Courtenay's face hardened too.

"Necessity may have no laws," said he; "but I fancy I should have found a code to meet his case."

"I have organized a Vigilance Committee in my time, and its articles kind of fitted in," was the American's quiet reply. "That is why I have a few recent knife-cuts distributed about my skin; I began to shoot and we were two short on the muster roll next day. De Poincilit ran, and fell on his knees. So did a skunk of an Italian, and I did not want to waste cartridges. They were tied back to back until we sailed to-day."

"And the fifth?"

"The fifth was a woman."

"Huh!" Boyle reached out for a bottle of wine and refilled his glass. For a little while there was silence. Then Courtenay muttered:

"Poor devil of a Count! 'She gave me of the tree and I did eat.' Did he blame the woman?"

"Well, yes. But it was a mean business, any how."

"Better sponge it off the slate, eh?"

"I agree heartily. Drink up, Boyle, and pass the buck. I have a five years' thirst."

They talked until day-break; then Courtenay turned in. He did not appear on deck again until noon. By that time the Kansas had lost all marks of the fight excepting the smashed windows, and a sailor who understood the glazier's art was replacing the broken glass. Making the round of the ship, the captain found Elsie sitting with Isobel and Mrs. Somerville on the promenade deck. She was binding Joey's foot, and he knew then why the dog had scampered off on three legs as soon as the cabin door was opened.

The girl colored very prettily the moment she set eyes on her lover. Memories of the previous night became exceedingly vivid. She was adorably shy, Courtenay thought. As he approached, he debated the manner of his greeting; being a sailor, he did not hesitate.

Lifting his cap with a smile and a general "Good morning," he bent over Elsie.

"Well," he said, "surely you owe me at least one kiss?"

If her cheeks were red before they became scarlet now. But his kindling glance had warned her that he would adopt no pretence, so she lifted her face to his, though she did not dare to look at her amazed companions. Courtenay explained matters quite coolly.

"If Elsie has not told you already, it is my privilege to announce that she and I have signed articles," he said with a smile. "That is, we intend to get married as soon as the ship reaches England."

"Indeed, I congratulate you both most heartily," said the missionary's wife.

"Events have marched, then, while we were stranded on that wretched island?" tittered Isobel. Her voice was rather shrill. She, too, was excited, not quite mistress of herself. She did not know how far Gray's statements might have prejudiced her with the captain; she had already sent de Poincilit a note urging him to deny absolutely all knowledge of the plot to steal the boat, and attribute the American's summary action to his mistaken rendering of the Spanish patois used by the Chilean sailors.

"Yes," laughed Courtenay, ready to put her at ease. "One crowds the events of a month into a day under some conditions. Last night, for instance, I had five minutes' amusement with a steampipe and a double-barrelled gun which will serve all my requirements in the way of physical exercise for a long time to come."

"You feel sure that we shall see no more of the Indians?" asked Isobel, quickly.

"I think so. One never can tell, but if they have the grit to attack us again I shall regard them as first-class fighters."

"Dr. Christobal says they have an astonishing power of bearing pain without flinching," said Elsie, plunging into the talk with a hot eagerness. "The Alaculofs in the fore cabin were afraid of him, thinking he meant to kill them, but, when they found that he wished only to dress their wounds, they followed his actions with a curious interest, as though he were tending some other person's hurts and not their own. And that reminds me. He told me you ought to have that cut on your forehead washed. Let me look at it."

She stood up, and placed the dog on a chair. Lifting Courtenay's cap she brushed back his hair with her fingers, and found that he had covered an ugly scar with a long strip of skin plaster. The tense anxiety in Isobel's face forthwith yielded to sheer bewilderment. These two were behaving with the self-possession of young people who regard the "engagement" stage as a venerable institution.

Of course Courtenay liked to be fondled in this manner. Elsie was at her best as a ministering angel. But he protested against the need of the doctor's precaution.

"No, no," he cried, "you already have one faithful patient in Joey. I wonder he did not wake me earlier so that he might rush off to you. I never have known him play the old soldier before. To see him curled up there, gazing at you with those pathetic eyes, who would think that his teeth met in Alaculof sinews last night? Twice, to my knowledge, he saved my life. And the way he dodged blows aimed at him was something marvelous. He used all four paws then, I assure you."

"Ah, yes," agreed Elsie, blushing again as she recalled the scene in the saloon. "He could have told me the Indians were aboard long before I knew it myself. Dr. Christobal deceived me so admirably that I am not sure yet if I have forgiven him."

"He is a first-rate chap in an emergency," said Courtenay, "though I have a bone to pick with him, too. He promised to call me at eight o'clock, but I expect he and Boyle, or Tollemache, conspired to let me sleep on. I was astounded when I saw the time. What do you think of a skipper who lies abed all the morning, Miss Baring?"

"Gray has told him nothing," she decided at once. "That is very nice of Gray. I must thank him." But she replied instantly, in her piquant way:

"Elsie certainly kept us in the dark about her fiancailles, Captain Courtenay; but has not been silent as to your other achievements. If you were not telling us that you have actually slept, I should have cherished the belief that you had not closed an eyelid since the ship struck."

Isobel meant to be on her best behavior. Her pact with the Frenchman was discreditable but smooth words might restrain tongues from wagging until she could leave the ship. Moreover, the vicissitudes of life in these later days were not without their effect. She had known what it was to suffer. She had seen men dying like cattle in the shambles. The shadow of eternity had fallen so closely that twice during the preceding night she was rudely awaked by the shrieking fear of a too vivid dream. These things were not the butterfly flutterings of sunlit Valparaiso. They were of a more ardent order, and her wings had not yet recovered from the singeing.

Courtenay, willing to maintain a fiction which evidently gave her relief, answered lightly that he yet had to earn these compliments, but he hoped to be able soon to fix a date when everybody might bombard him with the nicest phrases they could think of, and end the embarrassing ordeal once for all.

"I went through something of the sort last year on board the Florida," he added. "People insist on regarding it as marvelous that a man should strive to do his simple duty."

Suddenly it occurred to him that the topic was unpleasantly analogous to the little French count's cowardly escapades. If one talks of duty, and recognizes its prior claim, what of the man who, in his selfish frenzy, is prepared to leave others to their fate, whether on a wrecked ship or a barren island? So he turned to Elsie again.

"By the way, you have never seen those letters," he said. "I was hunting for them when the alarm was raised last night. Shall I bring them now?"

Elsie gave him a glance of subtle meaning. Her eyes telegraphed "What matters it whether I see them to-day or in half a century? Do I not trust you?" But she only murmured:

"Not now, I am telling Mrs. Somerville and Isobel all the news."

He squeezed her shoulder. Any excuse would serve for those slight pettings which mean so much during early days in wonderland.

"Then I shall resume my rounds. I expect to be received reproachfully by Walker. He made great progress yesterday. Let me whisper a secret. Then you may pass it on, in strictest confidence."

He placed his lips close to her ear.

"I am dreadfully in love with you this morning," he breathed.

"That is no secret," she retorted.

"It is. You and I together must daily find new paths in Eden. But my less poetic tidings should be welcome, also. Walker says he hopes to get steam up to-morrow."

"Well, tell us quickly," cried Isobel, with a show of intense interest, when Courtenay had gone. She had decided on a line of conduct, and meant to follow it carefully. The more sympathy she extended towards her friend's love idyll, the less likelihood was there of disagreeable developments in other respects. That trick of calculating gush was Isobel's chief failing. She was so wrapped up in self that her own interests governed every thought. Courtenay's reference to letters sent a wave of alarm pulsing through each nerve. Though his manner betokened that the affair was something which concerned Elsie alone, she was on fire until she learnt that his "secret" alluded to the restored vitality of the ship.

For once, her expressions of gratitude were heartfelt. Mrs. Somerville even wept for joy. This poor woman after living twenty-five years in the oasis of a mission-house, was a strange subject for storm-tossed wandering and fights with cannibals. Seldom has fate conspired with the fickle sea to sport with such helpless human flotsam, save, perhaps, in that crowning caprice of the waves which once cast ashore a live baby in a cradle.

But the baby's emotions were crude, and probably in no wise connected with the tremors of ship-wreck, whereas Mrs. Somerville, during these full days, was constantly asking herself how it could be possible that she was living at all.

"It will be a real manifestation of Providence if we ever reach England again," she cried, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'm sure John and I have said so many a time during the past week. To think of the ship's blowing up in the way she did, it makes me all of a tremble, it does."

"Oh," broke in Elsie, thinking that the information she possessed would help to calm the older woman, "we have made a good many discoveries since—since the boat went away without me, I mean. But do tell me, how did those horrid Chileans manage to cast off the tackle before Mr. Gray or some of the other men were able to stop them? Of course, it is matterless now, in a sense, but at that moment it looked like leaving those on the ship to certain death."

Mrs. Somerville was stricken dumb. The American's shooting of two men on White Horse Island had naturally called for a complete explanation on his part, and she did not know how to answer Elsie's question. Before she could gather her wits, Isobel intervened.

"If you had been in that boat, dear," she said sweetly, "you would realize the topsy-turvy condition of our brains. Even Mr. Gray himself, the coolest man on board, imagined we might sink any moment. So what can you expect of those excitable Chileans? Besides, the thing was done so quickly that we were swept away by the tide before any one fully understood what was happening. Anyhow, you had the best of it, as events transpired. What are the discoveries you spoke of?"

"Well, some one placed dynamite among the coal."

"But who would do such a thing?"

"That is hard to say. The captain believes that the culprit will be found out through the insurance policies. He and the others were discussing the affair one day in the chart-house—soon after the dynamite cartridges were discovered—and you cannot tell how surprised I was to hear him mention Ventana's name in connection with it."

"Ventana's name!"

The blood ebbed away from Isobel's cheeks, leaving her pallid as a statue. There was a gasp in her voice which startled her own ears. Lest her agitation should be noted too keenly, she bent forward and propped her face on her clenched hands, staring fixedly at the distant cliffs in a supreme effort to appear apathetic. Elsie heard that dry sob, but her friend's seeming indifference misled her.

"Yes," she said, wondering a little whether or not Christobal's veiled hint regarding a by-gone tenderness between the two might account for Isobel's hysterical outburst on the night of the ship's break-down. Indeed, so warm-hearted was she that she hesitated a moment before continuing; but she felt that it would be altogether better for Isobel to be prepared for the revelations which the successful end of the ship's voyage would assuredly bring forth. So, pondering unspoken thoughts the while, she told the others exactly what Tollemache, Christobal and Courtenay had said, and even revealed to them that which Courtenay himself did not yet know.

"You remember the poor fellow who got into trouble soon after we sailed from Valparaiso?" she said. "His name is Frascuelo. He was wounded again in last night's fight, but not seriously, and he and I are quite chums. He assures me that he was drugged by a man named Jose Anacleto, who took his place among the coal-trimmers—"

"Oh, Miss Maxwell, come quick!" screamed Mrs. Somerville, for Isobel had lurched sideways out of her chair in a fainting fit, and the missionary's wife was barely able to save her head from striking the ship's rails.

Joey was shot out of Elsie's lap with such surprising speed that he trotted away without any exhibition of lameness. He was quite disgusted, for at least five minutes, but it is reasonable to suppose that a dog of his intelligence would brighten up when he heard the wholly unlooked-for story which Christobal was translating to Courtenay, word for word, as it was dragged hesitatingly out of Suarez.

The Argentine miner had been badly injured during the struggle for possession of the promenade deck. Owing to loss of consciousness, supplemented by an awkward fall, he might have choked to death had he not been rescued within a few minutes. He was very ill all night, and it was not until midday that he recovered sufficient strength to enable him to question the Indians on board.

Courtenay wished specially to find out what chance, if any, there was of the Alaculof attack being renewed. When Christobal assured him that Suarez might safely leave his bunk, he asked the doctor to bring the Spaniard to the fore-cabin, in which the wounded savages lay under an armed guard.

It was obvious that some of the maimed wretches recognized Suarez, notwithstanding his changed appearance, the instant he spoke to them. At once they broke out into an excited chattering, and Suarez was so disconcerted by the tidings they conveyed that he stammered a good deal, and seemed to flounder in giving the Spanish rendering.

"This fellow is telling us just as much as he thinks it is good for us to know," said Courtenay, sternly, when the interpreter avoided his accusing gaze. "Bid him out with the whole truth, Christobal, or it shall be his pleasing task to escort his dear friends back to their family circles."

Being detected, Suarez faltered no longer. A ship's life-boat had been driven ashore lower down the coast. Fourteen men had landed; they were captured by the Indians, after a useless resistance, in which three were killed. The dead men supplied a ghoulish feast next day, and the others were bound securely, and placed in a cave, in order to be killed at intervals, an exact parallel to the fate of Suarez's own companions five years earlier.

But, on this occasion, a woman intervened. Suarez confessed, very reluctantly, that there was a girl in the tribe to whom he had taught some words of his own language. He said that she cooked for him, and caught fish or gathered shell-fish for their joint needs when the larder was otherwise empty. He declared that the relations between them were those of master and servant, but the poor creature had fallen in love with him, and had become nearly frantic with grief when he disappeared. It was difficult to analyze her motives, but she had undoubtedly freed the eleven sailors, and led them over the rocks at low water to the haunted cave on Guanaco Hill. The Indians dared not follow; but they took good care that no canoes were obtainable in which the unhappy fugitives could reach the ship, and they were confident that hunger would soon drive them forth.

Courtenay's brow became black with anger when he understood the significance of this staggering story.

"It comes to this," he said to Christobal. "The men who got away from the Kansas in No. 3 life-boat fell into the hands of the savages early on the day of the ship's arrival here. Suarez slipped his cable that night, being aware at the time that eleven white captives were still alive. Yet he said no word, not even when he heard that we had seen one of the boat's water-casks in a canoe. He, a Christian, bolted and remained silent, while some poor creature of a woman risked her life, and ran counter to all her natural instincts, in the endeavor to save the men of his own race. What sort of mean hound can he be?"

Suarez needed no translation to grasp the purport of Courtenay's words. He besought the senor captain to have patience with him. He had escaped from a living tomb, and felt that he would yield up his life rather than return. Therefore, when he saw how few in number and badly armed were they on board the ship, he thought it best to remain silent as to the fate of the boat's crew. In the first place, he fully expected that they had been killed by the Indians, who would be enraged by his own disappearance. Secondly, he alone knew how hopeless any attempt at a rescue must prove. Finally, he wished to spare the feelings of those who had befriended him; of what avail were useless mind-torturings regarding the hapless beings in the hands of the savages?

There was a certain plausibleness in this reasoning which curbed Courtenay's wrath, though it in no way diminished the disgust which filled his soul. What quality was there lacking in the Latin races which rendered them so untrustworthy? His crew had mutinied, de Poincilit was ready to consign his companions in misfortune to a most frightful death on the barren island, and here was Suarez hugging to his breast a ghastly secret which chance alone had brought to light. He strove hard to repress the contempt which rose in his gorge, as it was essential that the broken-spirited miner should not be frightened out of his new-born candor.

"Ask him to ascertain if the Indians believe the white men are still living?" he said. A fresh series of grunts and clicks elicited the fact that the smoke-column seen the previous day on Guanaco Hill had not been created by the tribe. Suarez begged the senor captain to remember that he had spoken truly when he declared that its meaning was unknown to him. Probably, from what he now learnt, the girl who threw in her lot with the sailors had built a fire there.

Courtenay turned on his heel and quitted the cabin. The smell of the Indians was loathsome, the mere sight of Suarez offensive. For this discovery had overcast the happiness of his wooing as a thunder-cloud darkens and blots the smiling life out of a fair valley. There rushed in on him a hundred chilling thoughts, each gloomier than its forerunner. Ravens croaked within him; misshapen imps whispered evil omens; his spirit sat in gloom.

Christobal, well knowing how the demons of doubt and despair were afflicting Courtenay, followed him to the upper deck. Boyle was in the chart-house and Tollemache. Each man noted the captain's troubled face; from him they glanced towards the doctor; but the Spaniard had undergone his purgatory some hours earlier; his thin features were now quite expressionless.

Courtenay obtained a telescope. With the tact which never failed him, even in such a desperate crisis as this, he handed the doctor his binoculars. Then, both men looked at the summit of Guanaco Hill. Though it was high noon, and the landscape was shimmering in the heat-mist created by the unusual power and brilliance of the sun, they distinctly saw a thin pillar of smoke rising above the trees. Courtenay closed his telescope. He made to approach Boyle, evidently for the purpose of giving some order, when Christobal said quietly:

"Wait! I have something to say to you. You ought to remain on the ship. Let me go!"

"You?"

"Yes, I. After all, it is only a matter of taking command. One man cannot go alone. He could not even pull the life-boat so far. Hence, what you can do I can do, and I have no objection to dying in that way."

"Why should either of us die?"

"You know better than I how little chance there is of saving those men. You may deem me callous if I suggest that the reasonable thing would be to forget the miserable statement you have just heard. Oh, please hear me to the end. I am not talking for your sole benefit, believe me. Greatly as I and all on board are beholden to you, I do not propose giving my life in your stead because of my abounding admiration for your many virtues. Well, then since you are so impatient as to be almost rude, I come straight to the point. If you take command of a boat's crew and endeavor to save the men imprisoned over there, you will almost certainly throw away your life and the lives of those who help you. In that event, a lady in whom we are both interested will suffer grievously. On the other hand, if I were killed, she would weep a little, because she has a large heart, but you would console her. And the odd thing is that you and I are fully aware that either you or I must go off on this fool's errand. There is none other to take the vacant place. Now, have I made myself clear?"

"You are a good fellow, Christobal. You revive my faith in human nature, and that is my best apology if I irritated you just now by my attitude. But don't you see that I can neither accept your generous offer nor sail away from our harbor of refuge without making an attempt to save my men?"

"They are not your men. They forfeited your captaincy by their own action. In the effort to succor them you will lose at least one life which is precious to all on board this ship. I am twice your age, Courtenay, and I affirm unhesitatingly that you are wrong."

"Yet you are ready to take my place?"

"I have given you my reasons."

"They do you honor; but you would fail where I might succeed. You are not a sailor. Brave as I know you to be, you are not physically fitted for the rough work which may be needed. I think, too, you exaggerate the risk. The Alaculofs are broken by last night's failure. They will not dare to face us."

"At least spare me an argument which does not convince yourself; otherwise you would depute me instantly for the service."

"Well, you force plain speaking. While I command the Kansas I am responsible for the well-being of the ship, her crew, and her passengers. I could never forgive myself if I left those men to the mercy of the Indians. I cannot permit either you or Tollemache to take a risk which I shirk. Boyle and Walker must remain on board—lest I fail. Now, Christobal, don't make my duty harder. Shake hands! I am proud to claim you as a friend."

"Huh!" said Boyle, strolling towards them. "What is it? A bet?"

"Yes," laughed Courtenay, from whose face all doubt had vanished; "a bet, indeed, and you hold the stakes. Have you seen the smoke signal yonder?" and he pointed across the bay.

"Yes. Tollemache found it again, twenty minutes since."

"It means that eleven of our men are there, expecting us to save them. Hoist the ship's answering pennant from the main yard swung out to starboard. Build a small fire on the poop and throw some oil and lampblack on it. If they don't recognize the pennant they will understand the smoke. Get some food and water stowed in the life-boat, and offer five pounds a head to six men who will volunteer for a trip ashore."

"I go in charge, of course, sir?" said Boyle.

"You remain here, and take command during my absence. I want two revolvers for a couple of the crew, and I shall take my own gun. Please make all arrangements promptly. I am going to my cabin for five minutes, and shall start immediately afterwards."

This was the captain speaking. His tone admitted of no contention. Boyle hurried off, and Courtenay went into his quarters.

"What do you think of it?" Christobal asked Tollemache, as the latter appeared to be sauntering after the chief officer.

"Rot!" said Tollemache.

"But what can we do? He is committing suicide."

"One must do that occasionally. It's rotten, but it can't be helped."

Christobal threw out his hands in a despairing gesture. "I tried to stop him, but I failed," he cried.

"Courtenay is a hard man to stop," said Tollemache, vanishing down the companion. The Spaniard was left alone on the bridge. He paced to and fro, deep in thought. He scarce dared probe his own communings. So complex were they, such a queer amalgam of noble fear and base expectation, that he could have cried aloud in his anguish. Big drops of perspiration stood on his forehead when Courtenay came to him.

"For God's sake, don't go," said he hoarsely. "Do you know you are placing me on the rack?"

"Your sufferings are of your own contriving, then. Why, man, there is no reason for all this agony. I have written to Elsie, briefly explaining matters. Here is the letter. Give it to her, if I don't return. And now, pull yourself together. I want you to cheer her. Above all things, don't let her know I am leaving the ship. I'll just swing myself overboard at the last moment. I can't say good-by. I don't think I could stand that."



CHAPTER XVII

A MAN'S METHOD—AND A WOMAN'S

Isobel's drooping was of brief endurance. Elsie and Mrs. Somerville supported her to the stateroom, and there Elsie sat with her a little while, soothing her as one might comfort a child in pain. Once it seemed that the stricken girl was on the point of confiding in her friend, but the imminent words died away in a passion of tears. Elsie besought her to rest, and strove to calm her with predictions of the joyous days they would pass together when the stress and terror of their present life should be a tale that is told.

Isobel, stupefied by some haunting knowledge which appeared to have a vague connection with the misfortunes of the Kansas, yielded to Elsie's gentle compulsion, and endeavored to close her eyes. All was quiet in the cabin, save for the sufferer's labored breathing, and an occasional sob, while her wondering nurse smoothed her luxuriant hair, and whispered those meaningless little phrases which have such magic influence on the distracted nerves of woman-kind. There was hardly a sound on the ship, beyond an unexplained creaking of pulleys, which soon ceased.

Mrs. Somerville had gone, in response to Elsie's mute appeal. Somehow, from a piecing together of hints and half phrases, the girl feared a painful disclosure as the outcome of Isobel's hysteria. She was glad it had been averted. If there were hidden scandals in her friend's life in Chile, she prayed they might remain at rest. She had not forgotten Christobal's guarded words. He probably knew far more than he chose to tell of the "summer hotel attachment" between Isobel and Ventana at which he had hinted. But, even crediting that passing folly with a serious aspect, why should the daughter of the richest merchant in Valparaiso fall prostrate at the mere mention of the name of a disreputable loafer like Jose the Winebag? To state the fact was to refute it. Elsie dismissed the idea as preposterous. It was clear enough that Isobel's break-down arose from some other cause; perhaps the relaxed tension of existence on board the Kansas, after the hardships borne on the island, supplied a simple explanation.

Through the open port she heard a man walk rapidly along the deck, and halt outside the door. She half rose from her knees to answer the expected knock, thinking that Mrs. Somerville had sent a steward to ascertain if Miss Baring needed anything. But the newcomer evidently changed his mind, and turned back. Then came Courtenay's voice, low but compelling:

"One moment, M'sieu' de Poincilit. A word with you."

The French Count! During the whirl of the previous night, and by reason of the abiding joy of her morning's reverie, she had failed to miss the dapper Frenchman. Once, indeed, she had mentioned him to Isobel, who offered a brief surmise that he might be ill, and keeping to his cabin. Yet, here he was on deck, and possibly on the point of seeking an interview with the lady to whom he had paid such close attention during the early days of the voyage. Perhaps Mrs. Somerville had told him of the fainting fit, and he was about to make a friendly inquiry when the captain accosted him. But Elsie's ears, tuned to fine precision where her lover's utterances were concerned, had caught the note of contemptuous command, and she was even more surprised by the Count's flurried answer in French:

"Another time, M'sieu'. I pray you pardon me now. I find I am not strong enough yet to venture on deck."

"Oh yes, you are, M'sieu'. I want to give you the chance of your life. Mr. Gray has told me of your behavior, and he charitably added that your cowardice and treachery might have arisen from ungovernable fear. Now, if you wish to atone for your conduct, here is an opportunity. I am taking a boat ashore to try to save some of my men who are imprisoned there. There is a fair risk in the venture. The outcome may be death. Will you volunteer to take an oar? That would whitewash your weather-marks."

"It is impossible. I am too feeble. I cannot row."

"Ah, you swine! Can it be possible that you are a Frenchman? What sort of countship is it you boast of?"

"Sir, I am a passenger on this ship—"

Courtenay's voice was raised a little.

"Mr. Boyle," he said, "give orders that if this skunk shows his nose inside the saloon again he is to be kicked out. He can eat his meals in his stateroom, or in the forecabin with the other savages."

Elsie heard every word. She fancied, too, that Isobel was listening, though she gave no sign. But the unknown cause of the captain's anger was as naught compared with the statement that he was about to leave the ship. That stabbed her with a nameless fear. "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;" she saw her idyl destroyed, her sweet dreaming roused into cruel reality. Her understanding heart told her that Courtenay meant to go without bidding her farewell. She had heard the lowering of the boat without heeding; he was already climbing down the ship's side. Soon he would be far from her, perhaps never to return. For he was not one to paint imaginary ills, and had he not told de Poincilit what the outcome of the undertaking might be? Was it his wish that she should remain in seeming ignorance of his mission until it was too late for a parting word? Did he dread the ordeal of telling her his errand? Even he, so strong and resolute, who had so often smiled grim death out of countenance, feared the kiss which might wean him from the narrow way. And she must prove herself worthy of him. She must suffer in silence, trusting the All-powerful to bring him back to her arms.

And then she found Isobel looking at her with frightened eyes.

"Did you hear?" came the tense whisper.

"Yes."

"And you are content to let him go?"

"Ah, God! Yes, content."

"But it is folly. He is the captain. He should not go. We have risked enough already. Who are these men for whose sake he leaves you, and all of us?"

"I know not, nor do I greatly care, may Heaven help me and them."

"Then you should appeal to him to abandon this mad undertaking. It is not fair to you. It is more than unfair to those who have entrusted their lives to his keeping."

Isobel would have risen in her excitement, had not Elsie leaped to her feet.

"Oh, Isobel," she cried, all a-quiver with disdain, "can you not for once conquer the self that is destroying your very soul? Neither by word nor act shall you interfere between Arthur Courtenay and his duty. Would you have him cling ignobly to life like that poor dandy whom he has sent to herd with savages? Be sure he has not forgotten those who are beholden to him. We are his first care. Let it be mine to leave him unhindered in the task he has undertaken!"

Isobel was cowed into silence. Elsie's hero-worship had reached a height beyond her comprehension. She would never understand how a woman who loved a man could send him voluntarily to his death, and her shallow mind did not contemplate the possibility of Courtenay's refusing to be swayed by any other consideration than that which his conscience told him was right.

Thus, at arm's length as it were, they waited until they caught the sharp command "Give way there!" and the plash of oars told them that the boat had really started on its journey shorewards. Then Isobel, glancing furtively at her companion, saw the tears stealing down her cheeks, and the situation came back from the transcendental to that which was intelligible to her lower ideals.

"I am sorry," she whispered, catching Elsie's hand timidly. "I said what I thought was for the best. At any rate, it is too late now."

Too late! The other girl groped blindly for the door. She felt that she would yield to the strain if she did not go on deck and catch a parting glimpse of the man who had become dearer to her than life itself. As she made her way forward, Joey ran to meet her. He was whining anxiously. He seemed to be demanding that sympathy which she alone could give him. In his half-human way, he was asking:

"Why has my master gone away in that boat? And why did he not take me with him? When my master goes ashore he never leaves me on board; what is the reason of to-day's exception?"

On the poop she found Boyle, Christobal, Gray and Walker. A number of Chileans were leaning over the rails of the main deck. All the men were talking earnestly. It was ominous that they should cease their conversation the instant she appeared. One man may conceal his fears, but twenty cannot. Their studied unconcern, their covert glances under lowered eye-lids, told her that they believed the occupants of the life-boat were in gravest peril.

She brushed away the tears determinedly, and looked at the boat, already a white speck on the green carpet of the bay. She could see Courtenay distinctly; some magnetic impulse must have gone out from her, because she had not been watching him longer than a couple of seconds when he turned and waved his hand. She replied instantly, fluttering a handkerchief, poor girl, long after it became impossible for her to distinguish whether or not he returned her signals. In the calm glory of the sunlit estuary, he might have been bent on a pleasant picnic. It was outrageous to think of Good Hope Inlet as a place of skulls; yet she knew that the sea floor beneath the ship was already littered with bodies of the dead. Women would wait in vain for their men to return; why should she be spared?

At last she appealed to Mr. Boyle, who was nearest to her.

"Who is sitting next to Captain Courtenay?" she asked, and she had a fleeting impression that he was anxious for her to speak, so quickly did he answer.

"Tollemache. He shinned down the ladder as the first volunteer; the skipper ordered him to get out, but he said he was deaf. Anyhow, I'm glad he is there. Courtenay ought to have one sure enough white man by his side."

"And what are they attempting?"

"Huh, it's a bold plan, an' I'm not goin' to condemn it on that account. Have you heard this morning's news—how Suarez found out from the Indians that eleven of our crew are hiding in a cave on Guanaco Hill?"

"Something of it, not all. But why—why has Captain Courtenay gone off in such a hurry?"

"Well, Miss Elsie, he figures that an open effort by daylight is the only way to rescue them. They will have seen our signals, and they can hardly fail to sight the boat. When he is close inshore they are sure to make a dash for it, and he hopes to get them off before the Indians wake up to the game he is playing. There are eight men in the boat, and, with eleven others to help, there shouldn't be much difficulty in keepin' the savages at a proper distance."

"How soon—will he—reach the landing-place?"

"Huh, mebbe an hour; an' another hour for the home trip. He'll be aboard for tea."

Boyle uttered that concluding statement a trifle too airily. Elsie, for the first time in her life, knew what it meant to want to scream aloud.

The dog was dancing about excitedly, and whining without cease. She stooped and took him up in her arms.

"Please, Joey, be quiet," she murmured, her voice breaking with a stifled sob. She turned again to Mr. Boyle, who sedulously avoided her eyes.

"Did Captain Courtenay leave any message for me?" she demanded.

"Huh! Message! Why, he will be away only a couple of hours."

The chief officer's tone was gruff, conveying the idea that women asked silly questions, but his gruffness did not hoodwink Elsie. He had prepared his replies beforehand.

"Surely you will tell me, Mr. Boyle?" she pleaded wistfully.

"Well, I happen to know there's a letter in the doctor's hands. But that is to be given to you in case of accident alone. Isn't that so, doctor? And there's no sign of any accident yet, thank goodness!"

Boyle sighed, like a man who lays down a heavy load. He had successfully engineered Christobal into the conversation.

The Spaniard drew near. He had heard all that had passed, and tried a new line.

"I was rather hoping that you would not put that awkward query," he said, more alive than the sailor to the wisdom of discussing the very topic which offered so many thorns. "Of course, none of us, least of all Courtenay himself, disguises the difficulties which confront him. We have not fought the Alaculofs in two serious battles without learning their tenacity of purpose, and the mere fact that the men hidden in that cleft are compelled to remain invisible shows that they are beleaguered. But the last thing the Indians will expect is the appearance of a boat-load of armed men at this hour, and to take the enemy unawares is the essence of good generalship."

"When am I to have my letter?" she persisted, clinging tenaciously to one clear thought amid the phantasms which thronged her dazed mind.

"Oh, come, now! That is not the hopeless view I want you to take. In writing to you, Courtenay was only providing against a mishap. He would not go to certain death. He has too high a sense of what is due to his position as captain of a ship like the Kansas, loaded with a valuable cargo and carrying so many lives. Nor does Tollemache impress me as a would-be suicide. Both men think they will succeed, and they had not any trouble in obtaining a boat's crew of Chileans. So you see, there is a general belief in success, not failure."

She felt that the doctor was talking against time. He had instructions not to give her that letter until there could be no doubt of the fate which had befallen the rescuers. A mist came over her eyes, but she bit her lower lip fiercely, and the white teeth left their deep impress. The dog squirmed uneasily in her arms, and endeavored to lick her face. Joey's anxiety rivaled her own; had he, too, a premonition of evil?

Christobal was watching her intently. It was evident he feared the outcome of any sudden overthrow of her self-control.

"I think," he suggested, with a real sympathy in his voice, "that it would be better if you went to the saloon, or your cabin. Believe me, I shall come to you with every scrap of news. Boyle will see all that happens and we shall know the best, or the worst, within an hour."

"If you would help me," she answered dully, "please take the dog away. He is tearing my heart-strings. Poor little fellow, he makes no pretence."

So Joey was fastened up, much against his will, and his piteous protests no longer added to the girl's agony. She clung to the after rail, and watched the boat, now a tiny dot hard to discern amidst the ripples caused by the inflowing tide. Her intimate acquaintance with the daily happenings of life aboard told her that Courtenay had chosen the last hour of flood for his effort, thus gaining the advantage of the ebb in the event of the life-boat's being pursued by canoes on the return journey. By degrees, a tender little sprig of hope peeped up in her dulled consciousness. The boat was very near the distant rocks, and there was neither sight nor sound of the Indians. Could it be that they were afraid—altogether broken and demoralized by the slaughter of the preceding night? How quickly the acts of this drama shifted their scenes! Sixteen hours ago, she and Christobal were actually participating in the defense of the ship's last stronghold; now, the broad decks resembled the inner spaces of some impregnable fort, while the war was being carried into the enemy's territory. Yet the mortal peril which overshadowed them was threatening as ever. Life seemed to be doled out grudgingly, by minutes.

Suddenly she had a breathless desire to know why Courtenay was so sure that the men to whose help he had gone were really members of the crew. Christobal, dreading her despairing questions, was standing in the position he had occupied before Boyle dragged him into prominence. The chief officer was bracing a telescope against the ensign staff, and keeping the lifeboat in a full field. Gray, she noticed, was not looking towards Guanaco Hill, but swept all parts of the coastline constantly with his binoculars. The Spaniard's field-glasses were slung around his neck. He was not using them. He appeared to be deep in thought. More often than not, his glance rested on the eddy created by the swirl of the current past the ship's quarter. With a species of divination, she guessed somewhat the nature of his reverie. The notion stung her into a sort of fury. To quell it, she must speak again.

"Will you tell me now what it was that Suarez found out?" she murmured.

The doctor quickly appreciated her need of material for further thought. She wanted to appraise at their true value all things affecting that daring enterprise, bringing the evidence to the bar of her hopes, and nerving herself to hear the crudest testimony as to its dangers. He was glad to be able to beguile the next half hour with his recital. He suppressed no detail except his own willingness to take Courtenay's place in the boat. Notwithstanding his slight affectations, he was a man of finely-tempered judgment. He saw now that Courtenay could not have accepted his offer, nor was it likely that the men in the boat would follow any other leader than the captain. He even smarted a little at the knowledge. A super-sensitive honor led him to fear that his successful rival might suspect him of vaingloriousness. Herein Christobal did himself an injustice, and Courtenay a greater one, as he was fated soon to learn.

When Elsie heard of the duplicity practised by Suarez it was good to see the hot indignation which reddened her brow. She realized that the man was unscrupulous enough to remain silent concerning the captured sailors, whose unhappy fate had contributed, in no small degree, to the chance which brought him to safety. She instantly fastened on to the theory that the Indians paid their first nocturnal visit to the ship in the belief that the vessel would prove as easy a prey as the castaways, whereas Suarez must have fallen beneath their stones and rude hatchets if he had attempted to board the Kansas in broad daylight. With all a woman's single-mindedness, she regarded the Argentine miner as being directly responsible for Courtenay's hazard, nor would she listen to Christobal's mild protest that nothing could have been done earlier, no matter how outspoken Suarez chose to be.

The Spaniard encouraged her to debate this point—anything was better than the dumb pain of thought—but their talk ceased abruptly when a muttered exclamation from Gray sent Walker flying to the charthouse. Forthwith the trumpet shriek of the siren sent its wild boom across the silent waters. Elsie needed no explanation of this tumult. Otter Creek was not so far distant that canoes quitting its shelter could not be seen with the naked eye. She counted sixteen putting forth in a cluster, and they all made for the adventurous life-boat.

"That is exactly what our captain expected," Christobal was ready to assure her. "He was certain he would reach the head of the bay before the Indians awoke to the meaning of his scheme. By this time, unless his plan fails, the men on shore should have joined him, no matter what number of savages may seek to oppose their passage to the boat. The only doubtful question is— Will he be able to beat off the rascals who are now cutting his line of retreat?"

"Huh!" growled Boyle, "the skipper's out of sight now. Gone into a small creek or something of the sort. Hope he heard the horn. Let her rip!" he added in a loud shout over his shoulder, and again the siren flung a warning to the foot of the mountain range.

It was evident that the wonderful eyesight of the Indians practically equalled the range of the telescope. The men in the canoes were aware of the lifeboat's disappearance, and their wet paddles flashed in the sun as they tore across the three miles of open water which separated the southern promontory from the inner shore of the island. After a phenomenal spell of fine weather in that storm-swept latitude, the atmosphere was transparent and bright as that of Stornoway on a clear day in December. The rays of the sun were reflected from many a blue glacier and ice-covered slope. Even the green of the higher belt of firs was dazzling in its emerald luster, and the copper-hued beeches beneath shone in patches of burnished gold. Elsie was sick at heart with the knowledge that red-eyed murder was stalking its prey under the resplendent mantle spread by nature over a scene of rare beauty. In an agony of apprehension she followed the progress of the canoes. Creeping nearer Boyle, she whispered:

"For Heaven's sake, say the life-boat is visible again!"

He held up a hand to enforce silence. A deep hush fell on the ship.

"Listen!" he muttered, so low that Elsie alone caught the words. "Can you hear firing?"

She thought she could distinguish an irregular patter of dull reports, and the behavior of the Indians showed that additional excitement was toward. Many of them stood up and waved their arms, possibly as a signal to their allies on shore. The canoes raced madly. Where speed was vital the rough-hewn native craft were far swifter than the solidly-built lifeboat, with its broad beam and deep draft.

And that was all. Though they strained their eyes and spoke with bated breath, never a sight of boat or canoes was obtainable for hours after the latter were swallowed up by the trees which shrouded the creek at the foot of Guanaco Hill.

Isobel Baring, moved by genuine pity for her distraught friend, tried to induce her to leave the deck. But she shrank away, terrified by the fire which blazed from the blue eyes resting on her for an instant. Mrs. Somerville came, but she, too, was repulsed. Elsie spoke no word. She hardly moved. She clung to the rail, and gazed at the deepening shadows with the frozen stare of abiding horror. All things around her were unreal, fantastic; she dwelt in a world peopled by her own terrible imaginings. The smiling landscape was alive with writhing shapes. She fancied it a monstrous jungle full of serpents and grotesquely human beasts. The inert mass of the Kansas, so modern, so perfectly appointed in its contours and appurtenances, crushed her by its immense helplessness. The dominant idea in her mind was one of voiceless rage against the ship and its occupants. Why should her lover, who had saved their lives—who had plucked the eight thousand tons of steel fabric from the sharp-toothed rocks time and again—why should he be lying dead, disfigured by savage spite, while those to whom he had rendered such devoted service were coolly discussing his fate and speculating on their own good fortune? That thought maddened her. Her very brain seemed to burn with the unfairness of it all. When Christobal made a serious effort to lead her away, she threatened him with the fierceness of a mother defending her child from evil.

But relief was vouchsafed in the worst throes of her agony. It was some poor consolation to let her sorrow-laden eyes rest on the far-off trees which enshrouded him. What would befall her when night came, and the ship drew back out of the living world into the narrow gloom of deck and gangway, she could not know. She felt that her labored heart would refuse to bear its pangs any longer. If death came, that would be sweet. Her only hope lay in the life beyond the grave. . . . And what a grave! For her, the restless tides. For him! Surely her mind would yield to this increasing madness.

Boyle or Gray had never relaxed their vigil by her side. It was Gray who made the thrilling discovery that the canoes were returning. As the fleet crossed the bay it could be seen that they were towing the life-boat. But never a sign of any prisoners could the most careful scrutiny detect. The boat was empty; it was easy to count every man in the canoes as they passed into Otter Creek. And there were wounded Indians on board many of them. That was a significant, a tremendous, fact. There had been hard fighting, and the boat was captured, but some, if not all, of the crew must have joined their comrades in the sanctuary of the haunted cave. The accuracy of this deduction was proved by the presence of the smoke column on the hill. Indeed, the opinion was generally held that its spiral clouds were denser than at any previous hour, thus showing that the defenders were endeavoring to make known their continued existence.

Elsie awoke from her trance, but, in returning to life, she was transformed into a stern, resourceful, commanding woman. Her face had lost its gentleness; the pleasant curves and dimples of mouth and chin had hardened into a sort of determination; even her slight, graceful figure seemed to assume a certain squareness which betokened her resolve to act as her lover would have acted were he the watcher from the ship and she the prisoner pent behind that screen of rock and wild forest.

None suspected the mighty force which worked this resolution in her nature. She conducted herself with a cunning that was wholly foreign to her character. Her first care was to hoodwink her companions into the belief that the strain of the day had passed. She accepted a cup of tea brought by Isobel, expressed her sorrow that if by word or look she had given cause for offence, and entered eagerly into the pros and cons of the debate which sprang up as to the best course to pursue on the following day.

Everyone agreed that nothing could be done that night. If the pillar of smoke were visible at sunrise, and Walker could possibly manage to fire the boilers, Boyle suggested that some sailors in the jolly-boat should sound a channel along which the vessel itself might steam slowly towards Guanaco Hill. That, in itself, would be a move of considerable value. If they could lessen the distance between the shore and the ship, each yard thus gained would help the prisoners and impose a stronger barrier against the Alaculofs, who would probably be daunted when they found that the vessel's mobility was restored.

This proposal was deemed so excellent that they all dined in vastly better spirits than any of them anticipated. Christobal, puzzled out of his scientific senses by Elsie's change of manner, kept a close eye on her. He was amazed to see her eat a better meal than she had eaten for days, and she was normally a quite healthy young person, with a reasonably good appetite.

Boyle and Gray took the first watch, from eight o'clock to midnight. Christobal and Walker shared the next one; by four o'clock it would be daylight, so the doctor was retiring early to his cabin when he met Elsie, by chance as it seemed. She was self-possessed, even smiling, with a certain dour serenity.

"The day's doings have tired me," she said. "I am off to bed. Will you rap on my door soon after dawn?"

"Yes," he replied, secretly marveling at her air.

"I plead guilty to a slight feeling of nervousness," she went on. "Is your revolver loaded? Would you mind lending it to me? I think I could sleep more soundly if I had a reliable weapon tucked under my pillow."

A whiff of suspicion crossed Christobal's mind, but he brushed it aside as unworthy. At five o'clock that day he certainly would not have granted her request. But now, since the new hope had sprung up that Courtenay was alive, it was absurd to doubt her motives.

So it came to pass that Diego Suarez, lying asleep in his bunk, awoke with a start to find a shrouded figure bending over him.

"Is that you, Senor Suarez?" asked a voice, which he recognized instantly as belonging to the Senorita Maxwell.

"Yes," said he, drowsily.

"Have you the witch-doctor's clothes you wore when you came on board the ship?"

"But yes, senorita."

A hand, slight but strong, grasped him by the shoulder. He felt the rim of a revolver barrel pressed against his forehead.

"Get up, then! Dress quickly in those clothes, and come out on deck. By the side of your bunk you will find tins of black and white paint to smear your face and hands. At the slightest refusal on your part to do as I bid you—if you utter a cry or make any noise to attract attention—I shall kill you without another word."

The soft voice had a steely ring in it which persuaded the man from Argentina that he had better obey. In less than five minutes he emerged from the doorway. The corridor in which his cabin was situated led into the saloon. Elsie awaited him. A lamp, dimly lighting the gangway, revealed her face. Suarez thought he had to deal with a mad-woman. The dog, standing by her side, sniffed at him gingerly, but a muttered "Be quiet, Joey!" prevented any outburst, every fox-terrier being a born conspirator.

"What do you wish me to do, senorita?" began Suarez, thinking to placate her until he could obtain assistance.

"You must obey me in silence," she whispered tensely. "You must not even speak. One syllable aloud on deck will mean your death. Walk in front of me, up the main companion, and go straight to the ship's side."

"But, senorita!—"

The hammer of the revolver began to rise under the pressure of Elsie's finger on the trigger. The man's hair rose even more rapidly. His nerve was broken. He turned along the corridor in front of her, not knowing the instant a bullet might crash into his head. The girl followed so closely that she almost touched his heels. The dog would have trotted in front, but she recalled him.

When Suarez reached the port rail of the promenade deck, Elsie breathed:

"Climb, quickly, and go down into the canoe by the rope ladder you will find there."

"The canoe!" gasped he.

"Quick! One, two,—"

Up went Suarez over the rail. He found the top-most rungs of the ladder. As he descended, the revolver followed his eyes. When his head was level with the deck the order came:

"Take the dog and go down."

"I cannot, senorita."

"You must try. You are going down, dead or alive."

He did try. Joey scuffled a little, but Suarez caught him by the neck, and made shift to descend. Elsie was already on the swaying ladder when Boyle's voice rang out sharply from the spar-deck:

"Below there! Who is there?"

"I, Mr. Boyle," she answered.

"You, Miss Elsie? Where are you?"

"Here; not so far away."

She was descending all the time. She had cast loose the rope which fastened the canoe alongside, and her difficulty was to hold the ladder and at the same time, by clinging to the mast, to prevent the canoe from slipping away with the tide. The revolver she gripped between her teeth by the butt.

Boyle, puzzled by the sound of her voice, ran from the side of the bridge down the stairs and across the deck. He was a second too late to grasp the top of the mast as it drifted out of reach. He heard Elsie utter a low-voiced command in Spanish, and the dip of a paddle told him that the canoe was in motion.

"For the Lord's sake, what are you doing?" he roared.

"I am going to save Captain Courtenay," was the answer. "You cannot stop me now. Please hoist plenty of lights. If I succeed, look out for me before daybreak. If I fail, good-by!"



CHAPTER XVIII

A FULL NIGHT

Boyle was very angry. It was a situation which demanded earnest words, and they were forthcoming. Elsie understood them to mean that she need not be in such a purple hurry to disappear into the darkness without the least explanation; thereupon she bade Suarez back the canoe a little.

"I am sorry it is necessary to steal away in this fashion," she said, and the coolness of her tone was highly exasperating to a man who could no more detain her than he could move the Kansas unaided. "I have a plan which requires only a bit of good fortune to render it practicable. I have two assistants—Suarez, whose aid I am compelling, and Joey, who is quite eager. There is no use in risking any more lives. If I do not return you may be sure the worst has happened."

"But what is your plan?" roared Boyle. "It may be just sheer nonsense. Tell me what it is, and I swear by the Nautical Almanac I shall not prevent you from carrying it out if it has any reason behind it."

"I am going to collect all the Indian canoes," was the amazing answer. "I know it can be done, from what Suarez has said. Once we have the canoes in mid channel, we can set most of them adrift, and bring Captain Courtenay and the others back to the ship in four or five which we will tow to Guanaco Hill. And now, good-by again!"

"One moment, Miss Maxwell," broke in Gray's quiet voice from the upper deck. "You can't engineer that scheme with a one-man crew, and he sick and unwilling. I am going with you. You must take me aboard, wet or dry."

"I am well armed, and shall admit of no interference," she cried.

"I promise to obey orders."

"If I wanted you, Mr. Gray, I should have sought your help."

"It is one thing or the other—a wriggle down a rope or a high diving act."

"You have no right to impose such an alternative on me."

"I hate it myself, and I can't dive worth a cent. You will hear a beastly flop when I strike the damp."

"Mr. Boyle—I call on you to hold him."

Boyle explained luridly that the American was doing a balancing act on the rail eight feet above his head. Elsie, taking her eyes off Suarez for an instant, discerned Gray's figure silhouetted against the sky. She yielded.

"There is a rope ladder fastened to the lowest rail, near where the canoe was moored," she said.

"Is there to be any catch-as-catch-can business, Boyle?" demanded Gray.

"No. All this is d—d unfair to me."

"You have my sympathy, friend, but you can't leave the ship. Now, Miss Maxwell, come alongside. Boyle is going to be good. He doesn't mean half he says, anyhow."

As the canoe slipped out of the dense gloom of the ship's shadow, Elsie heard the wrathful chief officer interviewing the Chilean sailors on watch on the main deck fore and aft. That is to say, he stirred them up from the bridge with a ritual laid down for such extreme cases. Not yet had he realized the exceeding artifice which the girl displayed in throwing him and all the others off their guard. She had maneuvered Suarez into the canoe with the fierce and silent strategy of a Red Indian.

The Argentine squatted on his knees in the bows, Gray placed himself amidships, and Elsie sat aft, holding the revolver in her right hand and the dog's collar in her left. The American groped for and found a paddle, which he plied vigorously.

"Guess you'd better discourse," said he over his shoulder, when the light craft was well clear of the ship.

"You understand Spanish, I think?"

"Yes."

"Please tell Suarez to cease paddling and listen. Don't move. I can trust you, but I may have to shoot him."

"Best hand me that pop-gun, Miss Maxwell. The gentleman in front seems to have a wholesome respect for you already; anything you say goes, where he is concerned. I am taking your word for it his name is Suarez, but he looks, and smells, more like an Indian."

"I forced him to dress in his discarded clothes. He may be able now to scare any of the savages we come across. But why should I give you my weapon, Mr. Gray?"

"Because I can hit most things I aim at, whereas you are more likely to bore a hole through me as a preliminary. Moreover, you have the dog with you, and even the wisest dog may bark at the wrong moment. You must have both hands at liberty to choke his enthusiasm."

"Do you pledge your word to go on with my scheme?"

"That is what I am here for."

"Take the revolver, then."

"Sure it's loaded?"

"Quite sure. I have fifteen extra cartridges, but, as I have practised refilling it in the dark, give it to me if you have occasion to empty it."

"You seem to have thought this thing out pretty fully?"

"I intend to succeed. Now, please, I must explain what I want Suarez to do."

Speaking in Spanish, slow and clear, while the canoe drifted steadily up the bay with the rising tide, Elsie unfolded her project. Behind the guardian cliff of Otter Creek a ridge of rocks created a small natural harbor. It was the custom of the Alaculofs, when the weather was calm, and they meant to use their craft at daybreak, to anchor most of their vessels in this sheltered break-water. At other times the canoes were drawn ashore, but she reasoned that such a precaution would not be taken during the present excitement. That was the first part of her program—to capture the entire fleet, including the life-boat. In any event, she intended to go next to the hidden cleft at the foot of Guanaco Hill, trusting to the dog's sagacity to reveal the retreat where she believed that her lover and many of his men were hidden. If a squad of Indians mounted guard there, the reappearance of Suarez in his war paint, backed by the alarm of a night attack from the sea, might mystify the enemy sufficiently to permit of a landing, while the frequent reports of the revolver would certainly lead to a counter demonstration by Courtenay. Suarez was the only man on the Kansas who could act as guide, and the penalty of his refusal would be instant death. She had provided a strong, sharp knife to cut the thongs which fastened the canoes to their anchor-stones. For the rest, she trusted to the darkness. It was her fixed resolve to succeed or die.

Gray listened to the girl's cool statement with growing admiration. The plan began to look feasible. It came within the bounds of reason. The odds were against it, of course, but the law of probability is seldom in favor of a forlorn hope. Suarez, too, making the best of a situation which gave him no option, agreed that they had a fair chance if once they got hold of the canoes. Nevertheless, he warned them that he knew nothing of the surroundings of Guanaco Hill. He believed there were no reefs on that side of the inlet, but he had never visited it. Their greatest peril lay amid the almost impenetrable trees which grew down to the water's edge. On his advice, Gray unshipped the mast and threw it overboard. Then silence became imperative. If aught were said, they must speak in the merest whisper.

The canoe darted forward again with stealthy haste. The night was clear, though dark. The stars helped them to distinguish the outlines of the shore now coming rapidly nearer. As they crept round the southern cheek of Point Kansas, the Argentine ceased paddling, and placed a warning hand on Gray's arm. The cliff was so high and steep that its shadow plunged into deepest gloom the water at its base. Suarez, however, had imbibed a good deal of savage lore during his enforced residence on the island. He stretched well forward over the bows, held a paddle as far in front as possible, and thus not only guided the drifting canoe by an occasional dip of the blade, but trusted to it for warning of any unseen rock.

There was a cold breeze on the surface of the bay, but the dog was the only one who shivered, and his tremors arose from excitement. At last they felt a slight bump. The Argentine had found the reef he was searching for; by watching a star it was easy enough to follow the southerly bend taken by the canoe in skirting this barrier, while their ears caught the murmur of the swift current amid the numerous tiny channels of the rocks. Suddenly this swirl and hum of fast-flowing water ceased. Elsie and Gray became aware that Suarez was cautiously drawing himself inboard again. Then his paddle dipped with a noiseless stroke; the canoe was inside the Alaculof harbor.

The midnight blackness was now something that had a sense of actual obstruction in it. It seemed that a hand put forth would encounter a wall. The tide was here, but no perceptible current. For all they could tell to the contrary, they might have been floating in Charon's boat across some Stygian pool.

For a minute or two, Elsie's brave heart failed her. Here was a difficulty which desperate courage could not surmount. There might be dozens of canoes moored on all sides, but to discover them in this pitch darkness was so obviously impossible that she almost made up her mind to abandon this part of her enterprise. Yet the narrow-beamed Fuegian craft she was in would hold only four more occupants, and that with a certain risk and unwieldiness. She was as determined as ever to cross the bay and endeavor to communicate with the imprisoned men. But she recognized the absurdity of the thought that Courtenay and Tollemache would consent to escape in the canoe and leave the others to their fate, even if such a thing were practicable. Oddly enough, the one person whose daring might reasonably be suspected, gave no signs of the pangs of doubt. Suarez pushed forward resolutely. He knew what Elsie had forgotten—that in each canoe used by the Indians there was a carefully preserved fire, whose charcoal embers retained some heat and glow all night. The first intimation of this fact was revealed by the pungent fumes which environed them. Elsie could not help uttering a little gasp of relief. There was a slight movement in front. Gray leaned back and touched her hand.

"Suarez says," he whispered, "that you are to be ready with your tow ropes. As he secures each canoe he will pass it along to me. You will be able to see its outlines by the dim glimmer of the fire. But how will you manage about the dog? He may cause an alarm."

Much to Joey's disgust, he was forthwith muzzled with a piece of rope, not that this device would stop him effectually from barking, but Elsie thought he would so resent the indignity that he might pay less heed to outer circumstances. She needed no warning that Indians were near. The Argentine miner's description of the community which dwelt on Otter Creek made her understand that there were hundreds within hail.

A great joy leaped up in her when the first canoe came under her hand. It was quite easy to manipulate the painter-rope. The stem had a notched knob provided for this very purpose, and there was a stern-post against which a steersman might press a paddle and thus swerve the canoe in any direction. But it was slow work. The craft were moored without any semblance of order, yet Suarez was forced to secure them in a definite sequence, or a string of half-a-dozen would become unmanageable.

When the second canoe was made fast Gray bent towards the girl once more.

"I have been listening to the tick of my watch," he breathed against her ear. "I reckon it has taken ten minutes to collect two dug-outs. Unless we mean to remain all night we must let up on the cutting adrift proposition."

"I agree," she murmured. "But we must have two more."

He told Suarez of the new development, which was essential, though it added to the danger of the enterprise. By sheer good fortune, however, they blundered against the life-boat. A dog barked, and Elsie had a thrilling struggle with Joey, who was furious that this unlooked-for insolence should go unanswered. The sleepless cur who yelped ashore speedily subsided, but it appeared to be an age before Suarez moved again. He knew, better than his companions, how ready the Indians were to note such sentinel challenges. Had the alarm continued, the whole village would have been aroused, and, if the attack on the canoes were suspected, the water would swarm with vengeful savages.

Elsie found the painter of the life-boat coiled in its proper place. Soon she experienced a steady pull on the rope. Her little fleet was in motion. Gray began to help in the paddling. Ere long they came under the influence of the tide, and she heard the ripple of the water against the planks of the boat. Then Suarez called a halt and a parley.

It would be far better, he advised, to use the oars in the heavy boat than attempt to tow it across the strong current from a canoe. They would gain time and be safer. So they climbed into the life-boat, but continued to tow the canoes.

And now they saw the mast-head light of the Kansas. Boyle had also caused the side lights to be slung to davits, and the white, red, and green lamps made a triangle in the obscurity, though its base seemed to be strangely near sea level. Even a big vessel like the Kansas shrinks to small proportions when she is a mile or more distant at night. She becomes indivisible, a mere atom in the immensity of the black waters; it demands an effort of the imagination to credit her with wide decks, streets of cabins, and cavernous holds. In one respect the exhibition of the port and starboard lights served them most excellently. Guanaco Hill was directly astern of the ship; they had absolutely no trouble in maintaining a straight line for their destination, all that was necessary being to keep the mast-head light in the exact center of the green and red points.

Suarez, somewhat weak from his knock on the head over night, was not equal to the strain of continued exertion, so Elsie and Gray took two oars each, and allowed their companion to rest. When, judging by the surrounding hills, they were half way across the inlet, Gray stooped low in the boat, struck a match, and looked at his watch. It was long after one o'clock! There could be no doubt whatever that the dawn would find them far from the ship, no matter how fortunate they might be in their further adventures.

It was well for Elsie that she had learnt how to scull when in her teens, and that her muscles were in fair condition owing to her skill at tennis. Even so, she feared that she could never hold out against the sustained stress of that pull across the bay. The heavy boat, intended to be rowed by six men, had the added burthen of four canoes. It was back-breaking work; but she neither faltered nor sighed until Suarez said:

"Let me take your place now, senorita. In ten minutes we shall be at the mouth of the creek, though heaven only knows how we shall find it."

He did not exaggerate in thus expressing his fear. Time and again they neared the shore, only to hear the tidal swell breaking heavily on the rocks. The lights of the Kansas, fully three miles away, could only tell them that they were in the neighborhood of the place where Courtenay had last been seen in this identical boat. The least divergence from the line given by the position of the ship meant a difference of hundreds of yards at such a distance, and there was an ominous lightening of the gloom, accompanied by a dimming of the stars, when Gray hit on the idea that the powerful current had probably carried them a good deal southward of the point they were aiming at. He suggested that they should boldly pull a quarter of a mile or so against the tide and then try their luck. Their progress, of course, became slower than ever, and Elsie began to despair that they would ever find the mouth of the stream which ran through the cleft in the hill, when she suddenly saw the luminous crescents which heralded the sunrise over the inner mountain range. They could not be visible unless there was a break in the cliffs in that locality.

"Pull in now," she whispered tensely, and, with a little further effort, they found that the boat was traveling not against but with the tide, which was flooding a small offshoot of the main estuary.

Precaution became not only useless but impossible. They were all worn out. Nothing but the most inflexible determination on the part of Elsie and Gray, eked out by a certain desponding fear of both of them felt by Suarez, had sustained them thus far. They went on, and on; they swept rapidly into the jaws of a precipitous defile, the lofty crests on either hand coming momentarily nearer against the brightening sky. It did not seem credible that this sheer cut through the heart of a gigantic hill could continue for more than a few yards, nor that anything save a bird could find foothold on its steep sides. Yet the current flowed smoothly onwards, through a wealth of vegetation which clung precariously to every ledge and natural escarpment.

Joey, embarrassed by his gag, nevertheless managed to emit a warning growl. Then the boat crashed into a canoe, and a hoarse yell of alarm came from beneath the lowermost trees, whose dense foliage flung a pall over the water. Gray was seized with an inspiration. He grasped the canoe as it bumped along the gunwale, and held it down on one side until it filled and sank. He sent another, and yet a third, guzzling to the bottom before the outburst of raucous cries from both banks showed there were Indians here in some force.

Stones, too, began to hum around them; some struck the boat, but the greater number whizzed unpleasantly close to the heads of the two men and the girl, proving conclusively that they were visible to the unseen enemy. Gray whipped forth the revolver and fired twice. The second time a shriek of pain told that he had hit one of their assailants. The two reports made a deafening din in that place of echoes. They appeared to stir the Indians into a perfect frenzy, and it was evident, by the sounds, that the islanders had not much liberty of movement on the narrow strips of land they occupied on both sides of the gorge.

Elsie caught some significant splashing behind her.

"They are swimming towards the canoes," she screamed.

Telling Suarez to pull for all he was worth, Gray, clambered to the stern of the boat and emptied the revolver at what he took to be the black heads of the swimmers.

"Quick! Load it again," he said, and Elsie obeyed with a nimbleness and certainty that were amazing.

The American fired three more shots before he was satisfied that the canoes were untenanted and not cut adrift. They were now leaving the pandemonium behind, and Elsie, bethinking herself of the dog, freed him from that most objectionable muzzle. Joey forthwith awoke the welkin with his uproar, but, although the girl strained her ears for some answering hail, she could detect nothing beyond the bawling of Indians at each other across the narrow creek, and the repeated echoes of the dog's barking.

About this time Gray began to suspect that the tide was bearing them onward at a remarkable rate. In the somber depths of the cleft or canon it was difficult to discern stationary objects clearly enough to obtain a means of estimating the pace of the stream. But the rapid dying down of the hubbub among the savages gave him cause to think. He asked Suarez to cease pulling. The canoes behind came crowding in on the more solid boat, and an oar held out until it encountered some invisible branch was rudely swept aside. In a word, they were being impelled towards an unknown destination with the silence and gathering speed of a mill-race.

An expert engineer, though his work may have little to do with sea or river, cannot fail to accumulate a store of theoretical knowledge as to the properties and limitations of water in motion. Gray knew that the quickened impulse of the stream arose from the tidal force exerted in a channel which gradually lessened its width. The boat was traveling at sea level. Therefore, there could be neither rapids nor cataract in front; but the steady rush of the current, now plainly audible, could not be accounted for simply by the effort of the tide to gain a passage through a mere by-way, as the boat was now nearly half a mile from the estuary, and the velocity of the current was increasing each moment.

"We must endeavor to reach the bank and hold on to the branches of a tree," he shouted in Spanish. "Down with your heads until the boat strikes, and then try to lay hold of something."

There was no time for explanation. He seized an oar; a powerful stroke swung the boat's nose round. By chance, he used the starboard oar. All unknowing he spun a coin for life or death, and life won. They crashed through some drooping foliage and ran into a crumbling bank. Gray unshipped the oar and jammed it straight down. It stuck between stones at a depth of three feet, and the life-boat was held fast for the time. The canoes hurtled against each other, but were swept aside instantly. When the noise ceased, they plainly heard the swirl of the water. In their new environment, it had the uncanny and sinister hiss of some monstrous snake.

"Everybody happy?" Gray demanded coolly.

"I am clinging to a tree trunk," answered Elsie.

"Bully for you. Make fast with a piece of rope. But be careful to provide a slip-knot, in case we have to sheer off in a hurry. Can you manage that?"

"Quite well."

Elsie was fully aware that the leadership of the expedition had gone from her. She was not sorry; it was in strong hands. Suarez, too, secured a stout branch, and passed a rope around it.

"Now, silence! and listen!" said Gray.

They soon detected a curiously subdued clamor from the inner recesses of the cleft. At first almost indistinguishable, it gradually assumed the peculiar attribute of immense volumes of distant sound, and filled the ear to the exclusion of all else. It was like nothing any of them had heard before; now it recalled the roar of a mighty waterfall, and again its strange melody brought memories of a river in flood. But the dominant note was the grinding noise of innumerable mill-stones. It cowed them all. Even the dog was afraid.

"Guess we tied up just in time," exclaimed Gray, feeling the need of speech. A little sob answered him. Elsie was beginning to admit the sheer hopelessness of her undertaking.

"Now, cheer up, Miss Maxwell," said he. "All the water that is going in must come out by the same road. At the worst, we can skate back the way we came and take our chance. But it will soon be broad daylight, and I'll answer for it that if Captain Courtenay is yet alive he is not between us and the mouth of the inlet, or he would have contrived some sort of racket to let us know his whereabouts. Now, I propose that our friend in the bows be asked to shin up the cliff and prospect a bit. He ought to know how to crawl through this undergrowth. Fifty feet higher he will be able to see some distance."

Elsie agreed miserably. She was crushed by the immensity of the difficulties confronting them. Expedients which looked simple beforehand were found lamentably deficient to cope with wild nature on the stupendous scale of this gloomy land. Suarez, too, was very reluctant to leave the boat, but the American adopted a short cut in the argument, offering him the alternative of climbing ashore or of being thrown overboard.

So the Argentine adopted the less hazardous method, and climbed to the bank. A splash, and a scramble, and a slight exclamation from Elsie told that the dog had followed. Soon the swish of leaves and the crackling of rotten wood ceased. Suarez might be out of earshot or merely hiding for a time, intending to return with news of an impassable precipice. There was a crumb of comfort in the absence of the terrier. Joey would either go on or come back to them at once.

Gray felt that the girl was too heart-broken to talk. He listened to the rhythmical chorus of that witches' cauldron in the heart of the defile, and watched the gray light slowly etching a path through the trees, until it touched the fast-running water with a shimmer of silver.

Neither of them knew how long they remained there; at last, a straining and creaking of the boat warned them that the water level was rising and the ropes needed readjusting. It was now possible to see that Elsie had made fast to a fallen tree; its branches were locked among the gnarled roots of the lowermost growth above high-water mark. Already there was a distinct lessening in the pace of the current, and Gray fancied that the distant rumble was softer. It would not be many minutes before the neighboring rocks were covered; high tide, he knew, was at 3.15 A.M. He forebore to look at his watch, lest the girl should note his action. That would imply the utter abandonment of hope.

It might be that his mind was too taken up with the weird influences of the hour, or that Elsie's senses were strung to a superhuman pitch. Be that as it may, it was she who sprang to her feet all a-quiver with agitation.

"Do you hear?" she whispered, and her hand clutched Gray's shoulder with an energy which set his heart beating high. He did not answer. He had heard no unusual sound, but he was not without faith in her.

"There!" she panted again. "Some one is hailing. Some one cried 'Elsie.' I am sure of it."

"Guess you'd better toot 'Arthur' on the off chance," said Gray.

Almost the last thing she remembered was the sound of her own wild scream. There came back to her a stronger shout, and the bark of a dog. She had a blurred consciousness of a whole troupe of men scrambling down the choked ravine, of glad questions and joyous answers, of a delirious dog leaping on board and yelping staccato assurances that everything was all right in a most wonderful world. Then she found herself in Courtenay's arms, and heard him say in a rapture of delight:

"I owe my life to you, dear heart. That is the wonder of it. No need to tell me you ran away from the ship. I know. One kiss, Elsie; then full speed ahead for the Kansas. By the Lord, to think of it! You here! At the very gate of the Inferno! Well, one more kiss! Yes, it is I, none other, and fit as a fiddle. Never got a scratch. There, now; I really must see to the crew. We must be ready for the turn of the tide."



CHAPTER XIX

WHEREIN THE KANSAS RESUMES HER VOYAGE

The events of the next hour were shadowy as the dawn to Elsie. She knew that her lover placed men in each of the canoes, that the life-boat itself was crowded, and that it began the seaward journey after the others had started. She followed his explanation that if one of the lighter craft got into difficulties at the Indian barrier, the big, heavy boat would be able to extricate it. But she feared neither Indians nor sea. Had Courtenay proposed to sail away into the Pacific she would have listened with placid approval. She was by his side; that sufficed. For the rest, they lived in the midst of adventures. What did it matter if they were called on to run the gauntlet of one more ambuscade—or a dozen, if it came to that?