The Web of the Golden Spider Part 16

"But I don't want to. I most particularly object to getting my throat cut."

"Then," said Stubbs, "maybe you will. Where's your kit?"

"On my back."

"You'll need more than that. Come on."

Stubbs led the way to a second-hand store and bought for his new-found friend a flannel s.h.i.+rt, trousers like his own, a pair of stout boots, and a cap.

Wilson had nothing left of his ten dollars.

"All the same," said Stubbs. "Settle when you git your pay."

He led him then to a p.a.w.n shop where he picked out a thirty-two calibre revolver and several boxes of cartridges. Also a thick-bladed claspknife.

"See here, Stubbs," objected Wilson, "I don't need those things. I'm not going pirating, am I?"

"Maybe so. Maybe only missionaryin'. But a gun's a useful ornyment in either case."

He drew out a heavy silver watch and with his forefinger marking off each hour, computed how much time was left to him.

"What d' ye say," he broke out, looking up at Wilson, "what d' ye say to goin' fis.h.i.+n', seein' as we've gut a couple of hours on our hands?"

"Fis.h.i.+ng?" gasped Wilson.

"Fis.h.i.+n'," answered the other, calmly. "I know a feller down by the wharf who'll take us cheap. Might's well fish as anything else.

Prob'ly won't git none. Never do. I'll jus' drop in below here and git some bait an' things."

A dozen blocks or so below, he left Wilson on the sidewalk and vanished into a store whose windows were cluttered with s.h.i.+p's junk.

Anchor-chains, tarpaulin, marlinspikes, ropes, and odd bits of iron were scattered in a confusion of fish nets. Stubbs emerged with a black leather bag so heavy that he was forced to ask Wilson to help him lift it to his shoulders.

"Going to fish with cast-iron worms?" asked Wilson.

"Maybe so. Maybe so."

He carried the bag lightly once it was in place and forged a path straight ahead with the same indifference to pedestrians he had shown towards teams, apparently deaf to the angry protestations of those who unwisely tried their weight against the heavy bag. Suddenly he turned to the right and clambered down a flight of stairs to a float where a man was bending over a large dory.

"Engaged for to-day?" he demanded of the young fellow who was occupied in bailing out the craft. The man glanced up at Stubbs and then turned his attention to Wilson.

"My friend," went on Stubbs, "I want to get a little fis.h.i.+n' 'fore dark. Will you 'commodate me?"

"Get in, then," growled the owner.

He helped Stubbs lower the bag into the stern, with the question,

"Any more to your party?"

"This is all," answered Stubbs.

In five minutes Wilson found himself in the prow being rowed out among the very s.h.i.+pping at which a few hours before he had stared with such resentment. What a jackstraw world this had proved itself to him in this last week! It seemed that on the whole he had had very little to do with his own life, that he was being juggled by some unknown hand.

And yet he seemed, too, to be moving definitely towards some unknown goal. And this ultimate towards which his life was trending was inseparably bound up with that of the girl. His heart gave a bound as they swung out into the channel. He felt himself to be close on the heels of Jo. It mattered little what lay in between. The incidents of life counted for nothing so long as they helped him to move step by step to her side. He had come to his own again,--come into the knowledge of the strength within him, into the swift current of youth.

He realized that it was the privilege of youth to meet life as it came and force it to obey the impulses of the heart. He felt as though the city behind him had laid upon him the oppressive weight of its hand and that now he had shaken it free.

The color came back once more into the world.

CHAPTER XI

_What was Caught_

The man at the oars rowed steadily and in silence with an easy swing of his broad shoulders. He wormed his way in and out of the s.h.i.+pping filling the harbor with the same instinct with which a pedestrian works through a crowd. He slid before ferry boats, gilded under the sterns of schooners, and missed busy launches by a yard, never pausing in his stroke, never looking over his shoulder, never speaking. They proceeded in this way some three miles until they were out of the harbor proper and opposite a small, sandy island. Here the oarsman paused and waited for further orders. Stubbs glanced at his big silver watch and thought a moment. It was still a good three hours before dark. Beyond the island a fair-sized yacht lay at anchor. Stubbs took from his bag a pair of field gla.s.ses and leveled them upon this s.h.i.+p.

Wilson followed his gaze and detected a fluttering of tiny flags moving zigzag upon the deck. After watching these a moment Stubbs, with feigned indifference, turned his gla.s.ses to the right and then swung them in a semicircle about the harbor, and finally towards the wharf they had left. He then carefully replaced the gla.s.ses in their case, tucked them away in the black bag, and, after relighting his pipe, said,

"What's the use er fis.h.i.+n'?" He added gloomily, "Never catch nothin'."

He glanced at the water, then at the sky, then at the sandy beach which lay just to port.

"Let's go ash.o.r.e and think it over," he suggested.

The oarsman swung into action again as silently and evenly as though Stubbs had pressed an electric b.u.t.ton.

In a few minutes the bow sc.r.a.ped upon the sand, and in another Stubbs had leaped out with his bag. Wilson clambered after. Then to his amazement, the latter saw the oarsman calmly shove off and turn the boat's prow back to the wharf. He shot a glance at Stubbs and saw that the latter had seen the move, and had said nothing. For the first time he began to wonder in earnest just what sort of a mission they were on.

Stubbs stamped his cramped legs, gave a hitch to his belt, and filled his clay pipe, taking a long time to sc.r.a.pe out the bowl, whittle off a palmful of tobacco, roll it, and stuff it into the bowl with a care which did not spill a speck of it. When it was fairly burning, he swept the island with his keen eyes and suggested that they take a walk.

The two made a circle of the barren acres which made up the island and returned to their starting point with scarcely a word having been spoken. Stubbs picked out a bit of log facing the s.h.i.+p and sat down.

He waved his hand towards the yacht.

"That," he said, "is the craft that'll take us there--if it don't go down."

"Why don't we go aboard, then?" ventured Wilson.

"'Cause why? 'Cause we're goneter wait fer the other fishermen."

"I hope they have found as comfortable a fis.h.i.+ng-ground as we have."

He studied Stubbs a moment and then asked abruptly,

"What's the meaning of this fis.h.i.+ng story?"

Stubbs turned upon him with a face as blank as the cloudless sky above.

"If I was goneter give a bright young man advice 'bout this very trip," he answered slowly, "it would be not to ask any questions."

"I don't consider it very inquisitive to want to know what I'm s.h.i.+pping on," he returned with some heat.