CHAPTER VII.

MORE ABOUT THE CLERK.

The week following the one on which the Stranger was hauled into the dry-docks, found the Club settled on a sheep-farm a few miles in the interior, the guests of Uncle Dick’s friend and fellow-miner, Mr. Wilbur. If we should say that they enjoyed their liberty, their target shots, and horseback rides, we should be putting it very mildly. The change from their cramped quarters on board the schooner to the freedom of the country was a most agreeable one, and they made the most of it. They were almost constantly on the move, and there was not a station (in California it would have been called a ranche) for miles around that they did not visit, or a piece of woods that they did not explore.

It was while they remained here that the novel trial of speed which Archie had proposed came off. It was no novelty to Uncle Dick and Mr. Wilbur, who declared that the trapper was certain to prove the winner, but it was a new thing to the old members of the Club, who could not bring themselves to believe that a man could beat a horse in a fair race, until they had seen it with their own eyes. The arrangements were made one rainy day, when there was nothing else the Club could do except to sit in the house, and sing songs, and tell stories, and the next morning was set apart for the trial.

Eugene being allowed his choice of all the horses on the station, selected Mr. Wilbur’s own favorite riding nag, which had the reputation of being able to run a quarter of a mile in less time than any other horse on the island. After the arrangements had all been made, Archie noticed, with some uneasiness, that Mr. Wilbur and Eugene held frequent and earnest consultations, which they brought to a close whenever he came within earshot of them; and when the storm cleared away, just before night, he saw the horse, against which the trapper was to run, brought out and put through his paces. Mr. Wilbur had explained to Eugene that the place where the horse would lose the race would be at the turning-point. He would, beyond a doubt, run the hundred yards before the trapper could; but in stopping and turning he would lose ground, and Dick would be half way home before he could get under way again. Eugene thought he could remedy that by giving his horse a little practice beforehand, and the result of his experiment encouraged him greatly. The intelligent animal seemed to enter into the spirit of the matter with as much eagerness as his rider did, and after he had passed over the course a few times, he would stop on reaching the turning-point, wheel like a flash, and set out on the homestretch at the top of his speed; and he would do it, too, without a word from Eugene.

Archie, from his post on the veranda, witnessed the whole proceeding, and when it was concluded and the horse was led back to the stable, he hurried off to find the trapper. To his surprise Dick did not seem to be at all uneasy over what he had to tell him. “Never mind, leetle ’un,” said the trapper. “Sposen I should tell you that I had beat a hoss that had been practiced that way for a hul week, what would you say?”

“I should say that you had done it,” replied Archie.

“Wal, I have, and more’n onct, too.”

The next morning, at five o’clock, the Club, and Mr. Wilbur and all his herdsmen, were on the ground, and the arrangements for the race had all been completed. If Eugene had been about to ride for his life, he could not have made greater preparations. He had discarded his hat and boots, tied a handkerchief around his head to keep the hair out of his eyes, and rode in his shirt-sleeves, and without a saddle. Dick simply pulled off his hunting shirt, and tightened his belt.

“I want a flying start,” said Eugene.

“Well, I am sorry to say so, but you can’t have it,” answered Archie, who acted as master of ceremonies.

“Why, a man can get under way twice while a horse is getting started once,” said Eugene.

“That isn’t my fault, or the man’s either,” returned Archie. “It’s the horse’s.”

“Give him the flyin’ start,” said Dick Lewis.

Uncle Dick and Mr. Wilbur were surprised to hear this, and the latter told his companion in a whisper that the trapper must have the greatest confidence in his speed, or he would not be willing to give the horse so much of a chance.

Eugene rode back twenty yards from the starting-point, the trapper took his stand by his side, and when both were ready they moved off together, Archie giving the signal to “go” as they passed the starting-point. Before the word had fairly left his lips the trapper was flying down the course like an arrow from a bow. He succeeded in getting a fine start, but, after all, it was not so great as everybody thought it would be. Eugene was on the alert, and so was his horse. The animal made one or two slow bounds after he passed the starting-point, and then he settled down to his work, and went at the top of his speed, Eugene lying close along his neck, and digging his heels into his side at every jump. The horse came up with and passed the trapper just before the latter reached the end of the course, and remembering his training of the day before, made an effort to stop and wheel quickly; but so great was his speed that he went some distance farther on, and when he did face about, Eugene saw that it was too late to win the race. The fleet-footed trapper was half-way home; and although the horse quickly responded to his rider’s encouraging yells, Dick won the race very easily. The Club were satisfied now. One thing was certain, and that was, they had never dreamed that a human being was capable of such speed as the trapper had exhibited that morning.

“If he were not a good runner he wouldn’t be here now,” said Archie, in reply to their exclamations of wonder. “His lightness of foot has saved his scalp, I suppose, a score of times. He says he never was beaten.”

The boys did not doubt it at all. They were now prepared to accept without question anything that Frank and Archie might tell them concerning the trapper.

In a very few days the Club had seen everything of interest there was to be seen about the station, and Uncle Dick’s proposition to take a run over to Australia was hailed with delight. They went by steamer from Hobart Town to Melbourne, and during the next three weeks had ample opportunity to gain some idea of what the settlers meant when they talked of life in the bush. They first explored every nook and corner of the city of Melbourne, spent a few days in the mines where Uncle Dick had worked during the gold excitement, and finally camped on another sheep station, where they made their headquarters as long as they remained in Australia. Archie did not succeed in shooting a kangaroo, but his horse was stolen from him by the bushrangers, and the Club spent a week in trying to recover it. The animal was never seen again, however, and it took all Archie’s pocket-money, and a good share of Frank’s, to make the loss good when they reached Melbourne; for that was the place where the horses had been hired.

At length a letter from Uncle Dick’s agent in Hobart Town brought the information that the repairs on the schooner were rapidly approaching completion, and that she would be ready to sail in a few days. As he had promised to spend one more week with his friend, Mr. Wilbur, before he started for Natal, the captain ordered an immediate return to Tasmania, and in due time the Club found themselves once more under the sheep-herder’s hospitable roof. We must not forget to say, however, that they stopped two days in Hobart Town, for it was while they were there that an incident happened which had something to do with what afterward befell two of the members of the Club.

On the morning after their arrival, Uncle Dick and some of the boys went down to the docks to see how the schooner was getting on, and the rest sauntered off somewhere, leaving Frank in the reading-room of the hotel, deeply interested in a newspaper. Shortly after the others had gone, he was interrupted in his reading by a slap on the shoulder, and upon looking up he saw the consul’s clerk standing beside him.

“Aw! I’m overjoyed to see you again,” exclaimed Fowler, extending the forefinger of his right hand. (The reader will understand that we shall hereafter write down this young gentleman’s words as he ought to have spoken them, not as he did speak them.) “I have been out to Wilbur’s twice—he is a friend of mine, you know—and I was sorry not to meet you there. I saw you when you landed last night, but was so busy that I could not get a chance to speak to you. Had a good time in Australia?”

“Yes, I enjoyed myself,” replied Frank. “Everything was new and strange.”

“I have been aboard your vessel nearly every day since you have been gone, and the foreman tells me that the repairs on her are nearly completed,” added Fowler. “When do you sail?”

“Not under ten days, and it may possibly be two weeks,” answered Frank.

“What are your arrangements, anyhow? I ask because I want to have a chance to visit with you a little before you go.”

Frank did not care to visit with Mr. Fowler, but he could not well refuse to answer his question. “The arrangements, as far as they are made, are these,” he replied. “As soon as the schooner is ready for sea she is to leave the harbor, go around into the river, and come to anchor near Mr. Wilbur’s house.”

“Good!” exclaimed the clerk, settling back in his chair, and slapping his knees. “That will just suit us.”

Frank, somewhat surprised at his enthusiasm, looked at him a moment, and inquired: “Whom do you mean by ‘us?’”

“Oh, a party of our fellows, who may be up there to see you before you leave. Go on. What next?”

“The captain intends to take Mr. Wilbur and his family out for a short excursion,” replied Frank. “We shall be gone three or four days; and if the weather is fair, we may not be back for a week. When we return we shall be ready to start for Natal.”

“All right,” exclaimed the clerk. “Things couldn’t be arranged to suit me better. I suppose you will have all your stores and everything else aboard before you leave the harbor?”

“I suppose so.”

“By the way, who is paymaster of your craft?”

“Walter Gaylord keeps the books and the key of the safe,” answered Frank.

“And you act as sailing master, I think you told me?”

Frank replied that he did.

“You must understand seamanship and navigation, then,” continued Fowler.

“I am no seaman, but I know something about navigation.”

“You have commanded a vessel, haven’t you?”

“Yes, two of them.”

“Were they large ones?”

“One of them was a whaler, and the other was a gunboat.”

“So I was told. Could you take a vessel from here to San Francisco?”

“I think I could,” said Frank, with a smile. “I brought the Stranger from Bellville around the Horn to ’Frisco.”

Fowler nodded his head, and sat looking at the floor for some minutes in silence. “Speaking of your paymaster,” said he, suddenly—“the reason I asked about him, was because I heard some of your crew wishing that he would make haste and come back. They have spent all their money, and want a new supply. I suppose Walter is able to pay them all their dues?”

“Oh, yes,” said Frank.

“I suppose, too, that the contents of that little safe would make you and me rich.”

“I don’t know, I am sure. The captain keeps money enough with him to pay all expenses, but whether or not he has any more on hand, I don’t know. I have never inquired into the matter.”

“I was told that the safe was full of gold,” said Fowler. “I should think that Walter would be afraid to carry the key about with him.”

“I don’t know that he does,” returned Frank. “But even if he did, why should he be afraid?”

“Oh, because there are plenty of men here who would knock him over for one-tenth of the sum he is known to control. Money is everything in this world, isn’t it?”

“Some people seem to think so,” replied Frank.

“Well, good-by,” said the clerk, jumping up. “I may not be able to see you again before you go out to Wilbur’s, but I shall surely see you while you are there.”

Fowler went away, and Frank was glad to see him go. He did not resume his reading immediately, but sat for a long time looking down at the floor in a brown study. He recalled every word that had passed between himself and the consul’s clerk, and somehow he could not rid himself of the impression that the latter had some reasons for questioning him so closely, other than those he had given. Frank remembered what Barton had told him about the inquiries Waters had made in regard to the contents of Uncle Dick’s strong box, and he could not help connecting that circumstance with the interview he had just had with the consul’s clerk. But when he had done so he laughed at himself.

“What nonsense,” he said mentally. “My short acquaintance with Waters and his friends has made me suspicious. Since his attempt to take possession of our vessel, I think that every one who makes inquiries about her has some designs upon her. I’ll try to be a little more reasonable.”

With this, Frank resumed his reading, and dismissed all thoughts of the consul’s clerk and the conversation he had had with him.

On the morning of the next day but one Mr. Wilbur and his big wagon arrived and took Uncle Dick, the Club, and the trappers out to his station. Two days after that the schooner came up the river, and dropped anchor at a short distance from the house. The boys were delighted to see her looking like her old self once more, and as soon as the first boat came off, they went on board in a body to take a good look at her. Uncle Dick’s instructions to the workmen had been faithfully obeyed, and the Club could hardly believe that she was the same vessel that had been driven, waterlogged and helpless, upon the shores of that inhospitable island away off in the Pacific. She looked just as she did on the day she came from the hands of the men who built her.

Shortly after she came to anchor there liberty was granted to the blue jackets, and then there was fun indeed around Mr. Wilbur’s house. A sailor always wants to ride when he comes ashore, and there were horses enough on the station to mount every one of them. Among the number were some wild young steeds which had never felt the weight of a saddle, and these were the ones that the blue jackets wanted to ride. Mr. Wilbur cheerfully gave his consent, and the ludicrous attempts at horse-breaking that followed were beyond our power to describe. The owner of the horses and his guests were kept in roars of laughter for hours at a time.

On the second day, to Frank’s great disgust, the consul’s clerk made his appearance. He was cordially greeted by Mr. Wilbur, who, after shaking him by the hand, turned to present him to the members of the Club. “There’s no need to do that,” said Fowler. “I know them all, and this gentleman,” he added, extending his forefinger to Frank, “I think I can claim as an old acquaintance.”

“Then it is all right, and I am glad you have come,” said Mr. Wilbur. “I will leave them in your charge to-day, while the captain and I ride into the country to see an old friend of ours who used to be in the mines with us. You are at home here, Gus, and you will understand that my house and everything in it, are at your service and theirs. If those sailors come on shore and ask for horses, give them as many as they want. It will probably be dark long before the captain and I return.”

The Club were not at all pleased with this arrangement, but they could not oppose it. They did not like Fowler, and wanted to see as little of him as possible. There was only one thing they could do, and that was to get out of sight and hearing of him. This they did as soon as Uncle Dick and Mr. Wilbur rode away, all except Frank, to whom the consul’s clerk stuck like a leech. Frank could not shake him off without being rude, and becoming utterly weary of his company at last, he excused himself, went on board the schooner, and lay down in his bunk. He did not intend to go to sleep, but the book he happened to pick up as he passed through the cabin proved to be rather dry reading, and before he knew it, he was in the land of dreams.

When he awoke it was with a start, and a presentiment that there was something wrong. As soon as his eyes were open, he saw by the flood of light that streamed in through the open transom over his door, that the lamps in the cabin were burning. Hardly able to believe that he had slept so long, Frank jumped from his bunk, and looked out at the bull’s eye. He could see nothing. Even the trees on the bank were concealed by the darkness. Just then the vessel gave a lurch, and laid over in the water as if she were heeling to the pressure of her canvas.

“What does that mean?” thought Frank. “She can’t be under way! She certainly is,” he added, a moment later, as the schooner began to rise and fall slowly and regularly as if she were passing over the waves. “Where are we going, I wonder?”

Frank turned and laid his hand upon the knob, but the door refused to open for him. He stooped down and looked at the lock, and saw that the bolt was thrown into the catch. He was fastened in. “Archie,” he thought (if any trick was played upon him he always laid the blame upon his cousin’s shoulders), “if I had you here for a minute, I believe I should be tempted to shake you.”

As Archie was not there, Frank shook the door instead, and listened to hear the footsteps of some one coming to release him; but there was no stir in the cabin to indicate that there was anybody there. Beyond a doubt the boys were sitting around the table almost bursting with laughter. Hardly able to refrain from laughing himself, Frank placed one foot on his bunk, laid hold of the lower part of the transom with his hands, and drew himself up until he could look over into the cabin. Yes, there was Archie, sitting in Uncle Dick’s easy chair, with his hands in his pockets, and looking up at his cousin in the most unconcerned manner possible. Frank was about to ask what he meant by locking him in after that fashion, when his eye chanced to light on another occupant of the cabin—a man who was seated on the other side of the table, opposite Archie. He was a low-browed, villainous-looking fellow, and in his high top-boots, red shirt, and slouch hat, reminded Frank of the descriptions he had read of robbers, smugglers, and such worthy characters. He sat with his elbow resting on the table, one hand supporting his chin, and the other grasping a huge revolver, which lay on the table in front of him.

“How are you?” said Archie, hooking his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, and nodding to his cousin.

“What does this mean?” demanded Frank. “Who locked me in here, and why is the schooner underway? Where’s Uncle Dick?”

Archie took one thumb out of the armhole of his vest long enough to wave his hand toward the man on the opposite side of the table, and then put it back again.

“You will know all about it in good time,” said the man, cheerfully; “and until we want you, you had better stay in there and behave yourself.”

“You have taken the schooner, have you?”

“That’s the way it looks to us out here. How does it look to you in there?”

While Frank was wondering how he should answer this question, the door opened, and Waters, the convict, and Fowler, the consul’s clerk, came into the cabin.