The Spoilers (13 page)

A ribbon of white mingled with the velvet from the steamer's funnel and there came a slow, throbbing, farewell blast.

Glenister's jaw clicked and squared.

“Quick! You men!” he cried to the sailors. “I want the lightest dory on the beach and the strongest oarsmen in the crowd. I'll be back in five minutes. There's a hundred dollars in it for you if we catch that ship.”

He whirled and spurred up through the mud of the streets. Bill Wheaton was snoring luxuriously when wrenched from his bed by a dishevelled man who shook him into wakefulness and into a portion of his clothes, with a storm of excited instructions. The lawyer had neither time nor opportunity for expostulation, for Glenister snatched a valise and swept into it a litter of documents from the table.

“Hurry up, man,” he yelled, as the lawyer dived frantically about his office in a rabbit-like hunt for items. “My Heavens! Are you dead? Wake up! The ship's leaving.” With sleep still in his eyes Wheaton was dragged down the street to the beach, where a knot had assembled to witness the race. As they tumbled into the skiff, willing hands ran it out into the surf on the crest of a roller. A few lifting heaves and they were over the bar with the men at the oars bending the white ash at every swing.

“I guess I didn't forget anything,” gasped Wheaton as he put on his coat. “I got ready yesterday, but I couldn't find you last night, so I thought the deal was off.”

Glenister stripped off his coat and, facing the bow, pushed upon the oars at every stroke, thus adding his strength to that of the oarsmen. They crept rapidly out from the beach, eating up the two miles that lay towards the ship. He urged the men with all his power till the sweat soaked through their clothes and, under their clinging shirts, the muscles stood out like iron. They had covered half the distance when Wheaton uttered a cry and Glenister desisted from his work with a curse. The
Roanoke
was moving slowly.

The rowers rested, but the young man shouted at them to begin again, and, seizing a boat-hook, stuck it into the arms of his coat. He waved this on high while the men redoubled their efforts. For many moments they hung in suspense, watching the black hull as it gathered speed, and then, as they were about to cease their effort, a puff of steam burst from its whistle and the next moment a short toot of recognition reached them. Glenister wiped the moisture from his brow and grinned at Wheaton.

A quarter of an hour later, as they lay heaving below the ship's steel sides, he thrust a heavy buckskin sack into the lawyer's hand.

“There's money to win the fight, Bill. I don't know how much, but it's enough. God bless you. Hurry back!”

A sailor cast them a whirling rope, up which Wheaton clambered; then, tying the gripsack to its end, they sent it after.

“Important!” the young man yelled at the officer on the bridge. “Government business.” He heard a muffled clang in the engine-room, the thrash of the propellers followed, and the big ship glided past.

As Glenister dragged himself up the beach, upon landing, Helen Chester called to him, and made room for him beside her. It had never been necessary to call him to her side before; and equally unfamiliar was the abashment, or perhaps physical weariness, that led the young man to sink back in the warm sand with a sigh of relief. She noted that, for the first time, the audacity was gone from his eyes. “I watched your race,” she began. “It was very exciting and I cheered for you.”

He smiled quietly.

“What made you keep on after the ship started? I should have given up—and cried.”

“I never give up anything that I want,” he said.

“Have you never been forced to? Then it is because you are a man. Women have to sacrifice a great deal.”

Helen expected him to continue to the effect that he would never give her up—it was in accordance with his earlier presumption—but he was silent; and she was not sure that she liked him as well thus as when he overwhelmed her with the boldness of his suit. For Glenister it was delightful, after the perils of the night, to rest in the calm of her presence and to feel dumbly that she was near. She saw him secretly caress a fold of her dress.

If only she had not the memory of that one night on the ship. “Still, he is trying to make amends in the best way he can,” she thought. “Though, of course, no woman could care for a man who would do such a thing.” Yet she thrilled at the thought of how he had thrust his body between her and danger; how, but for his quick, insistent action, she would have failed in escaping from the pest ship, failed in her mission, and met death on the night of her landing. She owed him much.

“Did you hear what happened to the good ship
Ohio?”
she asked.

“No; I've been too busy to inquire. I was told the health officers quarantined her when she arrived, that's all.”

“She was sent to Egg Island with every one aboard. She has been there more than a month now and may not get away this summer.”

“What a disappointment for the poor devils on her!”

“Yes, and only for what you did, I should be one of them,” Helen remarked.

“I didn't do much,” he said. “The fighting part is easy. It's not half so hard as to
give
up your property and lie still while—”

“Did you do that because I asked you to—because I asked you to put aside the old ways?” A wave of compassion swept over her.

“Certainly,” he answered. “It didn't come easy, but—”

“Oh, I thank you,” said she. “I know it is all for the best. Uncle Arthur wouldn't do anything wrong, and Mr. McNamara is an honorable man.”

He turned towards her to speak, but refrained. He could not tell her what he felt certain of. She believed in her own blood and in her uncle's friends—and it was not for him to speak of McNamara. The rules of the game sealed his lips.

She was thinking again, “If only you had not acted as you did.” She longed to help him now in his trouble as he had helped her, but what could she do? The law was such a confusing, intricate, perplexing thing.

“I spent last night at the Midas,” she told him, “and rode back early this morning. That was a daring hold-up, wasn't it?”

“What hold-up?”

“Why, haven't you heard the news?”

“No,” he answered, steadily. “I just got up.”

“Your claim was robbed. Three men overcame the watchman at midnight and cleaned the boxes.”

His simulation of excited astonishment was perfect and he rained a shower of questions upon her. She noted with approval that he did not look her in the eye, however. He was not an accomplished liar. Now McNamara had a countenance of iron. Unconsciously she made comparison, and the young man at her side did not lose thereby.

“Yes, I saw it all,” she concluded, after recounting the details. “The negro wanted to bind me so that I couldn't give the alarm, but his chivalry prevented. He was a most gallant darky.”

“What did you do when they left?”

“Why, I kept my word and waited until they were out of sight, then I roused the camp, and set Mr. McNamara and his men right after them down the gulch.”

“Down
the gulch!” spoke Glenister, off his guard.

“Yes, of course. Did you think they went tip-stream?” She was looking squarely at him now, and he dropped his eyes. “No, the posse started in that direction, but I put them right.” There was an odd light in her glance, and he felt the blood drumming in his ears.

She sent them down-stream! So that was why there had been no pursuit! Then she must suspect—she must know everything! Glenister was stunned. Again his love for the girl surged tumultuously within him and demanded expression. But Miss Chester, no longer feeling sure that she had the situation in hand, had already started to return to the hotel. “I saw the men distinctly,” she told him, before they separated, “and I could identify them all.”

At his own house Glenister found Dextry removing the stains of the night's adventure.

“Miss Chester recognized us last night,” he announced.

“How do you know?”

“She told me so just now, and, what's more, she sent McNamara and his crowd down the creek instead of up. That's why we got away so easily.”

“Well, well—ain't she a brick? She's even with us now. By-the-way, I wonder how much we cleaned up, anyhow—let's weigh it.” Going to the bed, Dextry turned back the blankets, exposing four moose-skin sacks, wet and heavy, where he had thrown them.

“There must have been twenty thousand dollars with what I gave Wheaton,” said Glenister.

At that moment, without warning, the door was flung open, and as the young man jerked the blankets into place he whirled, snatched the six-shooter that Dextry had discarded, and covered the entrance.

“Don't shoot, boy!” cried the new-comer, breathlessly. “My, but you're nervous!”

Glenister dropped his gun. It was Cherry Malotte; and, from her heaving breast and the flying colors in her cheeks, the men saw she had been running. She did not give them time to question, but closed and locked the door while the words came tumbling from her:

“They're on to you, boys—you'd better duck out quick. They're on their way up here now.”

“What!”

“Who?”

“Quick! I heard McNamara and Voorhees, the marshal, talking. Somebody has spotted you for the hold-ups. They're on their way now, I tell you. I sneaked out by the back way and came here through the mud. Say, but I'm a sight!” She stamped her trimly booted feet and flirted her skirt.

“I don't savvy what you mean,” said Dextry, glancing at his partner warningly. “We ain't done nothin' ”

“Well, it's all right then. I took a long chance so you could make a get-away if you wanted to, because they've got warrants for you for that sluice robbery last night. Here they are now.” She darted to the window, the men peering over her shoulder. Coming up the narrow walk they saw Voorhees, McNamara, and three others.

The house stood somewhat isolated and well back on the tundra, so that any one approaching it by the planking had an unobstructed view of the premises. Escape was impossible, for the back door led out into the ankle-deep puddles of the open prairie; and it was now apparent that a sixth man had made a circuit and was approaching from the rear.

“My God! They'll search the place,” said Dextry, and the men looked grimly in each other's faces.

Then in a flash Glenister stripped back the blankets and seized the “pokes,” leaping into the back room. In another instant he returned with them and faced desperately the candid bareness of the little room that they lived and slept in. Nothing could be hidden; it was folly to think of it. There was a loft overhead, he remembered, hopefully, then realized that the pursuers would search there first of all.

“I told you he was a hard fighter,” said Dextry, as the quick footsteps grew louder. “He ain't no fool, neither. 'Stead of our bein' caught in the mountains, I reckon we'll shoot it out here. We should have cached that gold somewhere.”

“IN AN INSTANT THE FOUR SACKS WERE DROPPED SOFTLY INTO THE FEATHERY BOTTOM”

He spun the cylinder of his blackened Colt, while his face grew hard and vulture-like.

Meanwhile, Cherry Malotte watched the hunted look in Glenister's face grow wilder and then stiffen into the stubbornness of a man at bay. The posse was at the door now, knocking. The three inside stood rigid and strained. Then Glenister tossed his burden on the bed.

“Go into the back room, Cherry; there's going to be trouble”

“Who's there?” inquired Dextry through the door, to gain time. Suddenly, without a word, the girl glided to the hot-blast heater, now cold and empty, which stood in a corner of the room. These stoves, used widely in the North, are vertical iron cylinders into which coal is poured from above. She lifted the lid and peered in to find it a quarter full of dead ashes, then turned with shining eyes and parted lips to Glenister. He caught the hint, and in an instant the four sacks were dropped softly into the feathery bottom and the ashes raked over. The daring manœuvre was almost as quick as the flash of woman's wit that prompted it, and was carried through while the answer to Dextry's question was still unspoken.

Then Glenister opened the door carelessly and admitted the group of men.

“We've got a search-warrant to look through your house,” said Voorhees.

“What are you looking for?”

“Gold-dust from Anvil Creek.”

“All right—search away”

They rapidly scoured the premises, covering every inch, paying no heed to the girl, who watched them with indifferent eyes, nor to the old man, who glared at their every movement. Glenister was carelessly sarcastic, although he kept his right arm free, while beneath his
sang-froid
was a thoroughly trained alertness.

McNamara directed the search with a manner wholly lacking in his former mock courtesy. It was as though he had been soured by the gall of defeat. The mask had fallen off now, and his character showed—insistent, overbearing, cruel. Towards the partners he preserved a contemptuous silence.