Part 9

Small wonder that Kalmut Fiord was not on the maps. It lay behind its crescent-shaped island securely hidden from all the world. Outside, the dun, gray North Pacific heaved and murmured, a part of the busy world. Somewhere on its restless water ships were sailing, men were active in the doings of our day and age. But in the hidden country behind the island there was no such suggestion.

The fiord lay hill-ringed and calm, a part of the world, and yet not of it. Its green Spring foliage, delicate, masking gray hills and black cliffs, its quiet blue water, its virgin beaches, its very air, all were heavy with the primitive’s eternal calm.

As I looked about I saw that the heights immediately about the fiord were in reality but foot-hills of a great valley. And the valley was ringed in by a mountain range. West, north, east—everywhere save toward the open sea southward—a curving wall of towering mountains shut it in. There was snow on most of the peaks, and others were wrapped in wisps of clouds. One great narrow gash, seeming to cleave the range down to sea level, was visible in the west. Save for this, the Kalmut Valley seemed a spot walled in by frowning stone.

The colossal scheme of the scene left me awed. The sense of the primitive which dominated it all held me spellbound. We had left the world with which I was familiar. This was the sensation that crept over me. We were in a new world—no, an old one, so old that modernity had nothing in common with it. Skin-clad, white-skinned vikings, might have stepped out on those moss-clad rocks and have fitted perfectly into the picture. But not the _Wanderer_, not its personnel—save Brack. Yes, Brack and that valley belonged together.

I shuddered and turned toward the yacht.

* * * * *

Brack’s boat was gone. That was good. But I looked in vain for some sign of life aboard. Apparently the _Wanderer_ was deserted. I waited in hope that some one might appear on deck and in response to my hail send over a boat, but after half an hour I gave this up. I was rested now from the unaccustomed strain of hill-climbing, and I was determined to reach the yacht.

The _Wanderer’s_ anchorage was probably two hundred yards from the shore on which I was lying and I had never been but a poor swimmer. But from an out-jutting point of the island it was but half that distance and to the island I turned my attention.

The channel separating the island and the mainland was about fifty yards wide. I swam it, after having divested myself of shoes and coat, ran along the island to the point nearest the yacht and plunged in again. The water of the fiord was like ice, and I had not swum far before my teeth were chattering. I was tempted to shout and call for help, but the caution which that day had instilled in me prevented this and I kept on in silence.

No one saw me as I came climbing up the _Wanderer’s_ starboard sea-ladder. My flesh, my bones, my marrow, were aching with the torture of cold. I staggered stiffly across the deck and rounded the main cabin. There I came upon Freddy Pierce in a deckchair disconsolately rolling a cigaret.

We did not speak for some time.

At my appearance the paper fluttered from Pierce’s limp hand, the tobacco dribbled unnoticed from the bag onto the deck and by this I knew that the sight of me must have appalled him. He stared at me, his lips opening and closing, and I stared back, uttering no word, as men do in moments when words are too slow a means of expression. I was freezing; I was near to collapsing; but at the sight of Pierce’s appalled countenance my body seemed forgotten.

“Brains!” exploded Freddy at last in agony. “What the ——! Ain’t she with you?”

“No,” I said, “she is not with me.”

Pierce rose from the deck chair, his boyish, freckled face white and sickly for the moment.

“Mean to say—” he licked his dry lips—“mean to say you ain’t seen her?”

“I haven’t seen her.”

“He said—Cap’ Brack said—you’d stayed up there with the men, and that you suggested Miss Baldwin’d like to come up and take a look.”

“‘Brack said?’” My mind refused to comprehend fully the significance of Pierce’s bare words.

“Eyah. He said that the second time he was down—for lunch. Said you were up there. And Miss Baldwin got in the boat with ’em and went up there, thinking to meet you. Brains—Mr. Pitt!” he cried, springing forward and grasping my arms, “what’s come off? What’s Brack been pulling? Didn’t you send that word to Miss Baldwin at all?”

“No.”

I turned to go to my stateroom. I was like a man in a dream.

“Brains!” he whispered in agony, “didn’t you hear what I said? She went away with Brack in a boat, and he lied about your being where they was going.”

I released myself from his grasp.

“Yes, I heard. I must get a dry change.” I went straight to my room, Pierce following on my heels.

“Freddy,” I said, as quietly as I could, “you had better get up to your wireless and send word to any ship within call to relay word to the nearest authorities that we need help.”

He merely stared at me without moving.

“Go on,” I said. “Send that message at once.”

“Aw, Brains,” he said gently. “Where’s your thinker; you know better’n that.”

“Do as I tell you. Don’t wait to hear the story; start your wireless at once.”

“You’re up in the air forty miles,” was his reply. “If you wasn’t you’d know that Brack’d never leave me here on the yacht without putting the wireless out of business.”

“What!”

“Yep. When they all turned up missing this morning, you with ’em, and there hadn’t been anything said about it, I began to feel kind of cold below the ankles and I sneaked up to slip some juice into the air and try to put the revenue-cutter, _Bear_, hep to something doing here. She ought to be down this way just now. Well, nothing doing. The whole works are gone; Brack’s put the wireless outfit on the bum.”

Somehow I managed to be calm.

“Where’s Wilson?”

Pierce’s face clouded.

“A dirty shame! Wilson’s laid up. Garvin’s gun went off accidentally when they were coming on board and the bullet went through Wilson’s leg below the knee.”

“Riordan?”

“He’s left in charge; yep. Chanler’s keeping him in his room to talk to. The nigger’s here, too. He had a row with Garvin last night and they left him behind to do scullion work. Simmons is sleeping.”

“Chanler?”

“He’s coming around. Cold sober, but shaky.”

“Dr. Olson?”

“Went back with Brack on the second trip. Brack had him take his case and a lot of stuff, too.”

“You mean that the captain came after Dr. Olson?”

“Yep. And Miss Baldwin. He made two trips, you know. First he came back early in the morning for breakfast, and said they’d found the mine, and you were staying up there to look around. He said we’d all go up after awhile. Then they went away. At noon they came back again. Then was when Doc’ Olson and Miss Baldwin went with him. I tried to horn myself in but he details me to split the watches with Riordan and tells Riordan to see I stay on board. She—Miss Baldwin—asked if I couldn’t go along, and he said no. Then she got into the boat, like she didn’t know whether she wanted to or not, and they pulled away. And, Brains, I’m afraid—I got a hunch he’s got her going south.”

“Got who? Going where?” I asked, not comprehending his slang.

“Got Miss Baldwin—going south. You know: falling for him.” Then as my expression continued to betray my lack of comprehension, “Brack can fool any woman, and he’s got her charmed.”

The pistol which the old miner had given me came to sight at that moment as I undressed, and Pierce gasped.

“You—packing a gat’!” he exclaimed. “What’s happened? Where have you been if you haven’t been up there with the crew?”

I continued my dressing without replying. When completed I again placed the pistol out of sight within my shirt.

“We’ll go and see Wilson,” I said. “Then I’ll only have to tell my story once.”

XXIV

We found the wounded man lying in his bunk calmly dividing his time between a book and his bandaged leg which was stretched out before him. There was no look of pain or mental stress upon his bronzed face. It was all in the day’s work; he would not permit a little thing like a bullet through his leg to disturb his poise.

“I’m all right, sir,” he said. “Be up soon.”

“Wilson,” said I, “how much accident was there about that shot?”

“I don’t know, sir. Garvin was behind me when it happened. I don’t mind saying that I’ll settle personally with him for it when I’m on my feet again.”

“Garvin is merely the captain’s tool.”

“He’ll be a dull tool, sir, when I’ve paid him for his clumsiness.”

I told him all that I had heard, and what had happened to me that morning. When I came to my affair with Barry and my escape to warn the miners his eyes widened.

“The captain planned well, didn’t he, sir?” he said quietly. “The only thing—” he smiled a little—“the only thing he hadn’t charted right was you, Mr. Pitt. He was far on his reckonings of you, sir, and so was I. He never expected that from you. You threw him off his course nicely, sir. You may have spoiled the whole cruise for him, though that’s hardly probable. He always has a trick left.”

“And what do you think his plans are beyond this, Wilson?” I asked. “He certainly can’t intend to return with us to civilization after what he’s done today.”

“I’ve been thinking of that, sir,” he replied. “And I always get back to remembering that the _Wanderer_ is outfitted for two years. I’ve a notion that the captain’s original plan was to rob these miners and then slip off to the edges of nowhere with the yacht.”

“And what of us?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Can’t tell, sir. As it is, you’ve put him off his course. If he doesn’t make out on his robbery he’ll have trouble with the men. He promised them a lot of easy gold. They’re a hard crew and he’ll have trouble handling them unless they catch those miners and make them give up the secret of where they’ve hidden the gold. If they catch ’em, the captain will get the secret out of them, you can bet on that. Then they’ll come piling back here to get away as soon as possible to where they can blow their loot.”

“And then we’ll have to look out for ourselves, you mean?”

Wilson nodded.

“Well,” said he slowly, “things like this ain’t so bad for men, sir, but there’s the girl.”

The conversation ceased abruptly. We sat silent, each troubled by the same thought.

“Did he say when he would return?” I asked at last.

“No,” said Pierce.

“How much grub did they take?” asked Wilson.

Pierce gulped.

“Not much. I heard him say there was enough up there for months.”

“And not a hint of when they were coming back?”

“No.”

We were silent again. Presently Wilson cleared his throat:

“Those fellows up there, the miners must have got away. The captain wouldn’t take her up there if they were there.”

“And he took the doc’ with him, too,” reminded Pierce. “Somebody must have got hurt.”

“Were they hard men, these two miners?” asked Wilson of me. “They were, eh? Well, the way it looks to me, they hurt some of the crew and got away, and the crew is still after them. They’ll be afraid to let ’em get away if they’ve had a fight. The miners would get word to the outside and they’d come back with help.”

“But Brack can’t be taking part in the chase if there is one,” I interrupted.

Wilson shook his head.

“He came back here. He wouldn’t be doing that if he was in the chase.”

“And he took Miss Baldwin with him,” supplemented Pierce.

“He probably sent the men on the chase as soon as he found that the miners had got away,” continued Wilson. “Then he’s alone——”

He caught himself; but we know what he intended to say.

“Chanler is better, you say?” I said, rising.

“Sure,” said Pierce. “He’s nervous and shaky, but he’s a human being again.”

“What are you going to do, sir?” asked Wilson as I stepped to the door. “Going up there? Well, there’s a canoe in the port storage-room forward, sir?”

“Good! Pierce, will you get the canoe out and put it in the water? I’ll go and have a little talk with Chanler.”

“You bet! Say, Brains, wha’d’ you do with the rifle you copped off Barry?”

I told him where I had hidden the weapon and went out. Chanler should have his chance. He must be a man now if ever. Riordan was with Chanler in the latter’s stateroom when I entered. Chanler had come out of his madness. He was nervous and looked ill, but his eyes were sane again. He was lying in a lounge-chair with Riordan at his side.

“Good gad, Gardy! I am glad to see you!” cried George as I entered. “Here, sit down and talk to me; talk to me, you hear? Say something. Riordan, you’re relieved. Take a rest, like Simmons. Gardy, say something. I’ve got to have somebody talk to me or I’ll—I’ll start hitting it up again.”

Riordan was regarding me suspiciously.

“How did you come aboard?” he demanded.

“Never mind how he came aboard,” interrupted George petulantly. “What d’you s’pose I care how he came aboard. He’s here now. Sit down, Gardy, and talk. You can go, Riordan; I’ll have you in when Gardy’s winded.”

Riordan went, scowling at me, and I seated myself in the chair he had vacated.

“Chanler, there is no time for me to talk to you for your entertainment,” I began abruptly. “You’re sober now, you’re yourself, and you can’t shirk responsibility on the pretense of being incapacitated. Brack got Miss Baldwin to accompany him up to the mine with the lie that I was up there and had suggested that she come up. He is up there with her—alone. And the devil only knows what his plans are.”

Chanler merely shuddered nervously.

“Darn you, Gardy! Here I was just coming out of a sinking spell and you come along and spoil everything. Why do you bring me news like that? It—it disturbs me, really.”

“No,” I said, “you can’t talk in that strain and have it accepted any longer, Chanler. You are a man again, not an alcoholic imbecile, and you’ve got to play the part.”

I told him the true purpose of Brack’s visit to Kalmut Fiord and of the day’s events.

“And now, by a lie he has Miss Baldwin go with him. Chanler, we can’t leave her up there with him, alone.”

Chanler writhed and groaned.

“Oh, Gardy! You’re terrible. What do you propose to do?”

“You are Miss Baldwin’s host. You and I will take a canoe which Pierce is getting ready and go up to the mine.”

“You’re mad,” he muttered. “What shape am I in to go anywhere?”

“The doctor is up there. It’s a short paddle.”

“But I’m not fit, Gardy; I tell you it will set me back.”

“You’ve got the choice before you, Chanler. Do you want to drop back into what you’ve been for the past week, or do you want to be a man?”

“I feel so rotten, Gardy.”

“You’ve got a chance now with Miss Baldwin. You’re almost your old self. Come, man; this is your chance to win back your standing with her.”

“I haven’t got a chance,” he said despairingly. “That’s all off. I know it.”

“And you’re quitting—leaving Brack to have his own way?”

“Brack? Brack! What do you mean?”

“While you’ve been lying in your room Brack has been doing his best to fascinate Miss Baldwin. You should know something of the man’s power. Well?”

“Brack?” Chanler was struggling to his feet. “Brack, eh? So he’s after Betty, and you—you say he’s made an impression?”

“You know the man,” I replied bitterly.

He straightened, struggling to tighten the set of his jaw.

“Brack, eh?” he repeated. “Brack and little Betty. Oh, no. We can’t have that. He doesn’t belong. Get your —— canoe ready. I suppose we’ll have to go up to this place, but I warn you, Gardy, I warn you I’m going to be awf’ly bored.”

XXV

Riordan was inclined to be brusk to me when he saw the canoe going into the water. He was captain for the time being; he had given no orders for using any of the yacht’s boats. Then came Chanler, grumbling and shuffling, and Riordan’s expression suddenly showed great elation which he tried hard to conceal.

“Pleasant trip,” he said sarcastically. “Captain Brack’ll be glad to see you.”

Neither of us said a word as we settled ourselves into the canoe. George was angry with me for causing him to go, and I was eager only to reach the mine and Miss Baldwin and the captain. I hoped—no, I felt confident—that Chanler’s appearance in his present condition would solve the most delicate and dangerous phase of the problem confronting us, which was a safe return of Miss Baldwin to civilization.

She had cared for George Chanler once, not deeply, she had admitted but enough to bring wistful moments at the thought of the change which had come over him. Now she would see him as she had seen him in those days when he had made upon her a favorable impression.

She would at once see the difference between Chanler and Brack. George was of her own kind; Brack was not. She would see this now; the spell which the captain had been weaving would be broken; and she would turn to her own kind. I felt that Brack’s sole purpose in getting Betty up to the mine was to weave his spell more firmly; he would scarcely frighten her by display of brutality for awhile at least.

We paddled on in silence. The perspiration began to creep out on Chanler’s forehead, but, though he swore at me beneath his breath, his paddle rose and fell steadily.

Evening came upon us with appalling suddenness. The snow-covered western mountains shut out the sun’s rays, and at once the narrow bay grew dark. With the sun gone a chill crept through the valley. The scene became one of depressing gloom and Chanler broke out into querulous protest.

“Paddle,” I said, when his words died out petulantly. “We’re almost to the river.”

We swung from the bay into the river and there the current took liberties with the light canoe. Chanler’s experience in canoeing was much greater than mine, and now for the first time he roused himself and asserted his knowledge.

“Shorter strokes,” he snapped. “Shorter and faster. Now! Drive her!”

In the struggle against the current he forgot his nervousness, and when we landed at the spot where Brack’s boat had beached that morning he sprang out with a vim which he had not displayed since we left Seattle. We went straight up to the mine.

From a distance we saw candle-lights shining from the open door of one of the cabins and we hurried thither. We did not enter. In the single room of the cabin Miss Baldwin and Captain Brack were seated at a table upon which was placed a substantial meal. The captain was eating heartily. Miss Baldwin was looking across the table at him with an expression in which surprise and anger seemed equally mingled; and George and I stopped as one just outside the open door without being seen or heard.

Miss Baldwin was speaking.

“I wish to return to the yacht, Captain Brack,” we heard her say. “Must I repeat that many times more?”

“No, no!” He did not look up, but we saw that he smiled. “It isn’t necessary. I have good ears.”

“Then why don’t you answer me?”

“Perhaps because it amused me to hear you speak. Your voice is a delight to the ear.”

By the flickering candlelight we saw that Miss Baldwin’s mouth and chin became very firm.

“I am quite certain you have been lying to me, Captain Brack,” she said quietly. “I don’t believe that Mr. Pitt suggested that I come up here. If he had he would have stayed here and not have gone on with the men into the hills, as you say he has done.”

Brack lifted his head.

“You hold a brief for Mr. Pitt, Miss Baldwin?” he laughed, looking at her closely. “Well, well; so there’s a certain interest in that pretty little head for Pitt, eh? Well well! Pitt, the writer—the ultra-civilized person! And I thought it was only Chanler I had to fear. But never mind.”

His playfulness vanished.

“You are in the North now, Miss Baldwin, and you will fall beneath the North’s just rule. Back there, in your civilized country, you have lived under a different standard. Back there the most handsome male, the best mannered, most prosperous, best dressed, might win you. Even a Mr. Pitt would have a chance. Back there women are attracted to a man because his head is carried a certain way, because he orders a dinner excellently, helps one into a cab in a pleasing manner. That’s not just, Miss Baldwin, not just. The nice man may not be the worthy man. But here—this is the North. The strong man wins here—only the strong man can win. Gold, women, everything. Life is primitive here, therefore just. And you are here now, and here you are going to stay. And here women fall to the strongest man. And that’s me, my dear, that’s me! Look at me.”

He rose and leaned over the table toward her. The candles flickered and nearly went out. Betty sat upright in her chair. Still leaning forward, his eyes holding hers, the captain with his right hand moved the table to one side. There was nothing between them now, and Chanler started forward, but I caught him by the arm.

“Wait!” I whispered. For in the candle-gleam I had seen a new look on Betty’s face. “Only wait!”

Brack was bending over her.

“Stand up!” he commanded, and she stood up in all the litheness of her slim young womanhood.

“Come to me.”

She did not move.

“Come. I am your Man. You are—you are——”

His speech suddenly collapsed. Betty was smiling. The smile broadened. There was a moment of struggle and then she threw back her head and the cabin rang with peal after peal of lark-like laughter.

“Oh, Captain Brack!” she stammered, struggling to control herself. “That’s too—too stagy! Too, too melodramatic!”

Again and again her merriment broke out, welling in gusts from compressed lips, like merry music that would not be suppressed.

“Forgive me, captain; it’s not polite of me, but—but, oh! If you could only see yourself as I see you now!”

Brack stood and glared, dumfounded, impotent. His arms slowly fell to his sides; he drew back. On his face there was the amazement and anger of a schoolmaster outfaced by a pupil.

“Huh-huh! What’s this?” he snorted. “It’s very funny, no doubt, but—explain—explain!”

“That’s just what you may do, cappy,” said Chanler, stepping through the doorway. “Hello, Betty. Everything all right, and all that?”

One thing stood out in that room as we entered, and that was the swift play of expression on Betty’s face as she beheld Chanler. First, it was surprise, then incredulity, then glad relief. And I read in her eyes that she was glad that George once more was fit, so she could care for him again.

“Why, George!” she cried. “You—you’re sober!”

Brack’s sharp laughter filled the room. He had recovered his poise; he was the captain again.

“Yes. A great surprise; so unusual for Mr. Chanler,” he said; but his eyes were studying me.

“Cappy, I’m through with you,” said Chanler. “You’re a dear, interesting fellow, but this—this is too much, you know. You’re fired.”

The captain laughed again, but not for an instant did his eyes leave me. He was trying to bore into my mind, trying to learn what he wished to know without resorting to questioning words.

“So,” he said softly. “I begin to understand. It was not Madigan who bungled it after all. Some one else warned Slade and Harris. I underestimated you, Pitt. Why, it has acted almost like a man.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I did warn Slade and Harris. I’m glad that I helped throw your devilish plans awry.”

“And talks almost like a man,” he continued with a touch of his old smile. “But as for interfering with my devilish plans, Pitt, you must not rejoice too soon. You have merely delayed the fulfilment of my plans, and you have made things very uncomfortable for yourself and your friends. When one acts like a man one must pay for it.”

“That’ll do, cappy,” said Chanler. He had taken Betty’s hand and was patting it assuringly while she looked up at him in wonderment. “I’ve told you that you’re fired. You’re not with us any more.”

“Not with you?” Brack appeared to notice George for the first time. “No? I am not with you any more, but you see—you still are with me.”