My Brave and Gallant Gentleman Part 48

But, somewhere in the darkness behind me, a pistol-shot rang out and the big man staggered, letting out a howl of pain, as his arm dropped limp to his side.

He darted for the boat and threw himself into it, seized a spare oar and pushed off frantically.

"Pull,--pull like h.e.l.l," he yelled.

They needed no second bidding, for they shot out into the Bay as if a thousand devils were after them.

I turned to ascertain who my deliverer could be; and there, on the beach, only a few yards away, stood Mary Grant with a serviceable-looking revolver held firmly in her right hand.

"What? You! Mary,--Mary," I cried in an agony of thought at the awful risk she had run.

"Are you all right, George?" she inquired anxiously.

"Right as rain," I answered, hurrying to her side.

"Did they get Jake's trunk away?"

"No! The low thieves! It is lying there in the water. Do you think you could help me up with it?"

She caught up the trunk at one end, while I took the other. And we carried it back between us to Jake's cabin.

Poor old Jake! I could hardly smother a smile as I saw the dejected figure he presented. His grey hair was drooping over his forehead, every line in his face showed a droop, and his long, white moustache drooped like the tusks of a walrus, or like the American comic journals' representations of the whiskers of ancient and fossilised members of the British peerage.

He was sitting bound, as the robbers had left him.

I cut him free and he staggered to his feet.

He was sober as a jail bird, and, excepting for his broken lip and chafed wrists, he was, to all appearances, none the worse for his experiences. It surprised me to notice how little he seemed interested in the recovery of his money. All his attention and sympathy were centred on the wretched dog, Mike, who was slowly getting over the clubbing he had received and was whimpering like a discontented baby.

Mike had a long gash in his neck, evidently made by one of the robbers with Jake's bread-knife. Mary washed out the wound and I st.i.tched it up with a needle and thread, so that, all things considered, Mike was lucky in getting out of his encounter as easily as he did.

As for the crack I had received over the head, it had made me b.l.o.o.d.y enough, but it was superficial and not worth worrying about.

I decided I would not leave Jake alone that night and that, as soon as I had seen Mary safely home, I would return and sleep in his cabin till morning.

"When you come back," said Jake gruffly, "bring ink and paper with you.

I want you to do some writin' for me, George."

I laughed, for I knew what was in his mind.

As Mary and I wended our way back through the narrow path, in the dead of that moonlight night, the daring and bravery of her action caught me afresh. How I admired her! I could scarcely refrain from telling her of it, and of how I loved her. But it was neither the time nor the place for protestations of affection.

"How in the world did you happen to get down there at the right moment?" I asked.

She gave a quiet ripple of laughter.

"I couldn't sleep and I was up and standing at the window----"

"Just as I was doing," I put in.

"I saw that boat come up,--as you must have seen it, George,--I went to the door, and, in the moonlight, I saw you come out and take the back path. Later still, I heard noises and the cursing of these men.

"I became afraid that something was wrong, so I dressed, took up my little revolver and followed you.

"I was at the window of Jake's cabin all the time he was being forced to drink and while you were tied up. I had to get out of the way when they came out."

At the door of Mary's house I took her hand in mine.

"We are quits now, Mary. Those blackguards certainly would have finished me off but for you.

"Where did you learn to shoot, you wild and woolly Westerner?" I asked.

"Why! Didn't I ever tell you? For quite a while, when I was a youngster, I lived on a ranch in the Western States. Everybody could shoot down there."

"But, what would you have said had you killed that big black robber or winged me?" I asked. "We were all in a higgledy-piggledy mix-up when you fired."

She smiled.

"I can generally hit what I aim at."

I nodded my head. "Ay! And I think you can hit sometimes even when you don't aim."

"George!" she admonished, "we were referring simply to shooting with a gun,--not with a bow and arrows."

CHAPTER XXII

Jake Stops the Drink for Good

By the time I got back to Jake, he had his bed hammered up into position again.

He insisted that I, as his guest, should occupy it, while he would enjoy nothing so well as being allowed to curl himself up in a blanket on the floor, in the company of the convalescing Mike.

"Say, George!--before we turn in, I want you to write two letters for me. I ain't goin' to have no more hold-ups round this joint. Them ten thousand bucks is goin' to your bank;--what do you call it?"

"The Commercial Bank of Canada," I answered.

"Write a letter to them and ask them to send somebody up to take this darned chest away. A receipt looks good enough to me after this sc.r.a.p."

He smoked his pipe reflectively as I wrote out the letter to the Bank Manager, asking him to send up two men to count over Jake's h.o.a.rd and take it back with them, giving him a receipt to cover.

"Know any good lawyers, George? Most of them ginks are grafters from away back,--so I've heard,--but I guess maybe there's one or two could do a job on the level."

"Of course there are, Jake. Dow, Cross & Sneddon for instance. They are Mr. Horsfal's lawyers and solicitors. They are straight, honest business men, too."

"Guess they'll fill the bill, all right."