Part 16

Smart hauled the sloop up on her port tack, and slowly circled, knowing almost exactly where he would pick up the mate. He would not go too fast, for fear of overrunning him, and he felt certain that he need not hurry on his account.

The pale-eyed man appeared to think there was little use hunting for men in the darkness, and his knowledge of his whereabouts was evidently completely lost.

"What's the use, now?" he asked finally. "You can't find a man in the ocean on a dark night. Better give it up. Let's make a run back for the Keys."

"With Bill trying to save your partner?" asked Smart, in feigned disgust.

"Oh, well, my friend, if there was any use of hunting for them, I would stay as long as the next man."

"I'm not exactly what you might call your friend," said Smart coldly, "but I'm going to stay around here a little while. Don't try to force matters, because I won't leave this part of the Atlantic until I'm satisfied both are gone for good."

"See here, Mr. Sailor-man," said the pale-eyed one. "I hold the decision just now. I don't want to make rough-house on board of your excellent yacht, but you must do as I say. I'm not a knocker. I don't want to say anything against you. But you take my orders, and make a getaway from here in about two minutes. I want to land that box before daybreak--you understand?"

Smart was about to argue the matter further, but desisted for a few minutes while he had the forestaysail run up and the jib hoisted. He was swinging around in a large circle, and was now ready to carry head-sail and have his vessel manageable. In the meantime, Bahama Bill was busy some two hundred fathoms distant.

IV

When the mate plunged overboard after the thin-faced gentleman, he had a very definite idea of what he must do. To attempt to retake his ship under the guns of two armed men who were expert at the use of firearms would have been suicide. They would have shot him before he could have taken charge.

He knew Smart to be a good sailor, and had considerable faith in his ability to handle himself properly in an emergency. He felt certain that the captain understood the game, and gave him merely a look to signify that he was ready. Then he had gone over the side for the man who had the six-shooter, feeling sure that the fellow would not let go of the weapon until he had to.

He swam quickly along in the swirl of the wake, keeping his eyes open for the head of the passenger to appear upon the whitened surface. In a moment he saw him.

The thin-faced rogue was a strong swimmer. He was also a powerful man, spare and muscular, capable of taking care of himself in that smooth sea for a long time. He had suddenly found himself flung far over the side by the jibing sheet, but he clutched his pistol firmly, knowing that his partner would take charge until he was safe aboard again.

The weapon was heavy, but he jammed it into his waist-belt and struck out slowly, meaning to swim along easily until the sloop returned to pick him up. He could see her plainly, and he saw Smart start to swing her around to return.

Then he was suddenly aware of a black head and face close aboard him, the head sticking out of the sea and coming along at a smart pace. At first the sight startled him. He hardly knew what had happened. Then he surmised that the mate had been swept overboard also, and was swimming near for company.

"You got it, too?" he asked, as the head of Bahama Bill came nearer. The answer was a terrific blow between the eyes, which sent the stars sailing through his brain. Then he felt the powerful hands of the giant black closing upon him, and he fought with furious energy to keep free. They clutched and clinched, the mate getting a firm hold of the man's right hand, which he twisted around behind him. The struggle caused them to sink below the surface, and the straining made breathing necessary.

The giant mate swam fiercely to regain the surface, dragging his antagonist along with him. He finally got his head clear, and breathed deeply the salt air of the ocean, spitting out a quantity of salt water.

The thin-faced man had swallowed much brine, and he came up weakly. He still struggled, but he was no match for the black diver. In a few minutes Bahama Bill had his hands secured behind him, and then rolling easily over upon his back, he grasped the fellow by the collar, and proceeded to swim with him in the direction of the _Sea-Horse_, turning his head now and then to keep her whereabouts certain.

He lost her several times in the splash and froth of little seas, which broke again and again over his head, for he swam low and saved his strength, but he knew that Smart would stand by. Soon he made her out coming along smartly right for him, and he suddenly raised himself and called out loudly:

"Get the small boat over--don't yo' try to pick me up from de sloop," he bawled, in his bull-like tones.

Smart understood, and threw the _Sea-Horse_ into the wind, Sam and Heldron heaving the small boat upon the rail, and waiting for her headway to slacken before launching her. Then they dropped her over and sprang aboard.

Somewhere off in the darkness they stopped and pulled the men from the water, but neither Smart nor his passenger could see in just what condition they were rescued. The boat seemed to take a long time over the matter, and when she finally started back the pair on board the _Sea-Horse_ saw only the two men, Sam and Heldron, rowing as they had started out.

As the boat came alongside, the pale-eyed man peered over to see if his partner had been rescued. He still held his weapon in readiness for enforcing his orders, intending to push matters rapidly the moment the men were aboard again.

The first intimation he received of anything wrong was a spurt of fire issuing from the bottom of the small boat, accompanied by a loud explosion.

At the same instant a heavy bullet struck him just below the collar-bone, slewing him around and causing his pistol to fall from his hand. The next instant Smart was upon him, and bore him to the deck.

The men clambered aboard, Bahama Bill leading, and in less than five minutes they had the two worthies triced up in a shipshape and seamanlike manner, lying upon the after-deck.

The giant mate gave a grunt of approval as he glanced at Smart.

"Yo' suah did de right thing, cap--I reckoned yo' might--but dat was a bad place toe jump a man, out dere in de water; it was dat, fer a fact. Now, yo' Dutchman, yo' Sam, git de grub from de box ob dat invalid, I'm mighty hungry, I kin suah eat a tid-bit--then we'll see how long it takes us toe git in behind Floridy Cape. I s'pose yo' wouldn't mind a bite ob dat good grub yo' brought abo'd, hey, perfesser?" he asked, addressing the reclining invalid.

"Don't rub it in, cap'n; don't rub it in," said the thin-faced man from his place upon the planks. "You take my advice and let that box alone. It'll take a stick of dynamite to bust it, being as it is made of steel under the outside wood cover. It's a very good safe, and strong. Better let that Dutchman get us a few pounds of that salt pig you have aboard, and some boiled corn. I'll risk the indigestion--and let it go at that."

Before daylight they had landed their prisoners and the safe upon the dock at Miami, and Sam had gone up-town to notify the authorities that the marshal was taking a cruise for his health to the Great Bahama Bank.

"If the vessel had been any good," muttered the thin-faced, as he was led away, "we'd have made good easily enough. She was a bum ship, mighty poor, and that was what caused the trouble."

"I still has a lot ob faith in her," said Bahama Bill.

XII

Journegan's Graft

When Stormalong Journegan found that running a saloon in coöperation with the police had its draw-backs, he turned his attention to more lucrative fields.

"It's no use fooling with such fellows as you," he said one day, "you are sharks, pure blood-sucking sharks, you don't give a fellow half a show to make a living. I'm through with you. I'm done. I sell out to-day. Shanahan might be able to stand you off, he's rough, rough as a file and ready to get into trouble. I'm past that stage of the game. I want to live quietly without so much fuss, so much fracas and so much blackmail. I'm going where brains count for as much as trickery and downright rascality. I'm going where there are some educated Yankees, some Northern men of means who can tell a man when they see him--yes, I'm through with you Conchs and crabs."

After delivering himself he spent several days winding up his affairs at the Cayo Huesso, the beautiful white bar at Key West, converted his belongings into cash and took the steamer for Miami, where he arrived in due course of time. He stood upon the deck of the steamer one morning and watched the rising of the Florida Cape to the northward, stood and gazed at the beautiful bay of Biscayne, where the Northern tourists had been flocking during the cold weather to fish and hunt in the bright sunshine of the reef. The bay was full of small craft, yachts of all descriptions thronged the dredged harbour and small boats came and went over the bright coral banks which shone varicoloured a few feet beneath the surface in the glare of the torrid sun. Yes, there was some life here, something more than the dull and sullen Conchs, the voracious grafters of the reef city and the straying ship's passenger. Here was Northern capital, Northern progress.

"It looks very good to me," mused Mr. Journegan as he gazed serenely down from the hurricane deck of the Key West steamer.

They passed several vessels he knew. There was the wrecking-sloop, _Sea-Horse_ of Key West, the _Silver Bar_, schooner-yacht for charter, and several others. Upon the deck of the wrecker he saw the big black mate, Bahama Bill, sitting smoking his pipe, his muscular shoulders shining like coal in the sunlight, while he rubbed his rheumy eyes, the red-rimmed eyes of a diver in salt water, to see better as he watched the approaching ship. Yes, and there was Captain Smart of the lost Dunn schooner, sitting upon the taffrail fishing. He waved his hand to them as the steamer swung past, the thudding of her paddles drowning his hail of welcome which he called out when abreast.

He landed and made his way to the hotel. He had plenty of money and would live right while he felt like it. There was no reason why he should stint himself in any worldly pleasure. Several thousand dollars would last him some time, and after it was spent--well, he seldom went broke. It was not men of his ability who went broke. Oh, no, money was too easy. He never could see why some people found it hard to get. Get, why it seemed to come to him. He couldn't keep it away. After all, he figured that he must be something of a man to make it so easily when so many strove so hard. Yes, it was brains that made money, brains, not brawn, not toil--foolishness. Well, he was here to see, to watch, to take notice. If there was anything floating about, it was most likely he would pick it up. He couldn't help it.

The gambling-place allowed by the management of the hotel was very well kept. It was surrounded by palms and flowers, and its green tables were made as enticing as human ingenuity allowed. Mr. Journegan found them much to his taste, and as the days slipped by he found that instead of a few thousand dollars in his pockets he had but a scant hundred. He also had a hotel bill running up at something like twenty dollars per day. He awoke slowly to the realization that he must quit the game and hustle for cash. It was about this time that he made the acquaintance of a gentleman from New York who had read much and studied more, deeming the human race a fit problem to devote his mind upon. Mr. Smithe, who insisted that he had an "e" to his name, found the yarns of Journegan much to his liking. The two met upon the hotel verandas and also at the gaming-tables, and after a few days they began to spar for an opening for personal confidences.

"You know," said the studious Smithe, "that there is an enormous waste of material here. Just look at all that water, that magnificent bay. Don't you know, my dear Journegan, that every pint of sea-water holds a small per cent. of gold, yes, real gold, gold that we are playing for every night, gold that we need to pay our bills with--gold--"

"Are you stung, too?" asked Journegan irrelevantly, interrupting the flow of wisdom.

Mr. Smithe eyed him a moment with some concern.

"You interrupted me--I don't understand you," he said.

"Come down. Is that straight, that gold business? Are you stringing me, or is that a chemical fact?" said Journegan.

"I am not in the habit of lying, my friend. That gold remark is a chemical fact, a truth which can be proven by any one familiar with analytical chemistry--"

"And you're stung,--broke, or whatever you choose to call it--same as me, same as some more of the crowd what follows the spinning-wheel. Smithe, you are the goods, you are the real thing, if you're telling the truth. If that gold yarn of yours is true, we win--see?" interrupted the irrepressible Journegan, upon whose mind a great light was dawning, a vast glare of an intellectual day.

"You seem a bit nutty," spake the learned Smithe, breaking at last into the speech of his youth. "What the hell has gold in the sea-water to do with us, hey?"

"It grieves me to hear a learned man speak hastily," said the now calm Journegan, "but you are like many learned ones, perfectly helpless when it comes to applying your knowledge to some purpose, to some real use besides that of entertaining a few half-drunken admirers about a table. Man, we're as good as made if you are straight about that gold business. You're known here as the real thing in chemistry, you're something of a 'Smart Alec' among the push. If you can prove that gold is in that sea-water--it's all to the good--leave it all to me--don't waste time asking questions a babykins would laugh at--come away--come away with your uncle, I want to talk with you--come."

It was only two days later that the announcement was made that the celebrated chemist, Mr. Smithe, and his friend and manager, Mr. Journegan, were buying property along the shore for the purpose of establishing a plant for converting the free gold held in solution in the clear water of the reef to a commercial commodity in the shape of gold dust, which same being worth about twenty dollars per ounce in the coin of the realm. The announcement created some surprise, and also some curious comment coupled with amusement, but the two gentlemen maintained such a dignified silence concerning the affair, and declined with such natural modesty to discuss it in any manner or form, that the idle rich, from at first laughing, came to regard them with respect, then with awe, and finally with a desire to a better acquaintance. Mr. Smithe condescended to shake hands with some of the most curious, told them many interesting yarns and anecdotes to hold their attention, and all the time kept his method a mystery, his discovery a thing which was of far too great importance to talk about to strangers.

Journegan with commendable activity secured a small frontage a short distance down the shore. Here he bought a small wharf running out into the bay until a depth of six or seven feet was reached. With some haste he had a small enclosure made, a sort of fish-pound built of small piling and decked over across the middle so that a man could walk upon the boards and gaze down into the liquid depths where the gold undoubtedly was. The whole was screened from the curious gaze by high boarding, and a small door was let into the fish-pound for allowing free access of the tide. It was necessary, he explained, to have the water change freely as it was quickly exhausted of its valuable qualities by the process of electrolysis. The naming of the mysterious current as part of the outfit caused more and more favourable comment upon the part of the curious. Electricity, electricity, oh, how many things unknown and mysterious are relegated to your strange power. Yes, Journegan had heard of electric combs, electric shoes, electric belts, electric--well, pretty much anything which an honest dealer could not sell upon its merits alone. It sounded well to have the plant run by electricity, convincing, undeniable. Who knew that electricity would not do anything its master might bid it? It was a force in its infancy, a giant unknown, undeveloped. It moved the carriages of the rich. It might just as well separate them from some of their wealth. It depended--

A set of wires was run from the plant furnishing the lights for the town, and they were kept in exaggerated evidence all along the little dock and building at its end. A few bulbs lit the scene at night and caused more comment by those who passed the place after dark, when the noise of workmen within could be heard plainly by the curious. It was Journegan's lay to have the place operated solely at night. He gave it out finally that the night tides were most favourable for work, and also that it was a time when for certain mysterious reasons they could work to better advantage.

In a very few days Mr. Smithe began to let slip a few secrets concerning the plant. It was now working all right, he assured his listeners, and he would not only tell them how the thing was done but would go so far as to show some of the more worthy the entire process. If Mr. Jones, who was a millionaire furniture dealer suffering with tuberculosis, would do him the honour, and Mr. Jackson, a millionaire iron producer with gout, would also go along, he would show how he produced gold from sea-water, precipitated it, he said, precipitated it upon the end of an electric wire under the surface. They would have refreshments served at the dock, and a negro would carry their things for them. It might take several minutes to wait for the precipitation, and as the night was warm, but damp, he would have their comforts provided for. When this news was spread broadcast it created almost a panic among the people of the town. When two such men of undoubted wealth and position as Mr. Jones and Mr. Jackson were to see the thing in operation it was no longer a thing to doubt, it must certainly be a success. They had been living all their lives upon the very edge of a vast gold mine without knowing it, and now these two strangers were going to enlighten them to the real things of life. It was wonderful, great, they might even get a chance to go into the thing later on. What was the use of toiling when gold could be gotten for the trouble of picking it from the end of a wire.

Mr. Smithe having made this announcement with a confidential air and a manner urbanity itself, sought at once Mr. Journegan.

"I've invited the gents," he announced with warmth, spitting fluently at a spider crawling along the veranda, "but it's up to you to make good. How the thunder we're going to get that piece of gold stuck to the end of that wire while the current is playing upon it, beats me. It took two twenties hammered into a passable nugget to make the bait. Now it's you to land the men, and fix that bait on the wire. Mind you, it's got to be done right there in that bullpen, right there under their eyes. When the current is turned on it has got to form and become attached to the end of the pole in the water."

"It'll be dead easy, Bo, dead easy. Go take a drink and sleep the afternoon away. You trust in father Bullinger--an' he will see you through. Beat it, I say, and don't come worrying me with such trifles as making gold form on the ends of wires. Gimme somethin' dead easy. If you want to hold my attention explain the philosophy of love, or something like that, but say, don't come around me, you a full-grown man, talking about not being able to make gold form on the end of a wire. Man, you are a strange thing. You know some real facts, but after that you're at sea, clean plumb out to sea without a chart or compass. You've done your share, the hard part, getting the yaps into the game. Hell! that's the whole thing, don't you know it. Getting the yaps interested. After that the game is like stealing taffy from a kid, robbing a babe of its milk. You're on. Go take a snooze. I'll finish this cigar and then attend to the details. I promise to see to the details and if that gold don't form on that wire you may strike me dead for a galoot too drunk to know his name. Git out, Bo. Go take a snooze and leave the rest to your Uncle Rube. Man, I haven't seen such easy graft for years. Why, we'll be rich if we can hold it two months. Rich, I say. Money to burn. Why, half a hundred yaps will be frantic to cast their bread upon the waters, cast their money into our pockets--and then what--and then--well, the boat leaves here daily for Nassau--thence to--Oh, well, anywhere at all. What's the difference where you are if you have the coin in your clothes. Say, Bo, you're all right. You know a thing or two that's worth knowing, the only thing I can't understand is how you grew up without becoming a millionaire. Can't fathom it, old man, can't fathom it. Say, if I knew as much of the books as you do I'd be in the Standard class all right--very well--So long, sneak."

Mr. Smithe went back into the hotel. He was a bit nervous for one who had spent much time and great trouble ascertaining the value of his fellow men. The scheme seemed now to be futile, for how any one could finish with any hope of success appeared impossible. He gathered together his belongings, made them into a bundle easy for transportation, locked his new and somewhat aggressive trunk after screwing it firmly to the floor, and having finished these necessary preparations for a hurried departure, betook himself to the flowing bowl, which in his case was nothing more or less than a bottle of very bad whiskey furnished by the management of the hotel at two hundred per cent. profit. The draught of alcohol gave him new courage. It warmed the cockles of his heart, a heart that was none too rigorous in its action, but under the influence of the stimulant he drowsed and thought, dreamed and wondered at the versatility of his friend Mr. Stormalong Journegan.

II

"Hello, Stormy," growled the mate of the _Sea-Horse_, who was sitting upon the deck of his sloop watching the shore, "seems like you struck it rich fer a fact. Must be a wise one dat guy you goes with."

Journegan had reached the edge of the dock about twenty feet distant from the _Sea-Horse_ which was lying off.

"Oh, yes, we make a few thousand dollars a day at that gold plant. 'Tain't much, but it goes," said he.

"Don't suppose you'd chin with such fellers as me no more," said Bill, squirting a stream of tobacco into the sea with a vehemence that told of his opinion of those who became stuck up at success, "but I ain't forgot that last deal you played. I'm glad we got clear with our coin, not as you meant we should, but it goes dat way," and Bahama Bill looked thoughtfully into the distance. He had not forgotten the game at Stormalong's bar at the Cayo Huesso when Captain Smart had been fleeced by the gang of Havana crooks, of which "Skinny Ike" had been the leader. He had reason to remember that night, for it had made it necessary for both him and Smart to get to sea without delay, he himself getting a sore shoulder from the six-shooter of the head crook for his interference. But he had cleaned up the entire crowd, with Smart to help, and the memory was evidently pleasant, for he smiled as he looked into the distance.

"Come abo'd, Stormy, if you don't mind yo' good clothes. Yo' shuah is gittin' toe be a dude--how you come by dem duds, hey?" he said still smiling. "I don't need toe make yo' acquainted with Cap Smart--yo' remember him--what?"