” she said, in a cultivated voice. “Dessert is desiccated apples and raspberry pie.”

Lawrence asked for halibut, and with the fish she put down a large saucer of fried potatoes. Then for a moment she bent her head.

“Thank you for the horse. He is at the livery yard, and I was back in time.”

She went off, and a young fellow across the table looked up with a grin.

“Some waitress for a back-blocks hotel! Has she given you a date?”

“Not at all,” said Lawrence. “In an hour I’m off, and I expect an ambitious young woman would not have much use for a bush rancher. At the small coast settlements the storekeepers are the aristocrats. Anyhow, you take all the money we have got.”

“That’s the talk!” a big chopper remarked. “Steve puts on a white shirt Sundays and a gold tie-ring. Sold me a soft ax last week, and the crosscut I got a month since wants filing all the time. He’s surely getting rich.”

"If you paid your bills, I’d get rich sooner,” Steve rejoined. “Anyhow, for a vaudeville kid, Ruby’s a bully waitress, and the boys hope she’ll stay.”

Lawrence began to see a light, but why a vaudeville dancer should want to stop at the settlement was another thing, and since the girl had gone for fresh supplies he inquired.

“The Lacoste touring company was here for a week,” a storekeeper replied. “When I saw Perry Lacoste at Victoria, two years since, the show was pretty good, but I guess he struck bad luck and couldn’t hire a proper gang. This girl, Ruby, was near the best of the bunch. At all events, the show didn’t draw, and when he pulled out for Vancouver, I reckon he was broke.”

“He didn’t go to Vancouver,” somebody remarked. “Bill and I were at Cheemanco with the halibut sloop, and Perry was playing to quite a good house. One of the boys told us the gang was going up the strait on the Maud. If she keeps her time-bill, she sails in the morning.”

Only a bushman could reach the cities across the mountains, and the settlement was off the Alaska steamers’ route, but the Maud, an old wooden propeller, cruised about the inlets and islands. At some she touched but once in three or four weeks, and Lawrence imagined Ruby had somehow got left behind. Turning his head, he saw she had returned with the dessert and looked up sharply, as if the talk about the Maud interested her. Then she began tounload her tray and Lawrence drained his coffee mug.

By and by he went to the veranda. Somebody had given him a comparatively recent Colonist, and he had not had a newspaper for two or three weeks. Besides, the tide was running strongly south, and since he must steer the other way, he would not lose much by waiting until the stream got slack. After a time he pulled out his watch and started for the wharf.

Behind the rocks the wind was light, and the shadows of the big pines trembled in the sliding water. The tide yet flowed up the river-mouth and he need not hurry to get on board. He had thought nobody was about, but when he passed a lumber stack he saw the waitress sat where a sunbeam touched the boards. She looked straight in front and her brows were knit. Her pose was slack and Lawrence thought she brooded. He was not romantic and for four years he had concentrated on his ranch, but somehow the girl moved him to pity. Then she heard his step and looked up.

“I am going on board,” he said, in an apologetic voice, and indicated a mast that topped the edge of the wharf. “The evening is fine, and after the hot dining-room I dare say you like the fresh breeze from the strait.”

She smiled. Her smile was not coquettish, and Lawrence imagined she saw he implied that he had not purposely followed her to the wharf.

“To work for an old-fashioned Presbyterian hassome advantages. On Sundays, at all events, one gets a few hours’ rest, which accounts for your finding me asleep in the woods. But if you are a rancher, I expect you are industrious.”

“Oh, well,” said Lawrence, “I like my job. Yours, perhaps, is not inviting, and Mother Monroe’s love for cleanliness might have some drawbacks.”

“She never stops,” the girl agreed. “Still, for all her hardness, she is kind, and when I was stranded she took me in. Since stranded implies being left on the beach like wreckage, it’s quite the proper word. Then I expect she conquered some prejudices. My recent pals were not the sort of young women a good Presbyterian approves.”

Lawrence understood he was allowed to stop, and he sat down on a mooring post. The girl interested him; her voice was cultivated, and she talked with the ironical frankness young women he had known in London used. For a few moments she was quiet; and then with a sweeping gesture she indicated the landscape.

“What a country! If one was fit and strong, and could but get a decent post–”

High up behind the climbing forest the Coast Range’s snow shone in the evening light. In front the sea sparkled, but the jade-green inlet was in the shadow and darkly reflected gray rocks and giant pines. The breeze was warm and carried sweet, resinous scents.

“The country’s all right, but one must be strongand hopeful,” Lawrence remarked. “Looks as if you didn’t like your job.”

“I cannot stick it, although I’ve honestly tried, and not long since I thought my pluck and muscle as good as another’s. When respectable industry is something fresh, to begin at six o’clock in the morning and stop when you have cleaned the supper plates gets exhausting. Then, of course, there’s the strain on your temper, and so forth. Sometimes, you see, the boys are amorous. However, I mustn’t bore you. If I could get across to Cheemanco, I’d rejoin the troupe. Perry owes me sixty dollars. But I must get across before he leaves on board the Maud.”

Lawrence smiled. He did not know if her remark, so to speak, was spontaneous, or if she meant to indicate his part.

“It might be possible,” he said. “I am going down the strait and Cheemanco is not much off my course. The wind is a beam wind, and if it holds, we ought to make the inlet in six or seven hours. Day breaks about three o’clock, but the Maud will not start until some time after work at the wharf begins. Yes, I believe I could engage to land you before she goes.”

“You’re a sport,” the girl replied, and gave him a searching glance. Then she shrugged. “I don’t see another plan, and something must be risked. If you can wait for ten minutes, I’ll go for my clothes.”

“You will need some help.”

“Not at all. My trunk went on board with thecompany’s luggage, and by this time I expect Pearl and Coralie have shared the loot.”

She went off, and Lawrence frowned. For a sober, industrious rancher he perhaps was rash, but the girl was broke, and he ought to land her at Cheemanco in six or seven hours.

CHAPTER II

THE TIDE TURNS

The twenty-four foot, half-decked sloop Pathfinder, rocking gently, rubbed against the wharf piles. Her mainsail and high club-topsail were hoisted, and Lawrence, looking up from the deck, saw his passenger and three of the hotel boarders on the guard beam above his head. One threw him a thin, waterproof hold-all, which Lawrence caught. Another threw a line.

“If you make fast we’ll walk you along; but I don’t just see how Ruby’s going to get down,” said the man.

“Then, if you can’t help you might step back,” the girl rejoined.

Leaning out, she seized the boat’s wire shroud, and swung across until her shoe touched a sail hoop on the mast. She reached the next, lower, hoop, and then stopped. Since the shroud spread to the boat’s side, to stretch across was awkward.

“Let go the wire. Swing and seize the mast,” Lawrence ordered.

Her arm went out, but her hand was small, and the mast was greased. Lawrence jumped, and when her shoe slipped from the hoop she fell into hisarms. Four years’ labor had hardened him, and by contrast with loads he sometimes moved, her slender body was light. His impulse was to carry her to the seat in the well and for a moment she was passive. Then he knew himself ridiculous, and she slipped from his arms.

“There’s your rope. Stand by and we’ll start you!” shouted the man on the beam.

Feet beat the boards and the sloop forged ahead. Three hefty fellows, running along the wharf, strained the line, and when they reached the end Lawrence broke out the hoisted jib.

“So long and good luck, Ruby! Come back soon,” one shouted.

“The boys were kind,” she said. “Why are ranchers and choppers, on the whole, a better lot than city men?”

“I don’t know,” said Lawrence, hauling the line on board. “I hope you’re accurate; but just now my business is to steer.”

Under the high rocks flickering puffs of wind trailed dark ruffled smears across the smooth green tide. The boat was close-hauled, and sometimes her tall sails slanted and water gurgled at her bows; then she swayed languidly upright and almost stopped. Sometimes, when the stony beach was but three or four yards off, she turned on her centerboard and the long boom lurched across, just above Ruby’s head. By and by, however, Lawrence pulled up the board, and rocks and pines rolled back.Sheet-blocks rattled, and, trailing a white wake, Pathfinder swept out across the strait. Spray tossed about her weather bow and little sparkling seas splashed her lifted side. The tide ran to windward, Cheemanco was under the lee bow, and Lawrence let her go. He sat on deck, a tiller line round his wrist, and rather awkwardly loaded his pipe.

“Kloosh chuck! Water’s fairly smooth, but you perhaps know Chinook?” he remarked. “I myself don’t know as much as I pretend when I swap the news with a Siwash Indian. I hope you’re a sailor.”

“If it’s some comfort to you, I shall not be sick. The Lacoste Varieties move about by land and sea and lake, and I suppose I have used all the means of locomotion known in North America, except, of course, really first-class steamers and Pullman cars. Perry’s gang, as a rule, went colonist. But you will perhaps allow me to present Ruby Desmond, première danseuse, sentimental soloist, and sometimes, when the orchestra was drunk, rag-time kid.”

Smiling at Lawrence, she rested her back against the coaming ledge. She was lightly built, and now she was at rest one sensed a sort of physical slackness and something like fragility. The girl, at all events, was tired, and Lawrence was sorry for her. On the whole, he liked her rather cynical frankness; when one toured with a variety show, a touch of hardness was, no doubt, useful. Anyhow, nothing indicated coquetry, and that was something.

"How did you get left behind?” he asked.

“I have wondered–I rather think Pearl had something to do with it. Perry owed us all several weeks’ pay, but I believe he’d sooner be honest, so long as it did not cost him very much. One meets men like that; they mean well, but, as a rule, do not make good. Pearl is another sort. It looks as if she had plans for Perry, and she perhaps thought I had. In same circumstances, women are not remarkably scrupulous, Mr. Bethune.”

“Then, you know who I am?”

“Since I’m not altogether a fool, I inquired. The boys reckoned you were white; but my object is not to flatter you, and I’ll resume my tale. On the Saturday the steamer was at the wharf, we played to three houses; in fact, so long as we took a few dollars we carried on. At twelve o’clock I went to bed; Perry and Bob began to load up our stuff and Pearl said she would help. They were going to sleep on board. You see, the steamer was billed to start at six o’clock, but the captain had agreed to wait for some cattle a rancher would drive across the mountain as soon as it was light. The cattle did not arrive, and when I woke at eight o’clock the boat was gone. Bob had put my trunk on board, all the money I had was two dollars, and my clothes, so to speak, were stage properties. For all she’s a hard-shell Puritan, Mrs. Monroe gave me a job.”

Lawrence nodded. He liked the girl’s pluck; herather liked her dispassionate coolness. Then she had taken the job.

“Yes, it was awkward. But, if I might inquire, why’d you join a third-class strolling company?”

“The answer, dear man, is obvious: a first-class show would have no use for me. I mustn’t pretend to be modest, and at one time I was ambitious, but I know where I must be frank. However, since you keep a yacht, it looks as if your ranching paid.”

“The boat is George Loudon’s,” Lawrence replied with a smile. “At Qualichan he’s hiyu Tyee–Indian agent, Government surveyor, and so forth; in fact, the big boss. If you thought me impertinent, I am sorry.”

Ruby turned her head and gave him a cool, scrutinizing glance. She approved his crooked smile, and although he was not at all handsome, he was strongly built and athletic, and carried a stamp she knew. Moreover, she got a hint of steadfastness and sincerity.

“I imagine you are rather a good sort,” she said. “It accounts for my resolve to give you a chance to invite me to cross the strait with you. You see, if we reach Cheemanco before the Maud sails, I can go on with the only occupation in Canada for which I’m fit, and if Perry’s luck turns he might pay up.”

For a few moments she looked about. The sun had gone and in the northwest an island cut the green and orange glow; ragged pines ridged its top in hard, black silhouette. In the east, the Cascades’snowy tops yet shone rose-pink, but the forests below the timber line melted to dusky blue. The sea was dim green, flecked by rippling white lines, and although the wind got lighter, the sloop forged ahead with a rhythmic plunge and swing. Her tall sails slanted, spray tossed about her bows, and little, splashing waves broke along her weather side. Their urgent leap and white tops indicated that the tide yet went up the strait.

“In a way,” she resumed, “you are entitled to know something about your passenger, and if I were quiet you might feel you ought to talk, although you would sooner steer the boat. Very well. Professionally, I’m Ruby Desmond, but my proper name is Alice Thorne, and at school in England I sometimes played the leading part in Bowdlerized acts from Shakespeare, and the sort of tableaux one supposes to be Greek. It explains my raw ambition to be a tragedy queen, and my efforts to cultivate my voice. When I met Perry Lacoste at Toronto I had once or twice earned a guinea for singing, and since he offered me a part I took the plunge–”

Lawrence noted the interlude. Since she was at the English school he reckoned six or seven years had gone; but to inquire was not his business, and she continued:

“Perry had begun to go downhill, but he was yet something of a favorite in Ontario and Quebec. I believe he cannot read music, but I’ve known him carry away a habitant audience by an old coureurs’song. Then he knows Louisiana French, and some Creole songs have a queer, haunting charm. In fact, I’ve felt that Perry somehow had missed his mark. He might have been a musician; he was a rather indulgent sentimentalist–”

She went on and Lawrence thought the portrait she drew lifelike. Anyhow, the picture he got was distinct. Perry was the sort of plausible, handsome fellow women liked; he thought Ruby had liked him and tried to be just. Lacoste, however, was getting fat and his voice began to go. When he was not sober, he talked much about his wife; Ruby imagined Angelique had ruled him firmly, and on the whole wisely, but she was dead, and Pearl was willing to console the widower. Ruby rather obviously did not like Pearl.

For a time they drew pretty good houses at small Ontario towns, but at Winnipeg their luck turned, and as they pushed on west got steadily worse. Florrie, who really could dance, married a wheat farmer; Bill, the conjurer, joined a tinhorn at a Calgary gambling joint, and, Ruby understood, was afterwards put out of town by the Royal North-West Police. She thought Perry might yet have pulled things straight, but for Pearl and liquor. Anyhow, when the company crossed the Rockies they were nearly broke.

Ruby narrated their adventures on the Pacific Slope. Lawrence saw she did not try to work on his sympathy; her tale was humorous, but hepictured the forlorn troupe going fast downhill. Ruby admitted she herself got slack and tired; and when they reached the settlement on the northwest coast, Pearl, who hated her, dominated Lacoste. The steamer sailed before the proper time, and Pearl had fixed it so that Ruby did not know.

She stopped, and shivered. Lawrence looked about. The sky was luminous green; the sea was dark. The wind got lighter, but the high topsail and running jib pulled nobly. He heard the water splash the planks and felt the dew on his skin.

“The night is going to be fine and we will carry all sail,” he said. “I can give you a slicker coat, but if you crawl into the cabin you will find a candle lamp on the bulkhead. When you get a light, pull down the folding cot and fix the lanyard on the hooks. The blankets in the locker are, I think, pretty dry. While the large jib is up, the boat will not heave to, and if I leave the tiller, the sails will thrash about.”

Ruby saw he thought she might not want him for a chamber maid, and when he gave her some matches she pushed back the sliding hatch. Pathfinder’s cabin was not quite four feet high and the centerboard trunk occupied most of the floor. All the same, Ruby was not fastidious, and when she got into the folding cot she admitted she had occupied worse beds.

In a few minutes the reflection from the skylights vanished, and Lawrence pulled out his pipe. Thesloop yet slipped along at four miles an hour, and Cheemanco was not very far off. In the morning he would land his passenger, but she was less of an embarrassment than he had thought, and he began to feel the sloop would be lonely when she was gone. Lawrence frowned. He mustn’t be ridiculous, and he tried to think about the cattle he might perhaps have bought. By and by the jib flapped, and he hauled the sheet. It looked as if the wind veered west; it certainly was lighter, and his course to Cheemanco was about west by north.

At daybreak mist floated about the water and the dew-drenched sails hung slack. Lawrence pulled off his oilskin coat, and, hearing his passenger move, put a canvas bucket by the cabin hatch.

“Since we need breakfast, we must be frugal with the fresh water,” he said. “However, Mrs. Loudon was on board not long since, and I dare say you will find a clean towel in the lockers.”

The bucket vanished, and some time afterwards Ruby crawled from the hatch. Lawrence thought her skin was rather white and her face was pinched, but Pathfinder’s low, dark cabin had not been planned for a lady’s dressing-room. Moreover, woolly blue threads from the Hudson’s Bay blanket stuck to her clothes. Lawrence wondered whether he ought to state that a looking-glass was in the port locker, but an up-to-date young woman presumably carried something of the sort.

“I am going under the counter for a sail andsome rope,” he said. “I expect to be four or five minutes. As a rule, the stuff you want is at the bottom of the dump.”

Pulling a board from the stern transom, he crawled into a dark hole, and when all but his boots had vanished Ruby smiled. The rancher used some tact. At three o’clock in the morning one did not look one’s best, particularly when one had slept in one’s clothes. Well, she had five minutes, and she hurriedly unfastened her waterproof hold-all. In the meantime, Lawrence noisily pulled things about, and once she thought he swore. He probably had not planned to knock his head against a deck beam.

“If you have found the sail, you might perhaps come out. I don’t know where the yacht is going,” she at length remarked.

Lawrence crawled out backwards, and when he got on his feet it looked as if he had driven his hand into a grease pot. On the stage, the business one did not rehearse was sometimes the funniest.

“Do you know where we are?” Ruby asked.

“We are about nine miles from Cheemanco, and the sloop is going down the strait. The tide has turned and now runs north.”

Ruby looked about. Behind the mist she saw blurred, dark hills. Using the boat’s mast for a mark, she noted that the hills rolled slowly back, and although all was very quiet, faint wrinkling lines indicated that the water moved. For amoment or two she tried to calculate; and then she fronted Lawrence.

“You mean we might be carried past the port?”

“Yes; I’m sorry. I really thought the wind would hold until we were across.”

Ruby tried for calm. She had not reckoned on the wind’s dropping, and she believed he had not. His look was disturbed; in fact, she thought him annoyed. Well, that was comforting, but she had got a nasty knock.

“Cannot we row?” she asked in an anxious voice.

“I might scull, but I doubt if I could drive the boat a mile in an hour. She carries two or three tons of iron ballast. Her cable is not long enough for us to anchor.”

Ruby sat down. She felt very slack, but she had fronted a crisis before.

“At seven or eight o’clock the steamer will start. Pearl, I expect, has got my clothes, and Perry has all the money I have earned for about two months. They will not stop at Vancouver, and I cannot chase them from town to town. Besides, there will not be another boat for a long time. Can you not do something?”

“I’m afraid all we can do is to get breakfast and hope a breeze will spring up,” Lawrence replied. “The sky is dark and rain might start the wind. I ought not, of course, to have asked you on board–”

Ruby stopped him.

"You are not accountable. I meant you to ask me; sometimes one must run a risk, and I did not see another plan. I don’t know if you are interested, but I was desperate. You see, for some time I felt I was getting tired and slack; to wander about with a dead-broke variety company is a tiring job. Mrs. Monroe is not an easy mistress, and I knew I could not keep my post at the Tecumseh. To rejoin Perry was my last chance. After all, his luck might turn and I’d get my pay.”

“It’s awkward,” Lawrence agreed. “To some extent I entangled you, and as far as it is possible, I hope you will allow me to see you out.”

Ruby gave him a level glance and a touch of color stained her skin.

“I mustn’t claim to be fastidious, but I have not yet exploited strange young men. However, there is no use in talking, and if you are going to cook breakfast, I dare say I can help.”

CHAPTER III

RUBY GOES OVERBOARD

At seven o’clock the mist rolled back, and in the east snow peaks cut the sky; silver haze yet crawled along their slopes where dark forests climbed. In front, six or seven miles off, a high, rocky island rose from the smooth sea. Although the west was dim, a gray smear indicated land. Lawrence, calculating the sloop’s drift, reckoned he could make Cheemanco in two hours, if the wind were fair and strong, but the faint ripples that now and then crept across the glimmering water did not reach the boat.

Ruby occupied the cockpit bench. Food and strong coffee had braced her, and the fresh morning had brought a touch of color to her skin, but her look was drearily resigned.

“Those streaks are wind?” she said. “If we started now, d’you think we could land before the steamer goes?”

“It’s just possible,” Lawrence replied. “As a rule, however, a light wind blows from the south, and the tide is carrying us north.”

Ruby shrugged. “For some time my luck has not been good. I’d hoped it might turn, but, so far,you are not much of a mascot. Still, of course, the plan for you to take me across was mine, and if you are invited to help a young woman another time, I expect you’ll refuse.”

“Looks as if I was rash,” Lawrence agreed. “For your sake, I’m sorry I did not use some caution; but I think that’s all. Anyhow, I haven’t begun to grumble.”

“You haven’t yet landed me,” Ruby rejoined. “In the meantime, you need not bother to be polite, and if to swear is some relief, I shall not be much jarred. A girl is a blasted nuisance on board a boat.”

Lawrence smiled and said nothing. On the whole, he liked her frankness, and since he knew her anxious, it implied some pluck. The dark streaks on the water lengthened, two joined, and advancing fast, reached the sloop. Lawrence felt a cool touch on his skin, the slack sails swelled, sheet-blocks rattled, and the boat began to move. In five minutes she was going fast; her tall mast slanted and the ripples splashed against her planks. In ten minutes angry foam ran level with the two-inch rail on the inclined deck’s lee side. Lawrence jumped for the cabin door and fastened the sliding hatch.

“Get into the slicker coat. I ought to shorten sail,” he said when he was back at the tiller.

“Let her go,” said Ruby. “If you cannot catch the Maud, I don’t mind if we capsize.”

For some time Lawrence risked it. The sea had not got up, and although spray was flying and thewater crept farther across the deck, none yet splashed over the coaming ledge. Then a leaping wave curled across the cabin top, the mast slanted sharply, and the wire shrouds rang.

“Stop in the cockpit,” he ordered. “Watch out for the boom, and don’t stand up!”

Carrying a small sail along the inclined deck, he reached the mast, and for a few moments Ruby was daunted. The sloop, rounding to the wind, lurched upright, and the long boom jerked savagely across the cockpit. She saw Lawrence let go some ropes and the half-lowered jib swell like a balloon. Then it collapsed with a noise like a rifle shot and its thrashing folds swept the narrow deck behind the mast. Lawrence was under the sail, and she thought it must knock him overboard.

After a few harrowing moments, Ruby saw the sail was down. Lawrence, flat on the deck by the bowsprit, his legs round two short posts, pulled ropes, and another sail, tied in folds, slid out along the pole. In the meantime, the boat rolled and plunged; the big mainsail shook and banged, and ropes and blocks thrashed furiously about. The sail went up; Lawrence, moving surprisingly fast, was for a moment back at the tiller, and then again by the mast. Ruby was not a sailor, but she knew him competent, swift, and resolute. She admitted she approved men like that.

The high topsail tilted, its yard across the mast, and she saw Lawrence struggled with three differentropes. Since he had but two hands, she went to help. When she joined him he gave her a rope.

“I ordered you to stop. But that’s the tack, and if you hold on, you won’t go overboard. Pull when I shout. I believe the blasted sheet is round the gaff end.”

He jerked the ropes and shouted. The long yard plunged down and stopped, and they dragged the sail on deck.

“Thanks!” gasped Lawrence, and when the boom lurched put his arm round Ruby’s waist and dropped her into the cockpit.

Ruby smiled. Lawrence stripped the topsail from the yard and frowned. Since the boat lurched, he was justified to seize the girl and a variety actress was not easily embarrassed; but he had not reckoned on his not wanting to let her go. She was soft and round; she had allowed him to swing her across the skylight, because she trusted him to see her safe. Well, that was all he had thought to do, and his business was to tie a reef in the mainsail. The boat, with the storm jib pulled to windward, was steadier and he got to work. In five minutes the reef was tied, and he jumped for the tiller.

“The sea is getting up, but by and by the coast will shelter us–”

He stopped, for Ruby touched him, and turning his head, he saw a dark smear on the horizon.

“Smoke? A steamer’s smoke?” she said.

“The Maud’s smoke! We are nearer than Ithought, and had the breeze come sooner–By George, I’m sorry!”

Ruby began to laugh, a queer, jarring laugh.

“Yes, it’s awkward,” she said, and Lawrence wondered whether she consciously parodied his remark. “Perry has got my money and I expect Pearl has got my clothes. Before I could get to Vancouver, they will be gone. My theatrical career has pretty obviously come to a full stop. If I had a little less pluck, or a little more–I really don’t know which–I’d jump overboard.”

So far as Lawrence could see, there was nothing to be said, and he concentrated on his steering. The short seas got angrier and broke in leaping foam across the sloop’s weather bow. She plunged and the water on deck began to wash across the cockpit ledge.

“The wind veers west and the tide goes north,” Lawrence said by and by. “The boat is going through the water, but she’s not working to windward much and the seas come on board. I doubt if we can make Cheemanco, and I think we ought to run for shelter behind the island.”

“Since the Maud is gone, it’s not at all important,” said Ruby drearily.

Lawrence pulled the small wet jib to windward, and gave her the tiller.

“Hold it downhill. For a minute or two I’ll be busy.”

The boat came up into the wind and foam swepther deck. Lawrence lifted the centerboard, and going to the mast, hoisted the boom’s outer end and let the gaff swing down. Then he took the tiller from Ruby and put the boat before the wind. The half-lowered mainsail, squared across her, gently swayed and dipped, and she lurched along with a smooth and easy swing. But for the seas that tossed behind her, it looked as if the wind had dropped.

“We’ll bring up for three or four hours,” Lawrence remarked. “I dare say you will be glad to land, and when the tide turns or the breeze blows out I’ll try to meet your plans.”

“In the meantime, I do not see a plan. All I know, is Ruby Desmond is done with. When you turned the yacht she went overboard, and on the whole, I think the bottom of the strait is where she ought to be. From now I’m, properly, Alice Thorne. So long as I am your passenger, Alice for short.”

“Oh, well,” said Lawrence, smiling, “if you were on board for a little time, I believe you’d be a competent first mate.”

“I wonder,” said Alice. “Anyhow, I shall not be on board for long, and I expect you’ll be happier when you dump me on a wharf.”

Lawrence wondered, but he said nothing. When he studied the sky, he imagined Alice’s voyage might be longer than she thought. Alice was a nicer name than Ruby. One associated the other with third-class cabaret shows and scanty costume; infact, with the sort of young woman his passenger not long since was. Lawrence frowned. To think about it led him nowhere. All he knew was, he was sorry for the girl.

An hour afterwards Pathfinder rounded a rocky point, and hoisting the mainsail, Lawrence steered up a bay. At its top he lowered sail and sculled into a cove, where, in three feet of water, he made fast to the rocks. Using the long boathook for a leaping pole, one could jump ashore, and when Alice had done so he landed the water breaker.

“I spotted a little creek by a beach we passed, and I might find some black raspberries in the woods,” he said. “Nobody is on the island and you will not be disturbed.”