The River Fury E-Book

H. A. Cody

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

It was a windy day and why not go out with your boats to the sea? Sail sags were filled, people began to act, and for a long time the boats beat heavily downstream. The race began in earnest, and the spirit of rivalry revived the hearts of these tumultuous river drivers. Captain Nat was driving, and his eyes shone with pleasure as he gradually turned away from his rival.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I. The Flag-Signal

CHAPTER II. Creek House

CHAPTER III. “Why Didn’t You Shoot?”

CHAPTER IV. The Rivals Meet

CHAPTER V. The Launching

CHAPTER VI. Faith’s Defender

CHAPTER VII. The Passenger

CHAPTER VIII. Treachery

CHAPTER IX. Justice

CHAPTER X. The “Wig-Wag”

CHAPTER XI. Ghosts

CHAPTER XII. When the Storm Raged

CHAPTER XIII. At the Old Barn

CHAPTER XIV. Following Footsteps

CHAPTER XV. In His Workshop

CHAPTER XVI. At the Shipyard

CHAPTER XVII. The Rescue

CHAPTER XVIII. Half-Mast

CHAPTER XIX. Suspected

CHAPTER XX. “What a Fury!”

CHAPTER XXI. “Unto the Hills”

CHAPTER XXII. The Cruelty of Jealousy

CHAPTER XXIII. Tom’s in a Hurry

CHAPTER XXIV. A Friend in Need

CHAPTER XXV. A Scrap of Paper

CHAPTER XXVI. At Dead of Night

CHAPTER XXVII. Knights of the Great Logs

CHAPTER XXVIII. Faithful Until Death

CHAPTER XXIX. The Hole in the Sand

CHAPTER XXX. “Specimens”

CHAPTER XXXI. The Night Visitor

CHAPTER XXXII. The Island

CHAPTER XXXIII. Entrapped

CHAPTER XXXIV. Revelations

CHAPTER XXXV. Free

CHAPTER XXXVI. Captain and First Mate

CHAPTER I. The Flag-Signal

Dawn found them drifting down stream on the ebb of a lazy tide. There were twelve in all, squat, battered river craft, deal-laden from mills up river. They had come out of the night, shadowy and spectral, with sails empty, and a veil of land fog shrouding spars and masts. With the lifting sun, the air cleared and the sails gleamed white. Between soft verdant banks they glided steadily onward. Tall trees of elm, ash, birch and maple reflected their graceful forms in the liquid mirror at their feet, as if dipping their colors to the passing boats. As the vessels drifted, the sun rose higher and slowly dispelled the tenuous wreathes of hovering fog.

At the turn of the tide a breeze winged in from the sea. The sagging sails filled, men roused to action, and ere long the boats were beating strongly down stream. The race was now on in earnest, and the spirit of rivalry animated the hearts of those rugged rivermen.

The Flying Scud was leading, with the Snag close astern. Captain Nat stood at the wheel, and his eyes shone with pleasure as he gradually drew away from his rival. He was in a fine rollicking mood, and his face, tanned by wind and sun, beamed with animation. His strong lithe body of over six feet in height was perfectly erect, and his broad shoulders were squared as he steered the Scud on the short tack across the river. His head was bare, and his wealth of black hair was tousled by the careering wind. The joy of victory glowed in his eyes, and a smile wreathed his face as he heard the angry words of his defeated rival behind. He was as proud of his achievement on this inland river as had been his father years before when he had raced a fleet of clippers around the Horn, and brought the Nestor home as victor.

With a word to Tom Burden, his shipmate, Nat brought the Scud sharply around, and soon she was thrashing through the water on her long-leg run for a cove far off in the distance. Tom stood watching the Snag as she fell farther astern, and his old weatherbeaten face wrinkled into a smile.

“Say, Nat, it’s too bad we can’t hear Ru now. The air must be blue with his cussin’.”

“He boasted that he’d beat us on this run down,” Nat replied. “But Ru Tettle will never see the day when he can lick the Flying Scud with that old tub of his. Look where he is now. I wonder–”

He stopped suddenly and stared straight before him. His eyes had caught sight of a flag far ahead fluttering in the breeze. Tom saw it, too, and knew its meaning.

“I guess Ru’s boast’ll come true, after all,” he drawled. “That flag’s upsot our reckonin’.”

“It has, Tom,” Nat agreed. “It must be important. Mother would never signal without some good reason. It is the first time she has done it this summer. I hope there’s nothing wrong.”

“True, Nat. Yer mother’s not the kind of a woman to git scary over a mouse or a cut finger. Yes, ye’d better go ashore. But I do hate fer Ru to win out. He’ll boast of it, an’ say how he beat us, without explainin’ the reason. But it can’t be helped. When yer mother sets the signal there’s to be no goin’ by.”

With his eyes fixed upon the flag and his hands gripping the wheel, Nat ran the Flying Scud into the calmer water of the cove. Here he brought her up to the wind, and Tom dropped the anchor. Behind came the other boats, with the Snag in the lead. Like gray hawks they seemed swooping down upon their prey. Then sharp orders rang out, swinging booms creaked, sails flapped, and they were off upon another tack. Ru was at the wheel of his boat, and as he passed, he shouted out words of triumph and derision which caused Nat’s cheeks to flush and his hands to clench hard upon the spokes. Tom shook a gnarled fist after the boaster.

“Ye dirty shin-flint!” he roared. “Jist wait till I git me hands on ye.”

“Never mind that thing now,” Nat ordered. “Mother’s waiting for me on shore. You stay here, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Mrs. Royal stood beneath the shade of a large maple tree and watched her son as he stepped ashore and pulled the small boat up on the sandy beach. There was reason for her motherly pride as Nat came to where she was standing and kissed her. He was so big, strong and manly that she seemed small by his side. Her careworn face brightened as she returned his caress.

“I am glad you have come,” she told him. “But I am sorry that I have brought you ashore. Perhaps it was foolish of me to put up the flag.”

“What is the matter, mother? Nothing wrong, I hope.”

“You can judge for yourself. It is about our sheep. They have been worried for several nights. In fact, two of them have been quite badly torn.”

“What, was it a bear?”

“No. It was our new neighbor’s dog. He is a big savage brute, and runs about at night, that is, when his mistress is not with him. He jumped out of the yard last night when I shouted at him.”

“He did! Have you spoken to its owners?”

“Oh, no. I am afraid to do so. They are a strange lot, and will not associate with their neighbors. Although they have been here only two weeks, they have antagonized all they have met.”

“Who are they, anyway, mother? And where did they come from?”

“I do not know for sure. It is rumored, however, that they came from the States. They are seldom seen in the day-time, but prowl around at night. Henry Saunders told me only yesterday about their mysterious doings. Boats come and leave their shore after dark, and lights are often seen moving between the house and the river. Henry and several others have been trying to find out what it all means, but so far they have learned nothing.”

“How many are there in this strange family?”

“Three, so I have heard. Old Mr. Sarason is an invalid who never leaves the house. Bob, his son, a big powerful fellow, and a daughter, Sylvia.”

“How do they make a living?”

“I do not know. But they must have money as they do no work.”

“Have you seen any of them, mother? I am getting quite curious about them.”

“I have seen only the daughter, and that at a distance when she is out with the dog. She spends much of her time on the river in a small boat, and is very venturesome. She is certainly a good sailor, for she goes out no matter how rough the water.”

“Does she take the dog with her?”

“I cannot say. Anyway, it’s on shore at night and very active. If something isn’t done to stop it, we shall lose our sheep. And we can’t afford that, as I have been hoping to make something from them to help pay the balance on our boat.”

“It’s a hard struggle to lift that mortgage, mother. But this summer, if things go well, we may do it. Then, I suppose, I shall be bound to the river for life.”

They were walking from the shore up to the main road. Mrs. Royal understood the meaning of her son’s words, and she was worried.

“You are tired of the river, Nat. Is that it?”

“It is. What would father think if he knew that his son is running a wood-boat up and down the river? He never dreamed that I should come to this. Neither did I. Deal carrying was such a profitable business a year ago that we thought we could make money fast if we had a vessel of our own. But the high prices have dropped, owing to the number of boats on the river, and rates are now lower than ever. I long for the sea and want to command something better than that tub out there. Father said that I can handle a clipper as well as he could. He trained me well the four years I sailed with him. Didn’t I take charge of the Nestor when father took sick on his last voyage and brought her safely home through that terrible storm when so many ships were wrecked? I did it then, and I can do it again.”

Mrs. Royal knew that what he said was true. She had been very proud of his remarkable feat, and it had been the talk of old seaman for many a day. The newspapers had also said much about it. The mention of that voyage, however, brought sad memories to her mind. As she looked out at the Flying Scud there came to her another scene of years ago when she had viewed a fine ocean clipper down in the harbour ere she first boarded it for a voyage to distant ports as the young wife of Jim Royal, one of the best Bluenose sea captains who ever sailed out of the port of Saint John. Little wonder, then, that her eyes grew misty as she thought of the changes the years had brought about. Instead of the fine clipper ship, there was nothing now but a common river boat, and unpaid for, at that.

“I used to dream that you would one day be a sea captain, Nat,” she at length replied. “We have been a sea-faring people for generations. It is a noble calling, and the sea is in our blood.”

“Your dream will come true some day,” Nat firmly declared. “When the Flying Scud is paid for, I shall let Tom run it and take command of a clipper ship. It has been the great hope of my life.”

They were standing under the shade of a large maple tree where they had stopped to rest. Mrs. Royal smiled a little at her son’s enthusiasm. He had the splendid confidence and audacity of youth. But she knew only too well how difficult it would be for him to attain to such an enviable position. Many years of training would be necessary before he could become master of a great ship. She believed, though, that he was perfectly capable of commanding such a vessel, for her husband had told her so. But ship owners were cautious men, and would entrust their vessels only to well-seasoned masters. Nat would have little or no chance, she felt sure. She did not express her opinion, however, as she did not wish to say anything that might dispel Nat’s bright vision. It would encourage him at present, and something might turn up in the future.

While she was thus thinking, Nat was looking down-river at the large expanse of water below the point. He was watching a small boat beating from the upper island towards the mainland. The sail was lifting and dipping like the white wings of some beautiful bird. It fascinated him. He believed that the girl of the Creek House was in command, and a sudden desire came upon him to meet her. He turned to his mother.

“I might as well stay for dinner,” he remarked. “I want to go over and see about that dog. It must be kept up at night, or something will happen to it.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” his mother advised as she walked along by his side. “I am really afraid of those people, and I don’t want any harm to come to you.”

“You needn’t worry, mother,” Nat laughingly assured her. “Don’t I look able to take care of myself?”

“Perhaps so. But be careful, anyway. One can never tell what those people might do.”

CHAPTER II. Creek House

The Creek House stood about two hundred yards from the water. It was a bleak lonely building, hidden from the highway by a heavy thicket of pine and fir trees. It showed unmistakable signs of neglect. The storms of many seasons had rotted and loosened shingles and clapboards. The verandah, facing the creek, was a broken-down affair, and only a few sticks remained of the railing that once had been there.

This house which at one time had been the pride of the parish, had fallen upon evil days. Since the mysterious disappearance of old Henry Tatlow forty years before it had changed hands several times. It was haunted, so people believed, and Henry’s ghost had been seen roaming about the place at night. Ill luck had followed every family that had lived there since then. Tom Mixon, who defied the ghost, died suddenly while eating his dinner. The next owner had been struck by lightning while unloading hay in the barn one summer day. After that the place had remained vacant for several years, shunned by all, and the once well-cultivated fields were allowed to grow up in bushes.

The place looked more desolate than ever to Nat as he made his way along a path close to a steep bank on the left. He had not been near the house for years, and he was surprised at the changes he beheld on all sides. He knew well the stories that were in circulation, and as a boy he had often trembled when passing along the road at night on his way from the store. That same feeling returned to him now as he drew near the building. No sign of life could he see. There was something weird in the silence that brooded over the place, and the stark house standing there in the wilderness presented an unnatural appearance.

At length the front of the house became visible, and there upon the verandah he saw someone seated, looking out over the water. With almost noiseless footsteps Nat approached. Then he paused and looked intently upon the form huddled before him. It was that of an old man with long-flowing beard and white hair. In his right hand he held a stick upon which he was partly leaning as he peered forward. Nat turned his eyes upon the river, and there he saw the white sail of the little boat bending beneath the stiff breeze. It was some distance away, almost in the same position where he had seen it that morning. The old man was watching it. Again Nat looked at him. Was he anxious about his daughter? It seemed so. He hesitated about disturbing him, uncertain what kind of a reception he should receive. But he had come to see about that dog, so the sooner he was through with his disagreeable task the better it would be.

His step upon the verandah aroused the silent man. He turned quickly, and a startled expression came into his eyes as he beheld the visitor. This changed immediately to anger, and straightening himself up with much difficulty, he lifted his stick in a threatening attitude.

“Who are you?” he angrily shouted. “And what are you doing here?”

These ungracious words instead of intimidating Nat, caused him to step swiftly forward until he stood near the old man.

“Excuse me for disturbing you,” he began, “but I have come to speak to you about your dog. It has been worrying our sheep.”

The only reply the old man made was a blow with his stick. He was quick, but Nat was quicker, and ere the cane struck he had caught it in his hands and wrenched it from his assailant’s grasp. With a shriek the latter attempted to rise, and in doing so fell from his chair upon the verandah floor. Nat was about to pick up the prostrate creature, when the sound of hurrying footsteps was heard within the house. Glancing around, he saw a man standing in the doorway a short distance away. Quickly Nat turned to meet him, for he at once realised that here was no ordinary opponent. Tall and straight, lithe of limb, and with a well-proportioned body, he was worthy of more than a passing notice. Coatless and hatless he stood looking curiously at the scene before him. Almost intuitively he seemed to comprehend what had taken place. Without the slightest sign of emotion his clear blue eyes surveyed Nat from head to foot, and an expression of satisfaction overspread his face. He then smiled, and his smile was like a challenge. It nettled Nat and brought the blood surging to his cheeks. His hands gripped hard upon the stick he was holding. The next instant, however, his hands relaxed, and he tossed the cane from him. It fell upon the floor with a bang. Again the man in the doorway smiled.

By this time the old man had scrambled to his feet, and was steadying himself by means of the chair.

“Bob! Bob!” he cried. “Kill him! He knocked me down! Don’t stand there like a fool! Kill him, I say! He knocked me down!”

“There, there, Dad, don’t get excited,” the son replied, as he stepped forward to his side. “Sit down.”

“But kill him first, Bob,” he pleaded.

“All right. But I don’t want to do it just now, Dad. I haven’t got my coat on, and I don’t want to kill a man in my shirt-sleeves. I might injure the shirt. Just sit down and wait.”

Grumbling and muttering, the old man did as he was ordered. He kept his eyes, however, fixed upon Nat, as if longing to spring upon him and tear him to pieces. He then laughed.

“Yes, yes, you might injure your shirt, Bob, if you killed him now, ha, ha! But give me my stick and I’ll do it.”

The son, however, paid no heed to his father’s request but turned towards the visitor.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “And what are you doing here? We don’t allow strangers to see my father. They disturb him too much, as you can see for yourself.”

“How was I to know that?” and Nat shrugged his shoulders. “I came here merely to speak about a dog which has been worrying our sheep.”

“Why don’t you go to the owner, then? Why do you come here?”

“Because I have been told that the dog belongs to you. I have not seen it myself, as I only came home to-day.”

“What is your business?”

“Oh, just running a wood-boat on the river. I am captain and owner of the Flying Scud, and my name is Nat Royal.”

“So your place is near here?”

“Yes, just two lots away, up yonder.”

“So you think our dog has been worrying your sheep? Can you prove it?”

“I have only my mother’s word for it. She saw a big dog in the yard last night, which she chased away. She said it belonged to you.”

“She was mistaken, then. Our dog is chained up every night. I do it myself when I am here, and Sis looks after him when I am away. No, it can’t be our dog.”

Nat was certain that the man was lying, and a feeling of anger welled up in his heart.

“My mother could not be mistaken,” he declared. “The dog that has been worrying our sheep was the very one she saw several times with your sister. He was a big black brute, with a white spot on his chest.”

The man looked at Nat coolly, and half-pityingly as if he were a child.

“And if it is our dog, what are you going to do about it?”

“I have done all that I thought would be necessary. I came peaceably here and was insulted by your father who tried to hit me with that stick.”

“Oh, don’t mind Dad. He is not responsible for what he does. He acts the same way towards every stranger, and is anxious to have him killed. He then takes no further notice of him. Look, he has forgotten about you already, and pays no attention to what we are saying.”

Nat saw that this was so. The old man was staring as formerly out over the water, his eyes fixed upon the sail which was now closer to shore.

“Is he like that all the time?” he asked.

“He is when Sis is out in the boat. She generally keeps in sight so he can see her.”

“Your sister seems to be fond of boating.”

“She is, and spends much of her time on the river.”

“The dog is with her, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes. She always takes him along. They are great friends.”

As Nat looked out over the water his mind was very active. These people seemed to be quiet and inoffensive. He recalled what his mother had told him about the strange doings around the place at night, and the mysterious lights which were seen between the shore and the house. So far he had found nothing of a startling nature, except the crazy old man. The daughter spent most of her time upon the water, and the son stayed at home with his father. They seemed a harmless family. And yet he had the feeling that there was more than appeared upon the surface. Who were they, anyway? And why had they come to this lonely place to live in such a broken-down house? He longed to ask this man standing before him, but there was something about his manner which deterred him.

“I must go now,” he announced. “It is too bad I have disturbed you and your father to-day.”

“Oh, I don’t mind that. It is good to be disturbed at times. The loneliness of this place is getting on my nerves. I long for some excitement, and was just in the mood for a good fight when you arrived.”

“Why didn’t you start in, then? I was feeling the same way myself.”

“Because I wish to reserve that pleasure for the future. It will be something to look forward to.”

“What makes you think that we must fight?”

“Your make-up. It isn’t often I come across such a worthy specimen. You do fight sometimes, I suppose?”

Nat laughed outright. This man amused him.

“I only fight when it is necessary. I have too many other things to attend to. Why should a man want to fight just for fun?”

“Some do, and I’m one of them. Now, I’d rather fight than eat any day. And if I had your build, with such chest, shoulders, and muscles, I’d go in for fighting as a profession.”

Nat looked keenly into the man’s face and his eyes twinkled.

“Did you intend to kick me off the verandah when your father yelled?” he asked.

“I certainly did.”

“And thought better of it, eh?”

“Yes, when I saw you. Say, I wish Sis could see you. She likes big strong men.”

Nat was somewhat drawn towards this odd fellow in spite of himself. He was somewhat flattered, as well, by his words of admiration. And in reality, he wished to see his sister. He pictured her as very beautiful, and strong like her brother. That she was skilful and daring, he well knew by the way she handled her boat. He longed to wait until she came ashore that he might meet her. But judging by the distance she was away, he knew that it would take too long for her to return. He turned to go, when Bob detained him.

“Just a minute, captain. You came here to see about our dog. Are you satisfied?”

“In what way?”

“That it is not our dog that has been worrying your sheep.”

“I have only your word for it. Anyway, I shall find out.”

“How?”

“Oh, that remains to be seen. The owner will know, too.”

Bob took a step forward, and his eyes flashed.

“Look here, if you kill our dog, you will rue it.”

“I’ll not harm him if he leaves our sheep alone.”

“Sheep or no sheep, don’t hurt him. I have warned you, so be careful.”

CHAPTER III. “Why Didn’t You Shoot?”

His visit to the Creek House gave Nat food for much thought. He longed to know more about the strange Sarason family, and why they were living in such a lonely place. What was the girl like? he wondered. Was she odd like her brother?

After supper he went on board the Scud for his shot-gun. Tom was annoyed at the delay, and spoke his mind very freely.

“Ru’ll have a great crow over us,” he declared. “Whoever heard of a boat bein’ held up fer a confounded dog! We’ll be the laughin’-stock of the river.”

“That doesn’t bother me one bit, Tom,” Nat replied, as he examined the gun. “I’m not going to let any dog worry our sheep and get off with it. You look after things here and we’ll sail in the morning at the turn of the tide.”

“Oh, a’right, me boy. But don’t shoot the sheep instead of the dog.”

With this parting thrust, Tom strolled across the deck, and went down into the cabin to finish his supper. When he was through, he washed up the dishes, and then sat upon deck, smoking to his heart’s content. He was not a man to let anything trouble him for any length of time so long as he had his pipe drawing to his satisfaction.

After dark Nat went to the barn and took up his position in the corner of an empty loft. Through an opening where a loose board had been torn off, he overlooked the yard where the sheep were gathered. At first it was difficult for him to see, but over in the east the moon, almost full, was rising above the distant hills. In a short time its light would flood the land and make everything visible.

Reclining upon a bunch of hay he waited and watched. As the moon rose higher, it traced a silvery path across the river and brought into view the Flying Scud lying at anchor in the cove below. He longed to be on board rather than in the barn waiting for the dog to appear. It seemed cowardly to be hiding in the loft. But what else was he to do? The sheep must be protected and saved. They were too valuable to be destroyed by a prowling cur. What right did anyone have to allow a dog to roam at large to injure the property of others? He thought of the man called “Bob,” and the words he had uttered that afternoon came to his mind. What did he mean by his warning? Suppose he should shoot the dog, what would Bob do about it? Who was he, anyway, and why had he brought his crazy father to such a place?

Slowly the time passed as he watched through the loop-hole. The moon was now riding high above the wooded hills, and he was able to see distinctly for some distance around. The sheep were quiet. A profound stillness reigned on river and land. A drowsiness came upon him and he longed to sleep. Once he nodded, and aroused with a start. He peered keenly forth, but all was quiet. He was becoming impatient. Perhaps the dog would not come. Its owners might have tied it up for the night lest something should happen to it. He decided to wait a few minutes longer, and then if nothing occurred, he would go to the house and have a good sleep.

When his patience was at last exhausted, and he was about to leave the loft, he noticed a sudden stir among the sheep. They had risen to their feet, and were huddling together with their faces turned towards the left. Nat looked in that direction and saw a woman walking slowly along with a big dog by her side. At once he knew that she was Sylvia Sarason. She had heard about his visit to the Creek House that afternoon and had come with her dog to tantalize him. Yes, that, no doubt, was the reason, and the thought caused his heart to beat fast. She must have surmised that he would be lying in wait to shoot the dog, so she had accompanied it this night. It was a daring act of defiance, and most likely she was enjoying the joke, and was much amused at the embarrassment that she knew would be his. He longed to do something, but felt helpless. He was held spell-bound by the scene before him.

As the girl came nearer he could see her quite plainly, although he could not distinguish her features very clearly. The dog was restless, and strained at the leash as they came close to the sheep, which were now greatly alarmed and bleating piteously. The girl did not look towards the yard, but kept her eyes straight forward. Once she spoke in a low voice to the dog, although Nat could not make out what she said. It took only a short time for her to pass the barn, and then the concealed watcher breathed a sigh of relief. His tense body relaxed, and he rose to his feet. His watch had ended in a most unexpected manner, and he knew that it would be useless to remain there any longer. He waited, however, until he felt sure that the girl was far enough away, as he did not wish for her to see him when he came out of the barn.

When he at length ventured forth, he looked keenly in the direction the girl had gone. Seeing nothing, he stepped out of the shadow of the building into the moonlight, and walked swiftly towards the house. He had gone but a short way, however, when a ringing, mocking laugh to the right startled him. He stopped suddenly and his face flushed with anger. He knew the meaning of that laugh. The girl was hiding in a thick clump of bushes making fun of him. He felt deeply humiliated as well as angry. While he had been hiding in the barn waiting to shoot the dog, that strange girl had walked calmly by with the animal in leash. She must have suspected that he was there. What a fool he had made of himself. He was strongly tempted to go after her, meet her face to face and tell her just what he thought of her impudence. But just then she began to sing, and as the notes floated out into the night, Nat forgot his anger. He did not understand the words, and the tune was strange to him. But that did not matter. It was her voice that thrilled his very soul, at times soft and plaintive, and again fierce and wild. Never before had he listened to such singing. It may have been the calmness of the night, and his own agitated emotions which wrought such a bewitching spell upon him. His heart beat fast and he longed to see the singer. That she was possessed of more than ordinary beauty he felt certain, for such a voice could only belong to one of surpassing loveliness. He took a step forward, moved by a sudden impulse, when the singing ceased and all was still. This brought him suddenly to himself, causing him to smile at his foolishness. He turned again towards the house, and as he drew near, his mother spoke to him from her bed-room window where she had been listening.

“Is that the girl of the Creek House?” she asked in a low voice.

“I think so, mother. What a wonderful voice she has.”

“She has, but her singing is uncanny. There is something very strange and wild about it.”

“Perhaps it is the night which makes it seem so. Have you been there long?”

“Ever since you went to the barn. I saw that girl with the dog. What was she doing here?”

“Making fun of me. She must have known that I was watching, and came along with the brute to annoy me. I wonder what I had better do now.”

“Come in and get some sleep. I am glad you didn’t shoot the dog, as I don’t want to have any trouble with those people. I am afraid of them.”

Nat found it difficult to get to sleep, for the thought of that girl with the wonderful voice was fresh in his mind. Who was she, anyway? He wished to know more about her, and why she and her brother had come to the Creek House with their crazy old father. He recalled the stories the neighbors had told about the lights seen there at night, and of boats coming and going. It was all very mysterious, and he was tempted to go over and spy upon the place. There might be something in the stories, after all. When at last he did sleep, he dreamed of the girl. He saw her standing before him, very beautiful, and smiling at him. He tried to reach out and catch her, but as he approached, she fled, always keeping him at a safe distance, and never allowing him to draw near. He pursued her through fields and woods until he came to the river. When he was sure that she was his at last, she stepped lightly into a boat, and pushed away from the shore, singing and smiling as she disappeared from view in a blanket of thick fog which had suddenly closed down over the river. As he stood imploring her to return, a great dog leaped out of the fog and hurled itself upon him. As he sprang aside in an effort to avoid the attack, he fell with the dog upon him.

He awoke with a start and looked around. It was morning, and he heard his mother in the kitchen preparing breakfast. The spell of his dream was still upon him as he went downstairs. He could not rid himself of it as he talked to his mother as he sat at the table. It was with him, too, when he went on board the Flying Scud. The tide had turned, and the wind was favorable, having changed early that morning. Occasionally Nat glanced over towards the Creek House as he helped Tom to get the boat under way. His mind was not on his work.

“What’s the matter, Nat?” Tom asked, “Not feelin’ well this mornin’? Sorry ye didn’t shoot the dog, eh?”

Nat laughed, and his bronzed face flushed.

“I’m thinking, Tom; that’s all. I had a queer dream last night. Do dreams ever come true?”

“Some do, an’ some don’t. But mostly they don’t, thank the Lord. I wouldn’t like fer some of my dreams to come true. Hi, there, look out, or ye’ll be on that foul ground.”

Nat was at the wheel, and the warning was necessary, for in running out of the cove towards the main channel he almost ran the boat aground upon a spot filled with weeds and eel grass.

“Ye’d better let me take the wheel, lad,” Tom suggested, “or we’ll be here fer good. Yer mind’s wanderin’ this mornin’.”

“Oh, I’m all right now, Tom. I’m wide awake after that narrow escape.”

Tom went forward, wondering what had come over his young master to make him so absent-minded.

“It must have been something mighty important his mother signalled him fer,” he mused. “Now, what in time kin it be? It was more’n the sheep, I’m sartin. There’s something more’n sheep on Nat’s mind.”

Tom was of an inquisitive nature, and prided himself upon knowing more than most people. He was especially interested in the Royal family, and to him Nat was as his own son. He had known him since he was a baby, and he now looked upon him as a child who needed to be directed by his experienced counsel. He, accordingly, was somewhat annoyed that Nat should keep any family secret from him. Something was wrong, he felt sure, and he was determined to find out what it was as soon as possible.

The Flying Scud was plowing her way down the main channel, her two sails spread wide and as taut as a drum-head. Just a few minutes after leaving the cove, Nat had caught sight of a little sail-boat off to the right some distance ahead, and knew it at once. Tom saw it, too, and watched it intently. He then came aft and stood at Nat’s side.

“It’s comin’ straight towards us,” he remarked. “I wonder who it kin be.”

Nat made no reply, but kept his eyes fixed upon the little boat. It was beating up river, and the milk-white sail was bending beneath the stiff breeze. Tom’s eyes glowed with admiration as he watched the craft as it at length cut across the Scud’s bow.

“Whoever’s handlin’ that boat knows his bizness,” he declared. “But he’s got too much sail fer sich a tub. My! look at that!”

This exclamation was caused by the boat coming suddenly up to the wind and racing to meet them on a short tack. As it came nearer, Tom stared in amazement.

“Why, it’s a woman!” he exclaimed. “Who in time kin it be!”

Nat paid no heed to his words, for his eyes and mind were upon the graceful figure at the tiller. Closer and closer swept the boat, and when it seemed as if it would hit the Scud amidship, it was brought up again to the teeth of the wind. As it surged by but a few yards away, the girl turned her face towards Nat.

“Why didn’t you shoot my dog last night?” she called out. She was then away, with a merry ringing laugh at the men’s surprise.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Tom exclaimed. “I never saw a woman do sich a thing as that. Who in time is she, anyway?”

“A water-witch, I guess,” Nat replied. “She lives at the Creek House when ashore, which is not often.”

Tom glanced at his companion, but said nothing more. He was thinking of the words the girl had flung at them in passing. He wondered if she was the cause of Nat’s strange manner. Nat, however, offered no explanation, but all through the day the image of that smiling girl with the wind-tossed hair and ringing voice was ever in his mind.

CHAPTER IV. The Rivals Meet

“I am going ashore, Tom,” Nat announced. “Anything you want?”

“Yes, a plug of tobacco. We need some grub, too, but we kin git that ag’in. By the look of things, we’ll be held up here fer a couple of days.”

The Flying Scud was lying at anchor below the Falls. Not far away a big lean ocean clipper was being loaded with deals. There were other boats ahead of the Scud, so she would have to wait her turn. The harbor was a busy place. Clippers and barques, ships and brigantines, schooners and river-boats were seen on all sides. Tom was seated aft, smoking his after-supper pipe, and watching the animated scene before him. But his attention for the most part was centred upon a noble clipper-ship that had just dropped anchor in the stream. She was from some far-off port, and Tom’s eyes glowed as he watched her, and his heart was filled with a great longing.

“That’s the ship fer a sailor like me,” he remarked. “An’ that’s the kind yer father sailed when I was with him. An’ to think that now I have to stick to an old tub like this. But, then, that’s the penalty of bein’ old an’ poor.”

“I’m going to command a clipper like that some day,” Nat declared.

“I’ve no doubt but what ye will, me boy. An’ I hope I’ll be livin’ to see ye sail. If ye make as good a master as yer father, ye’ll be a’right. He was the best Bluenose captain that ever walked a deck, an’ that’s sayin’ a good deal.”

Nat drew the small tender alongside, and stepped aboard.

“If ye see Mr. Farthing, tell him about that pine stick we left on the wharf at Injuntown,” Tom reminded. “An’, by the way, give my love to Faith an’ tell her I’ll drop in to see her before we leave. She’s a great gal, she sartinly is, an’ I think a lot of her.”

“You had better be careful, Tom, or Ru’ll be after you,” Nat laughingly reminded as he picked up the oars.

“H’m, I’ll choke that skunk if he says a word to me. I can’t see fer the life of me what a gal like Faith kin find in Ru. I’d hate to see ’em married, fer it’d be like hitchin’ a snake to a canary.”

Nat rowed swiftly to the shore, leaving Tom to his pipe and his musings. He felt, though, that he was right about Faith. He could not understand how Ru had cast such a spell over the girl. She could not surely know what kind of a creature he was. Perhaps he should warn her. He was fond of Faith, and he could not bear the thought of her marrying a brute of a man such as he knew Ru to be.