The Greater Power Part 19

The _Tillic.u.m_ would not have compared favourably with an English steam-yacht. She had been built for the useful purpose of towing saw-logs, and was sold cheap when, as the mill she kept supplied grew larger, she proved too small for it. Acton, however, was by no means a fastidious person, and when he had fitted her with a little saloon, and made a few primitive alterations below, he said she was quite good enough for him. For that matter, anyone fond of it might navigate the land-locked waters of Puget Sound and the Straits of Georgia in an open whaleboat with satisfaction in summer-time. There are islands everywhere, wonderful rock-walled inlets that one can sail into, beaches to which the primeval forest comes rolling down, and always above the blue waters tower tremendous ramparts of never-melting snow.

On the evening in question, Acton was not on board. He had taken his wife and guests ash.o.r.e that morning for an excursion to a certain river where there was excellent trout-fis.h.i.+ng, and, as a hotel had lately been built for the convenience of sportsmen visitors, it was uncertain whether they would return that night. Nasmyth had not made one of the party because there was scarcely room for everybody in the gig, and six miles, which was the distance to the river mouth, was rather far to row in the dinghy. Another guest called Martial also had been left behind, and afterwards had been rowed ash.o.r.e to visit a ranching property somewhere in the neighbourhood. He was the man who had followed Miss Hamilton out on to the veranda one night, and Nasmyth, who did not like him, understood that he was connected with a big land exploitation agency.

Nasmyth felt more or less contented with everything, as he lay upon the _Tillic.u.m's_ deck listening to the faint murmur of the swell upon the boulder beach. He had made certain propositions to the Crown lands authorities, which he believed they would look into, and while he waited he found the customs and luxuries of civilization pleasant. He found the society of Violet Hamilton more pleasant still, and the demeanour of the man, Martial, was almost the only thing that ruffled him. Martial had const.i.tuted himself Miss Hamilton's special attendant, and though Nasmyth fancied Mrs. Acton connived at this, it was by no means as evident that the girl was pleased with it. Indeed, he surmised that she liked the man as little as he did. Martial was brusque in mariner, and, though that is not usually resented in British Columbia, he now and then went even further than is considered permissible in that country, and he had gained the sincere dislike of the red-haired George, who acted as the _Tillic.u.m's_ deck-hand, cook, and skipper.

George sat upon the skylights sucking at his pipe, and it presently became evident that his thoughts and Nasmyth's were very much alike.

There was n.o.body else on board, for the man who fired and drove the engines was ash.o.r.e.

"I guess you can catch trout?" the skipper remarked.

"Oh yes," answered Nasmyth indifferently. "As a matter of fact, I've had to, when there was very little else to eat."

George, who was big and lank, and truculent in appearance, nodded.

"Juss so!" he rejoined. "You've been up against it in the Bush.

Anybody could figure on that by the look of you and the way you use your hands. A city man takes holds of things as if they were going to hurt him. That's kind of why I froze on to you."

Nasmyth took this as a compliment, and smiled his acknowledgment, for George was a privileged person, and most of his recent companions held democratic views. He, however, said nothing, and George went on again.

"Mrs. Acton's a mighty smart woman, but she plays some fool tricks,"

he commented. "Where's the blame use in taking a boatload of folks after trout when none of them but the boss knows how to fish?" Then he chuckled. "You'd have gone with the rest this morning if she wanted you to. Guess the gig would have carried another one quite nicely."

Nasmyth fancied that this was possible, though he naturally would not admit it to his companion. The fact that his hostess had somewhat cleverly contrived to leave him behind had its significance, since it seemed to indicate that she recognized that Miss Hamilton regarded him with a certain amount of favour.

"Well," said George reflectively, "the boss is quite smart, too! Mrs.

Acton crowded you out of the gig. The boss says nothing, but he knocks off that blame Martial. That makes the thing even, and, unless he does it, none of them gets any fish. Now, it kind of seems to me that for a girl like Miss Hamilton to look at a man like Martial is a throwing of herself away. I guess it strikes you like that, too?"

This was rather too pointed a question for Nasmyth to answer, but, so far as it went, he could readily have agreed with the skipper. As a matter of fact it suggested the query why he should object to Miss Hamilton throwing herself away.

"Well," he observed, "I'm not quite sure that it's any concern of mine."

George's grin was expressive of good-natured toleration. "Oh!" he replied, "I guess that's plain enough for me. You're not going to talk about the boss's friends. Still, one man's as good as another in this country, and, if I wasn't way better than Martial, I'd drown myself.

That's the kind of pernicious insect a decent man has no use for.

What's he come on board for with three bags ram full of clothes, when many a better man humps his outfit up and down the Bush in an old blanket same as you have done? It's a sure thing that no man with a conscience wants to get into the land agency business. It's an inst.i.tution for selling greensuckers ranching land that's rock and gravel and virgin forest. Besides, I heard the blame insect telling Miss Hamilton that n.o.body not raised in the hog-pen could drink my coffee."

It seemed to Nasmyth that there was a little reason in the skipper's observations, though he thought that Martial's strictures upon the coffee accounted for most of them.

"I guess it might have been wiser if Martial had kept on good terms with the skipper," he laughingly rejoined.

George chuckled softly. "Well," he declared, "when anyone up and says my coffee's only fit for the hog-pen, I'm going to get even with him.

I kind of feel I have to. It's up to me."

He said nothing further for some little time, and Nasmyth, who fancied that he would sooner or later carry out his amiable intentions, lay p.r.o.ne upon the deck smoking placidly. Nasmyth was one who adapted himself to his environment with readiness, and on board the _Tillic.u.m_ the environment was particularly comfortable. Through Acton's hospitality, he was brought into contact with the luxuries of civilization without the galling restraints. Miss Hamilton had been gracious to him of late. That was a cause for satisfaction in itself.

The days when he swung the heavy axe, or, drenched with icy water, stood gripping the drill had slipped far away behind him. For the time, at least, he could bask in the suns.h.i.+ne with ears stopped against the shrill trumpet-call to action that he had heard in the crash of rent trees and the turmoil of the wild flood.

A faint cry came from the sh.o.r.e out of the stillness of the woods, and George listened carefully.

"That can't be the boss. Guess he's stopping at the hotel," he said.

"It's quite likely it's that blame insect Martial coming back. Those ranchers he has been trying to freeze off their holding have no use for him."

The cry rose again, a trifle louder, and George nodded complacently.

"Oh, yes," he exulted, "it's Martial sure! We'll let him howl. Any way, he can walk down the beach until he's abreast of us. When anybody expects me to hear him, he has got to come within half a mile."

It seemed to Nasmyth that Martial would not have a pleasant walk in the dark, for most of the beach lay in the black shadow of the pines, and beneath highwater mark was covered with the roughest kind of boulders. Above the tide-line, a ragged ma.s.s of driftwood interspersed with undergrowth separated the water from the tangled Bush. Both George and Nasmyth were aware that one could readily tear one's clothes to pieces in an attempt to struggle through such a labyrinth.

Judging by the shouts he uttered at intervals, Martial appeared to be floundering along the beach, and presently Nasmyth laughed.

"He appears to be getting angry," he said. "After all, it's only natural that he doesn't want to sleep in the woods all night."

George filled his pipe, apparently with quiet satisfaction, but, some time later, he stood up suddenly with an exclamation.

"The blame contrary insect means swimming off," he announced.

Nasmyth, glancing sh.o.r.ewards, saw a dim white object crawling on all-fours towards the water where the moonlight streamed down upon a jutting point, and it was then that the idea which had results that neither of them antic.i.p.ated first dawned on the skipper, who broke into a hoa.r.s.e chuckle.

"I guess he wouldn't want Miss Hamilton to see him like that," he said. "Some folks look considerably smarter with their clothes on."

"How's she going to see him when she isn't here?"

George grinned again. "Her dresses are, so's her hat and her little mandolin. If you were pulled in tight you'd have quite a figure."

It was clear to Nasmyth that the scheme was workable, though he was quite aware that the thing he was expected to do was a trifle discreditable. Still, he had lived for some time in the Bush, where his comrades' jests were not particularly delicate, and Martial once or twice had been aggressively unpleasant to him. What was more to the purpose, he felt reasonably sure that Miss Hamilton would be by no means sorry to be free of Martial, and it was probable that their victim would never relate his discomfiture, if their scheme succeeded.

As the result of these reflections he went down with George to the little saloon. The skipper, who left him there a few minutes, came hack with an armful of feminine apparel. They had no great difficulty in tying on the big hat with the veil, but when Nasmyth had stripped his jacket off there was some trouble over the next proceeding.

Indeed, Derrick did not feel quite comfortable about appropriating Miss Hamilton's garments, but he had committed himself, and it was quite clear that his companion would not appreciate his reasons for drawing back.

"Hold your breath while I get this blame hook in," said the skipper.

Nasmyth did so; but he could not continue to hold it indefinitely, and in a few moments there was a suggestive crack, and George desisted in evident dismay.

"Come adrift from the stiffening quite a strip of it," he said. "Well, I guess I can somehow fix the thing up so as n.o.body will notice it. It should be easier than putting a new cloth in a topsail, and I've a mending outfit in the locker."

Nasmyth was by no means sure of George's ability to make the damage good, but he permitted the skipper to tie on the loose skirt, and then to hang the beribboned mandolin round his neck. When this was done George surveyed him with a grin of satisfaction.

"Well," said George, "I guess you'll do. Now you'll keep behind the skylights, and only get up and bang that mandolin when Martial wants to come on board. Guess when he sees you he'll feel 'most like jumping right out of his skin. Miss Hamilton's not going to mind. I've seen her looking at him as if she'd like to stick a big hatpin into him."

They went up, and Nasmyth, who felt guilty as he crouched in the shadow, could see a black head and the flash of a white arm that swung out into the moonlight and disappeared again. Martial was swimming pluckily, and the tide was with him, for his head grew larger every minute, and presently the gleam of his skin became visible through the pale s.h.i.+ning of the brine. His face dipped as his left arm came out at every stroke, and the water frothed as his feet swung together like a flail. He paddled easily while the tide swept him on until he reached the _Tillic.u.m_. Then his voice rose, breathless and cautious.

"Anchor watch," he called. "Anybody else on board?"

George, who kept out of sight, did not answer. Martial called again.

"Don't let anybody out of the companion while I get up," he commanded.

The _Tillic.u.m_ had a high sheer forward, and he could not reach her rail, but as the tide swept him along he raised himself to clutch at it where it was lower abreast of the skylights.

"Now," said George softly, "you can play the band."

Nasmyth rose and swept his knife-haft across the strings of the mandolin. For a moment he saw something like horror in Martial's wet face, and then the man, who gasped, went down headforemost into the water. Martial was nearly a dozen yards astern when his head came out again, and he slid away with the tide, with his white arm swinging furiously. George sat down upon the deck, and expressed his satisfaction by drumming his feet upon the planking while he laughed.