The Silver Horde Part 42

"Here they come! Cast off, for G.o.d's sake!"

Instantly a wild cry of rage and defiance rose from the clotted rigging and upper works of _The Bedford Castle_. Down the fishermen swarmed, ready to over-flow the sides of the ship, but, with a sharp order to George, Boyd ran up the gang-plank and rushed along the rail to a commanding position in the path of his men, where, drawing his revolver, he roared at them to keep back, threatening the first to go ash.o.r.e. His lungs were bursting from his sprint, and it was with difficulty that his voice rose above the turmoil; but he presented such a figure of determination that the men paused, and then the steamship whistle interrupted opportunely, with a deafening blast.

The dozen men who had been slinging freight on the dock hastened up the gang-plank or climbed the fenders, while the signal-man clung to the lifting tackle, and, at the piping cry of his whistle, was swung aloft out of the very arms of the rioters.

Above, on the flying bridge, Captain Peasley was bellowing orders; a quartermaster was running up the iron steps to the pilot-house; on deck the sailors were fighting their way to their posts through the ranks of the raging fishermen and the shrieking confusion of the Orientals; the last men aboard, with a "Heave Ho!" in unison, slid the gang-plank upward and out of reach. The neighboring roofs, lately so black, were emptying now, the onlookers hastening to join in the attack.

Big George alone remained upon the wharf. As he saw the rush coming he had ordered his men to abandon their load; then he ran to the after-mooring, and, taking slack from a deck hand, cast it off. Back up the dock he went to the forward hawser, where, at a signal, he did the same, moving, toward the last, without excessive hurry, as if in a spirit of bravado. The ship was clear, and he had not cut a hawser. He had done his work; all but a ton or two of the cargo was stowed. There was no longer cause for delay.

"Get aboard! Are you mad?" Emerson shouted, but the cry never reached him.

Back he came slowly, in front of the press, secure in his tremendous strength, defiance in his every move, a smouldering challenge in his eyes; and noting that gigantic frame with its square-hewn, flaming face, not one of his enemies dared oppose him. But as he pa.s.sed they yapped and snarled and jostled at his heels, hungry to rend him and only lacking courage.

As yet the ship, although throbbing to the first pulsations of her engines, lay snug along the piling, but gradually her stern swung off and a wedge of clearance showed. Almost imperceptibly she drew back and rubbed against the timbers. A fender began to squeeze and complain. The dock planking creaked. Sixty seconds more and she would be out of arm's-reach, and still George made no haste. Again Boyd shouted at him, and then with one farewell glower over his shoulder the big fellow mounted a pile, stretched his arms upward to the bulwarks, and swung himself lightly aboard.

Even yet Emerson's anxiety was of the keenest; for, notwithstanding the stress of these dragging moments, he had not forgotten Fraser, the vagabond, the morally twisted rascal, to whose courage and resourcefulness he owed so much. He strained his eyes for a glimpse of the fellow, at the same time dreading the sight of a uniform. Would the ship never get under way and out of hailing distance? If those officers had discovered their mistake, they might yet have time to stop him. He vowed desperately that he would not let them, not if he had to take _The Bedford Castle_ to sea with a gun at the back of her helmsman. He made his way hurriedly to the bridge, where he hastily explained to Captain Peasley his evasion of the officers; and here he found Cherry, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement, but far too wise to speak to him in his present state of mind.

A scattered shower of missiles came aboard as the strikers kept pace with the steamer to the end of the slip, exciting the fishermen, who had again mounted the rigging, to a simian frenzy. Oaths, insults, and jeers were hurled back and forth; but as the big steamer gathered momentum and slid out of her berth, they grew gradually more indistinct, until at last they became m.u.f.fled, broken, and meaningless. Even then the rival ranks continued to volley profanely at each other, while the Captain, with hand on the whistle-rope, blew taunting blasts; nor did the fishermen descend from their perches until the forms on the dock had blurred together and the city lay ma.s.sed in the distance, tier upon tier, against the gorgeous evening sky.

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH A MUTINY IS THREATENED

Even after they were miles down the Sound, Boyd remained at his post, sweeping the waters astern in an anxious search for some swift harbor craft, the appearance of which would signal that his escape had been discovered.

"I won't feel safe until we are past Port Townsend," he confessed to Cherry, who maintained a position at his side.

"Why Port Townsend? We don't stop there."

"No. But the police can wire on from Seattle to stop us and take me off at that point."

"If they find out their mistake."

"They must have found it out long ago. That's why I've got Peasley forcing this old tub; she's doing ten knots, and that's a breakneck speed for her.

Once we're through the Straits, I'll be satisfied. But meanwhile--"

Emerson lowered his gla.s.ses with a sigh of fatigue, and in the soft twilight the girl saw that his face was lined and careworn. The yearning at her heart lent poignant sympathy to her words, as she said:

"You deserve to win, Boyd; you have made a good fight."

"Oh, I'll win!" he declared, wearily. "I've got to win; only I wish we were past Port Townsend."

"What will happen to Fraser?" she queried.

"Nothing serious, I am sure. You see, they wanted me, and n.o.body else; once they find they have the wrong man I rather believe they will free him in disgust."

A moment later he went on: "Just the same, it makes me feel depressed and guilty to leave him--I--I wouldn't desert a comrade for anything if the choice lay with me."

"You did quite right," Cherry warmly a.s.sured him.

"You see, I am not working for myself; I am doing this for another."

It was the girl's turn to sigh softly, while the eyes she turned toward the west were strangely sad and dreamy. To her companion she seemed not at all like the buoyant creature who had kindled his courage when it was so low, the brave girl who had stood so steadfastly at his shoulder and kept his hopes alive during these last, trying weeks. It struck him suddenly that she had grown very quiet of late. It was the first time he had had the leisure to notice it, but now, when he came to reflect on it, he remembered that she had never seemed quite the same since his interview with her on that day when Hilliard had so unexpectedly come to his rescue.

He wondered if in reality this change might not be due to some reflected alteration in himself. Well! He could not help it.

Her strange behavior at that time had affected him more deeply than he would have thought possible; and while he had purposely avoided thinking much about the banker's sudden change of front, back of his devout thankfulness for the miracle was a vague suspicion, a curious feeling that made him uncomfortable in the girl's presence. He could not repent his determination to win at any price; yet he shrank, with a moral cowardice which made him inwardly writhe, from owning that Cherry had made the sacrifice at which Clyde and the others had hinted. If it were indeed true, it placed him in an intolerable position, wherein he could express neither his grat.i.tude nor his censure. No doubt she had read the signs of his mental confusion, and her own delicate sensibility had responded to it.

They remained side by side on the bridge while the day died amidst a wondrous panoply of color, each busied with thoughts that might not be spoken, in their hearts emotions oddly at variance. The sky ahead of them was wide-streaked with gold, as if for a symbol, interlaid with sooty clouds in silhouette; on either side the mountains rose from penumbral darkness to clear-cut heights still bright from the slanting radiance.

Here and there along the shadowy sh.o.r.e-line a light was born; the smell of the salt sea was in the air. Above the rhythmic pulse of the steamer rose the voices of men singing between decks, while the parting waters at the prow played a soft accompaniment. A steward summoned them to supper, but Boyd refused, saying he could not eat, and the girl stayed with him while the miles slowly slipped past and the night encompa.s.sed them.

"Two hours more," he told her, as the ship's bell sounded. "Then I can eat and sleep--and sing."

Captain Peasley was pacing the bridge when later they breasted the glare of Port Townsend and saw in the distance the flashing searchlights of the forts that guard the Straits. They saw him stop suddenly, and raise his night-gla.s.ses; Boyd laid his hand on Cherry's arm. Presently the Captain crossed to them and said:

"Yonder seems to be a launch making out. See? I wonder what's up." Almost in their path a tiny light was violently agitated. "By Jove! They're signalling."

"You won't stop, will you?" questioned Emerson.

"I don't know, I am sure. I may have to."

The two boats were drawing together rapidly, and soon those on the bridge heard the faint but increasing patter of a gasoline exhaust. Carrying the same speed as _The Bedford Castle_, the launch shortly came within hailing distance. The cyclopean eye of the ship's searchlight blazed up, and the next instant, out from the gloom leaped a little craft, on the deck of which a man stood waving a lantern. She held steadfastly to her course, and a voice floated up to them:

"Ahoy! What ship?"

"_The Bedford Castle_, cannery-tender for Bristol Bay," Peasley shouted back.

The man on the launch relinquished his lantern, and using both palms for a funnel, cried, more clearly now: "Heave to! We want to come aboard."

With an exclamation of impatience, the commanding officer stepped to the telegraph, but Emerson forestalled him.

"Wait, they're after me, Captain; it's the Port Townsend police, and if you let them aboard they'll take me off."

"What makes you think so?" demanded Peasley.

"Ask them."

Turning, the skipper bellowed down the gleaming electric pathway, "Who are you?"

"Police! We want to come aboard."

"What did I tell you?" cried Emerson.

Once more the Captain shouted: "What do you want?"