Isle o' Dreams Part 10

"But I'm to have who I want for'ard," said Peth.

"That's it. You know who we want."

They hailed a _banca_ and were rowed across the river, making a landing over a tier of _cascos_.

"I'll go over to the Cuartel and pa.s.s the word for the men and do a little lookin' myself," said Peth.

"Keep Dinshaw there half an hour," suggested Jarrow.

Peth looked at him suspiciously.

"What's the game?"

"Never mind me or the game."

"I seem to be kind o' out on the aidge o' things," growled the mate.

"You keep Dinshaw from shootin' off his face, that's all you got to do, and don't let Van know how things swung at the Bay View. I'm goin' to keep this business under gratin's."

"You don't need to fret," said Peth. "I ain't fixin' to break nothin' out," and he tracked away to the Cuartel, weaving in and out among the litter of goods on the Mole.

Jarrow stood and watched him disappear into the Cuartel. "I ain't never had no luck with him," he remarked. "I hope he breaks his fool neck, that's what I hope. He'll mess things up for me yit."

CHAPTER VI

MR. PETH IS PARTICULAR ABOUT WHERE HE SLEEPS

Early in the morning, when Manila was turning over for another nap, a victoria from the Bay View took Locke, Trask, and Marjorie over the Bridge of Spain and through Plaza Moraga to the landing steps, where the tug which was to take the _Nuestra Senora del Rosario_ to sea was waiting to put the voyagers aboard the schooner. The _Nuestra_ was at anchor down the bay.

As they got out of the carriage a black man hopped ash.o.r.e from the tug and made for their baggage.

"I'm Doc Bird, the steward," he said. "I reckon yo' all is fo'

Cap'n Jarrow's packet?"

"We are," said Locke. "Is everything ready?"

"Never gon' be no readier, sir," said the steward, who looked smart in a suit of white and a jaunty cap. Instead of a s.h.i.+rt, he wore a gaudy cotton sweater with stripes running athwart his body, red and blue, after the manner of a convict's clothes.

"Then we're off," said Locke, as he helped Marjorie aboard, while Trask superintended the job of getting their bags aboard, at which task the native crew of the tug a.s.sisted the steward.

In a minute they were heading down the river. As they cleared the old transport docks they made out the _Nuestra_ well off the breakwater, her brown, bare masts rising like spires from her black hull, and the morning sun glinting from a strip of bra.s.s on her taffrail. They could see busy figures aboard, and as they drew nearer Captain Jarrow appeared on the p.o.o.p-deck smoking a cigar. He was all in white, his queer c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l straw hat fastened to a b.u.t.ton of his coat by a cord.

They had visited the schooner the night before, under the pilotage of Jarrow, before Locke had signed the agreement which was practically a charter, at sixty dollars a day. She had six rooms in her main cabin in addition to the galley and lazarette, and while they were small, they were comfortable enough and satisfactory.

No one was aboard during the brief visit, but Mr. Bevins, the second mate, and one man of the crew. Bevins's manners were ingratiating and he wore a constant smile, due more to some defect of his facial muscles than chronic geniality. The other man was a big fellow with much tattooing on his hands and wrists. Captain Jarrow summoned him to the cabin door and introduced him as "Shope, who was to go b'sun."

"There's Captain Dinshaw!" cried Marjorie, as the _patron_ steered the tug to come alongside.

Dinshaw had popped up over the starboard bulwark, and watched the tug maneuver with critical eye.

"And all dressed up," said Trask, smiling, as he observed that Dinshaw wore a white suit and sported an official-looking cap with a white top.

"The old man sh.o.r.e thinks he's the skipper," remarked Doc Bird.

"How's that?" asked Locke.

"He's a-bossin' everybody," replied the steward. "Thinks he's in his old brig what he lost on his island."

"The old dear!" said Marjorie. "Isn't he pathetic? He looks thoroughly happy!"

Dinshaw stood with his hands on the bulwark, and looked down at the tug, his head askew like an observant fowl.

"Don't scratch the paint!" he shouted to the _patron_ of the tug.

"Mind what ye're at!"

"Paint!" laughed Locke. "Couldn't hurt that paint with a crowbar."

"Glad to see ye in good time, Mr. Locke," called Jarrow, and then stepped back to escape the smoke from the tug's funnel, calling to Peth to see that the ladder was put over.

After a deal of fussing and bawling on the part of the tug's crew, she was nestled alongside the schooner, and Jarrow was at the rail to a.s.sist them over the side.

"I told ye I'd go," said Dinshaw, proudly, taking off his cap to Marjorie as she jumped down to the deck. "This lady knows, and she wanted to go to my island. Thank ye, ma'am! Good mornin'."

"Indeed I do want to go," laughed Marjorie. "And I hope we'll find your island, too, captain."

"Thank ye, ma'am. We'll find it right enough," and with a hasty bow he waddled forward importantly, to oversee the getting of the anchor and the pa.s.sing of the towing hawser.

But the tug remained alongside after Locke and Trask had climbed over into the waist and the baggage was transferred by Doc Bird.

"Oh," said Jarrow, as the _patron_ mounted the ladder and grinned at them, hat in hand, "this boy wants his towage."

"How much?" asked Locke, taking out a large roll of yellow American bills.

"I'd give him a check," advised Jarrow, "if you've got your book."

"All right," said Locke, and he followed Jarrow into the cabin while Trask and Marjorie went to the p.o.o.p-deck. The _Nuestra_ looked clean as a pin and fresh as a maker's model. Her decks had been scrubbed until the caulking in the seams looked like lines of black paint on old ivory. Her standing rigging had been newly tarred, her bright work polished, and the water casks lashed in the waist had their hoops painted a bright yellow, not yet dry. New hemp hung in the belaying pins. The roof of the cabin, covered by a tarpaulin, gleamed with oil and yellow paint. She had been scrubbed and freshened until she had quite the aspect of a yacht.

"This beats waiting around Hong Kong," said Marjorie, as they stood looking forward. She looked quite nautical in a suit of white duck and a yachting cap pinned to her flaxen hair. Trask thought she appeared entrancingly healthy and "out of doors."

"It's going to be a jolly fine trip," said Trask. "I hope you'll enjoy it one hundredth as much as I do."

"But gold-mine hunting is no novelty to you," she said.

"It's the first time I've actually gone to sea in search of a gold mine. And there are other reasons which make this trip unique."