CHAPTER XV.

CAPTAIN BOB GUESSES NOT.

Shackelford was a daring spirit, one of those Britons who have carried the flag into remote passes of the Indian border, and whom the desperate fortunes of war never daunt.

He had doubtless led charges into the jaws of death, and passed through adventures enough to fill volumes.

In this case however, it was Tartar against Tartar--British bulldog _vs._ British mastiff. When he rubbed up against such men as Beven and Roderic Owen, he met those who were of his own calibre, and should the affair come to blows it promised to be a pretty sight.

When our friends reached the side of the yacht, the sailors were already there, at least those on deck; and some signal must have been given below as the boats approached, for the watch off duty was tumbling out quite ignorant as to what might be required of them, but ready, like all seamen of their nationality to do their duty with vigor.

"Hold off--our orders are not to receive visitors after ten o'clock!" cried Beven, as he saw Shackelford rise to his feet.

"We mean to come aboard," said that worthy.

"Then you go back quicker than you come."

"Beven, I am surprised."

"At what?"

"Your deceiving us."

"Nonsense, my visit was in good faith."

"You came with a secret object in view--you kept us engaged below while your confederate examined our vessel."

"It was prime champagne, Shack."

"Granted, but"--and here he relieved himself by a tremendous expletive, "why did you put that spy aboard of us?"

"In the first place Mr. Owen is no spy. He cares little or nothing what cargo you carry, but he is deeply interested in petticoats--your young lady is his betrothed, and he vowed he would go with me on board just to see her. Shackelford, that's a man after your own heart."

And Shackelford, realizing the truth of this point blank assertion could only growl.

"Interrupted in his _tete a tete_ with the young lady by your gentleman there, they had words, being rivals, and it resulted in Mr. Owen tossing the elegant Adonis overboard. Shack, that is just what you would have done, confound you."

Shackelford could not deny it.

Really Captain Beven should have been a lawyer, since he knew so well how to draw the fire of his adversary, and leave him not a foot upon which to stand.

"For you to force your way to the deck of my craft under these conditions I should consider a high act of piracy and I assure you my men stand here ready to back me up in all I do. Is it so, men?"

A hearty "ay, ay sir" came ringing from the crew.

"Now Captain Shackelford, if you choose to board me you do so at your own risk. There be English arms and hearts here just as stanch as your own. Come by daylight and by Heavens I will receive you as an honored guest--yes, and open another basket of champagne for the occasion; but I beg of you let discretion play the part of valor now."

Shackelford knew he held a weak hand--that any attempt to board this craft flying the British jack and drag from her deck a subject of the United States foreign diplomatic service would not only embroil him in present difficulties and probably result in a broken head, but future results promised to make things exceedingly lively for him.

Great Britain was going out of her way to bring about an era of good feeling between America and the mother country--she had shown in many matters how sincere her sympathies were and that blood was thicker than water.

Hence, he might expect severe handling from the legal and military authorities of both countries.

Although Bob Shackelford had always been accounted pretty much of a dare devil he really drew the line at throwing his gauntlet into the ring and sending a defiance to two nations--that would probably be a little too strong for his blood.

Here was a chance to draw out with honor.

Shackelford accepted the olive branch.

"Well, Beven, you put the matter pretty strongly, and I am inclined to yield. Give me your solemn pledge that this gentleman boarded us as a lover and not as a spy, and," here he expressed himself very forcibly in the genuine Shackelford style--"I'll draw off and spare you the gore of battle that must come when Greek meets Greek."

"I give you that pledge," replied Beven, readily.

"Why did he go in disguise then?" was the final query from the other, who had not as yet grasped the full significance of affairs.

"Because he had enemies on board yonder boat--you carry Spaniards, and his country is at war with Spain. They want him badly, and he is no fool. Captain, I am under obligations for your courtesy. Come and see me to-morrow and I'll keep my promise."

Shackelford smacked his lips.

"By Jove! I'll try and oblige you, my boy," he declared, enthusiastically, as he dropped down upon the thwart.

The incident was closed.

There would be no broken heads, no old time boarding of the craft, no hot time in the harbor _that_ night.

Reason had resumed her sway, pushing valor and blind passion into the background.

One there was whom disappointment cut to the quick.

A figure arose in the boat, a bedraggled figure, with one arm of his evening coat almost divorced from its moorings on account of the vigor shown by the British tars in dragging the owner aboard--a figure that was just the opposite of the usually dandified Jerome, the pink of neatness, the epitome of current style.

"What," he ejaculated, "you decline to go aboard and drag the fellow away? I am astonished beyond measure--I did not expect this of you, Captain Bob."

"Well, I'm satisfied with the explanation given. If you still object, sir, we'll hold the boat here and let you go aboard and get him. Of course you'd have to shoulder the whole responsibility--"

"Pull away," muttered Jerome, suddenly dropping back to his seat and endeavoring to look as small as possible.

Roderic guessed the reason.

The Adonis had discovered that he was the cynosure of bright eyes from the cabin--all this excitement had not passed without arousing Cleo and Miss Becky--the former had not really retired at all, but awaited her cousin's return from his mission of love--perhaps her earnest prayers had followed him, even to the arms of her successful rival.

The blockade runner's boat shot quickly over the darkened water toward the lights that indicated the spot where the steamer was anchored.

Thus the coast was again clear.

Captain Beven turned and shook Roderic's hand.

He was bubbling over with suppressed laughter.

"Congratulations, sir, over your success. A miss is as good as a mile, they say," he declared.

"Ah!" remarked the satisfied lover, "in this case it is a senorita, and she is worth many miles. My thanks are due to you, captain, for the able assistance given. May all our future plans be founded on as firm a basis."

"Amen," said Beven, solemnly.

He was thinking of that basket of very Extra Dry, and the taste still lingered as though its memory would haunt him for many a day.

For once he stood ready to immolate his comfort on the altar of friendship every night, providing the emolument came in such pleasant fashion.

They chatted a short time, and generally upon the subject mostly in evidence.

Beven was naturally curious to hear how the Adonis, who was no milk and water warrior himself, came to take such a fearful plunge into the bay.

He could give a shrewd guess that the act had not been a voluntary one on his part, and desired to hear what share Roderic had in it.

This was soon told in the most matter of fact fashion by the modest young man--indeed, one might almost imagine from his manner of putting it that Jerome had fallen overboard instead of being tossed there.

Beven knew how to put his own construction on the incident, and could guess just what his principal had done.

Roderic was really unfitted for sleep after such an hour of intense excitement, and thought he would walk the quarterdeck for a time until his pipe had soothed the excited nerves and brought him to a condition where slumber might be possible.

He had not been back and forth a dozen times ere a girlish figure joined him.

Of course it was Cousin Cleo, who desired to share his walk and mayhap his confidence, even though what he might relate would cut keenly.

The moth will persist in fluttering about the bright flame of the candle even after its wings are slightly singed.

Silly moth--wicked candle!

And yet the world goes on, new moths come and the same old story with variations, is repeated.

Roderic professed to be displeased at the idea of Cleo coming up to join him in this midnight tramp.

Secretly the man was delighted, for he felt the human desire to confide his hopes and fears in a sympathetic ear, and though he would rather it had been some one else than Cleo, still, she knew much of his love affairs, and had promised to be a sister to him--he would be egotistical and foolish to ever believe that she cared for him other than a dear sister might.

"My dear cousin, why do you come on deck--don't you know that at this hour in this semi-tropical climate the dew is falling, and it is very unhealthy for one to be exposed to the night air?"

She laughed in his face.

"Well, you are to blame. I should have been in my little bunk and probably far away in the Land of Nod had you been content to remain aboard and not start out on a very Quixotic errand. But I am only joking, Roderic. You have met with adventures, of that I am sure from what I saw and heard. Poor Jerome has once more crossed your path and found it one of thorns. Now, you must tell me all that happened, do you hear, Sir Galahad?"

A little hand slipped through his arm, and Roderic found himself obliged to surrender.

So, as they walked up and down he told the story of what had occurred; several times they paused at the rail to look at the riding lights that marked the position of the blockade runner, and while one sighed in rapturous satisfaction at the thought of the beauty aboard the Sterling Castle, the other experienced quite a different emotion.

Cleo asked questions, and seemed bound to know all, so he felt compelled to tell her.

Her interest in Georgia grew with each passing day, and strange to say the yearning to meet and know this daughter of the tropics became an absorbing dream--she felt as though destiny drew their life lines in the same channel, these two who both loved Roderic Owen.

Perhaps he was wise enough to refrain from entering into minute particulars when describing the interview with Georgia--even men head over heels in love are given a small amount of common sense on occasions of this kind.

Finally Roderic persuaded her to retire.

The hour was late and he himself now confessed to drowsiness.

By this time the town had given up its mad merriment--gone were many of the lights and the music of the band had long since ceased to be a factor in the mighty drama.

Even in the romantic Azores men must take a portion of the night for sleep--it cannot be given wholly over to song and amusement.

Captain Beven was a wary old sea dog.

He believed an ounce of prevention to be much better than a pound of cure.

There was no danger in sight, and probably it would be an act of madness on Shackelford's part to attempt to board the steam yacht under cover of darkness and secure the person of the man who had been aboard the blockade runner in disguise.

All the same, chances or not, Beven did not intend to neglect any precaution, for he was a man who did not believe in being caught napping.

To shut the door after the horse was stolen might be good policy with some men, but his idea lay in securing it ere this event happened.

Before retiring Roderic had an interview with the captain, and learned that worthy's views.

Then he sought his little stateroom.

As fortune would have it he was situated on that side of the boat nearer the steamer, and from either one of the bulls-eye openings he could see the uncertain dark mass that told just where the blockade runner lay, as well as her twinkling riding lights which must be kept burning the livelong night in order to prevent accident should arriving vessels enter the snug harbor.

And Roderic stood there a long time, his eyes fixed upon the inchoate outlines of the Sterling Castle, as one might gaze upon a vessel that bore his fate.

Many thoughts occupied his mind--he lived over again the past with its joys and sorrows, and even attempted to raise the veil of the future to see whether it held a gleam of Paradise; but this must all remain surmise and uncertainty, since it is not given to mortal vision to see beyond the present.

The night passed without an alarm.

Evidently Shackelford was a man of discretion as well as astonishing boldness, for there is such a thing as uniting the two qualities.

Roderic aroused early enough.

The morning had just broken and the glowing eye of old Phœbus was glancing above the horizon when he proceeded to dress.

This operation had been about completed when, by chance of course, he looked out of the port hole to see just how far they were from the steamer, since darkness had been upon land and water during the little drama of the preceding night.

To his surprise he failed to behold the object of his solicitude.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again--surely he must be dreaming, or else with a change of tide the steam yacht had headed another way, cutting him off from the view he had before obtained.

And yet, so far as he could tell his lookout still faced the town and port, and he could swear the blockade runner should lie between.

Mayhap Shackelford had taken his craft in to a dock for some purpose.

Roderic snatched up his marine glasses and scanned the shore line.

There was only disappointment awaiting him.

The yellow and black funnel of the Sterling Castle was conspicuous only by its absence.

One chance remained--that the steamer had changed her anchorage.

He hurriedly completed his toilet and rushed on deck.

A sweeping glance around told the story, for the blockade runner was no longer in the harbor.

Captain Beven saluted from a point forward and beckoned him to approach.

"Looking for the steamer--left port an hour or more before crack of dawn--yonder she goes, headed straight for the Antilles."

Following the captain's extended finger Roderic saw the smoke of a steamer hanging on the horizon. Somehow his heart gave a leap after it, for the girl he adored was aboard the vanishing craft.

"When do we follow, captain?" he asked, composedly.

"Within six hours at the latest," was the reply and when that time had expired they too were moving over the trackless Atlantic headed due south west.