As the sun slanted up between the southward hills, out from the gossamer haze that lay like filmy forest smoke above the ocean came a snow-white yacht. She stole inward past the headlands, as silent as a wraith, leaving a long, black streamer penciled against the sky; so still was the dawn that the breath from her funnel lay like a trail behind her, slowly fading and blending with the colors of the morning.
The waters were gleaming nickel beneath her prow, and she clove them like a blade; against the dove-gray sky her slender rigging was traced as by some finely pointed instrument; her sides were as clean as the stainless breasts of the gulls that floated near the shore.
As she came proudly up through the fleets of fishing-boats, perfect in every line and gliding with stately dignity, the grimy little crafts drew aside as if in awe, while tired-eyed men stared silently at her as if at a vision.
To Boyd Emerson she seemed like an angel of mercy, and he stood forth upon the deck of his launch searching her hungrily for the sight of a woman's figure. When he had first seen the ship rounding the point he had uttered a cry, then fallen silent watching her as she drew near, heedless of his surroundings. His heart was leaping, his breath was choking him. It seemed as if he must shout Mildred's name aloud and stretch his arms out to her. Of course, she would see him asThe Grande Damepassed—she would be looking for him, he knew. She would be standing there, wet with the dew, searching with all her eyes. Doubtless she had waited patiently at her post from the instant land came into sight. Seized by a sudden panic lest she pass him unnoticed, he ordered his launch near the yacht's course, where he could command a view of her cabin doors and the wicker chairs upon her deck. His eyes roved over the craft, but all he saw was a uniformed officer upon the bridge and the bronzed faces of the watch staring over the rail. By nowThe Grande Damewas so close that he might have flung a line to her, and above the muffled throbbing of her engines he heard the captain give some low-spoken command. Yet nowhere could he catch a glimpse of Mildred. He saw close-drawn curtains over the cabin windows, indicating that the passengers were still asleep. Then, as he stood there, heavy-hearted, drooping with fatigue, his wet body chilled by the morning's breath,The Grande Dameglided past, and he found the shell beneath his feet rocking in her wake.
As he turned shoreward George Balt hailed him, and brought his own launch alongside.
"What craft is that?" he inquired.
"She is the Company's yacht with the N. A. P. A. officers aboard."
The big fellow stared curiously after the retreating ship.
"Some of our boys is hurt pretty bad," he observed. "I've told them to take in their nets and go back to the plant."
"We all need breakfast."
"I don't want nothing. I'm going over to the trap."
Emerson shrugged his shoulders listlessly; he was very tired. "What is the use? It won't pay us to lift it."
"I've watched that point of land for five years, and I never seen fish act this way before," Balt growled, stubbornly. "If they don't strike in to-day, we better close down. Marsh's men cut half our nets and crippled more than half our crew last night." He began to rumble curses. "Say! We made a mistake the other day, didn't we? We'd ought to have put that feller away. It ain't too late yet."
"Wait! Wayne Wayland is aboard that yacht; I know him. He's a hard man, and I've heard strange stories about him, but I don't believe he knows all that Marsh has been doing. I'm going to see him and tell him everything."
"S'pose he turns you down?"
"Then there will be time enough to—to consider what you suggest. I don't like to think about it."
"You don't have to," said Balt, lowering his voice so that the helmsmen could not hear. "I've been thinking it over all night, and it looks like I'd ought to do it myself. Marsh is coming to me anyhow, and—I'm older than you be. It ain't right for a young feller like you to take a chance. If they get me, you can run the business alone."
Boyd laid his hand on his companion's shoulder.
"No," he said. "Perhaps I wouldn't stick at murder—I don't know. But I won't profit by another man's crime, and if it comes to that, I'll take my share of the risk and the guilt. Whatever you do, I stand with you. But we'll hope for better things. It's no easy thing for me to go to Mr. Wayland asking a favor. You see, his daughter is—Well, I—I want to see her very badly."
Balt eyed him shrewdly.
"I see! And that makes it dead wrong for you to take a hand. If it's necessary to get Marsh, I'll do it alone. With him out of the way, I think you can make a go of it. He's like a rattler—somebody's got to stomp on him. Now I'm off for the trap. Let me know what the old man says."
Boyd returned to the cannery with the old mood of self-disgust and bitterness heavy upon him. He realized that George's offer to commit murder had not shocked him as much as upon its first mention. He knew that he had thought of shedding human blood with as little compunction as if the intended victim had been some noxious animal. He felt, indeed, that if his love for Mildred made him a criminal, she too would be soiled by his dishonor, and for her sake he shrank from the idea of violence, yet he lacked the energy at that time to put it from him. Well, he would go to her father, humble himself, and beg for protection. If he failed, then Marsh must look out for himself. He could not find it in his heart to spare his enemy.
At the plant he found Alton Clyde tremendously excited at the arrival of the yacht, and eager to visit his friends. He sent him to the launch, and, after a hasty breakfast, joined him.
On their way out, Boyd felt a return of that misgiving which had mastered him on his first meeting with Mildred in Chicago. For the second time he was bringing her failure instead of the promised victory. Now, as then, she would find him in the bitterness of defeat, and he could not but wonder how she would bear the disappointment. He hoped at least that she would understand his appeal to her father; that she would see him not as a suppliant begging for mercy, but as a foeman worthy of respect, demanding his just dues. Surely he had proved himself capable. Wayne Wayland could hardly make him contemptible in Mildred's eyes. Yet a feeling of disquiet came over him as he drew nearThe Grande Dame.
Willis Marsh was ahead of him, standing with Mr. Wayland at the rail.Some one else was with them; Boyd's heart leaped wildly as herecognized her. He would have known that slim figure anywhere—andMildred saw him too, pointing him out to her companions.
With knees shaking under him, he came stumbling up the landing-ladder, a tall, gaunt figure of a man in rough clothing and boots stained with the sea—salt. He looked older by five years than when the girl had last seen him; his cheeks were hollowed and his lips cracked by the wind, but his eyes were aflame with the old light, his smile was for her alone.
He never remembered the spoken greetings nor the looks the others gave him, for her soft, cool hands lay in his hard, feverish palms, and she was smiling up at him.
Alton Clyde was at his heels, and he felt Mildred disengage her hand. He tore his eyes away from her face long enough to nod at Marsh,—who gave him a menacing look, then turned to Wayne Wayland. The old man was saying something, and Boyd answered him unintelligibly, after which he took Mildred's hands once more with such an air of unconscious proprietorship that Willis Marsh grew pale to the lips and turned his back. Other people, whom Boyd had not noticed until now, came down the deck—men and women with field-glasses and cameras swung over their shoulders. He found that he was being introduced to them by Mildred, whose voice betrayed no tremor, and whose manners were as collected as if this were her own drawing-room, and the man at her side a casual acquaintance. The strangers mingled with the little group, levelled their glasses, and made senseless remarks after the manner of tourists the world over. Boyd gathered somehow that they were officers of the Trust, or heavy stockholders, and their wives. They seemed to accept him as an uninteresting bit of local color, and he regarded them with equal indifference, for his eyes were wholly occupied with Mildred, his ears deaf to all but her voice. At length he saw some of them going over the rail, and later found himself alone with his sweetheart. He led her to a deck-chair, and seated himself beside her.
"At last!" he breathed. "You are here, Mildred. You really came, after all?"
"Yes, Boyd."
"And are you glad?"
"Indeed I am. The trip has been wonderful."
"It doesn't seem possible. I can't believe that this is really you—that I am not dreaming, as usual."
"And you? How have you been?"
"I've been well—I guess I have—I haven't had time to think of myself. Oh, my Lady!" His voice broke with tenderness, and he laid his hand gently upon hers.
She withdrew it quickly.
"Not here! Remember where we are. You are not looking well, Boyd. I don't know that I ever saw you look so badly. Perhaps it is your clothes."
"I am tired," he confessed, feeling anew the weariness of the past twenty-four hours. He covertly stroked a fold of her dress, murmuring: "You are here, after all. And you love me, Mildred? You haven't changed, have you?"
"Not at all. Have you?"
His deep breath and the light that flamed into his face was her answer. "I want to be alone with you," he cried, huskily. "My arms ache for you. Come away from here; this is torture. I'm like a man dying of thirst."
No woman could have beheld his burning eagerness without an answering thrill, and although Mildred sat motionless, her lids drooped slightly and a faint color tinged her cheeks. Her idle hands clasped themselves rigidly.
"You are always the same," she smiled. "You sweep me away from myself and from everything. I have never seen any one like you. There are people everywhere. Father is somewhere close by."
"I don't care-"
"I do."
"My launch is alongside; let me take you ashore and show you what I have done. I want you to see."
"I can't. I promised to go ashore with the Berrys and Mr. Marsh."
"Marsh!"
"Now don't get tragic! We are all going to look over his plant and have lunch there—they are expecting me. Oh, dear!" she cried, plaintively, "I have seen and heard nothing but canneries ever since we left Vancouver. The men talk nothing but fish and packs and markets and dividends. It's all deadly stupid, and I'm wretchedly tired of it. Father is the worst of the lot, of course."
Emerson's eyes shifted to his own cannery. "You haven't seen mine—ours," said he.
"Oh yes, I have. Mr. Marsh pointed it out to father and me. It looks just like all the others." There was an instant's pause before she ran on. "Do you know, there is only one interesting feature about them, to my notion, and that is the way the Chinamen smoke. Those funny, crooked pipes and those little wads of tobacco are too ridiculous." The lightness of her words damped his ardor, and brought back the sense of failure. That formless huddle of buildings in the distance seemed to him all at once very dull and prosaic. Of course, it was just like scores of others that his sweetheart had seen all the way north from the border-line. He had never thought of that till now.
"I was down with the fishing fleet at the mouth of the bay this morning when you came in. I thought I might see you," he said.
"At that hour? Heavens! I was sound asleep. It was hard enough to get up when we were called. Father might have instructed the captain not to steam so fast."
Boyd stared at her in hurt surprise; but she was smiling at Alton Clyde in the distance, and did not observe his look.
"Don't you care even to hear what I have done?" he inquired.
"Of course," said Mildred, bringing her eyes back to him.
Hesitatingly he told her of his disappointments, the obstacles he had met and overcome, avoiding Marsh's name, and refraining from placing the blame where it belonged. When he had concluded, she shook her head.
"It is too bad. But Mr. Marsh told us all about it before you came. Boyd, I never thought well of this enterprise. Of course, I didn't say anything against it, you were so enthusiastic, but you really ought to try something big. I am sure you have the ability. Why, the successful men I know at home have no more intelligence than you, and they haven't half your force. As for this—well, I think you can accomplish more important things than catching fish."
"Important!" he cried. "Why, the salmon industry is one of the most important on the Coast. It employs ten thousand men in Alaska alone, and they produce ten million dollars every year."
"Oh, let's not go into statistics," said Mildred, lightly; "they make my head ache. What I mean is that a fisherman is nothing like—an attorney or a broker or an architect, for instance; he is more like a miner. Pardon me, Boyd, but look at your clothes." She began to laugh. "Why, you look like a common laborer!"
He became conscious for the first time that he cut a sorry figure. Everything around him spoke of wealth and luxury. Even the sailor that passed at the moment was better dressed than he. He felt suddenly awkward and out of place.
"I might have slicked up a bit," he acknowledged, lamely; "but when you came, I forgot everything else."
"I was dreadfully embarrassed when I introduced you to the Berrys and the rest. I dare say they thought you were one of Mr. Marsh's foremen."
Never before had Boyd known the least constraint in Mildred's presence, but now he felt the rebuke behind her careless manner, and it wounded him deeply. He did not speak, and after a moment she went on, with an abrupt change of subject:
"So that funny little house over there against the hill is where the mysterious woman lives?"
"Who?"
"Cherry Malotte."
"Yes. How did you learn that?"
"Mr. Marsh pointed it out. He said she came up on the same ship with you."
"That is true."
"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you write me that she was with you in Seattle?"
"I don't know; I didn't think of it." She regarded him coolly.
"Has anybody discovered who or what she is?"
"Why are you so curious about her?"
Mildred shrugged her shoulders. "Your discussion with Willis Marsh that night at our house interested me very much. I thought I would ask Mr. Marsh to bring her around when we went ashore. It would be rather amusing. She wouldn't come out to the yacht and return my call, would she?" Boyd smiled at her frank concern at this possibility.
"You don't know the kind of girl she is," he said. "She isn't at all what you think; I don't believe you would be able to meet her in the way you suggest."
"Indeed!" Mildred arched her brows. "Why?"
"She wouldn't fancy being 'brought around,' particularly by Marsh."
From her look of surprise, he knew that he had touched on dangerous ground, and he made haste to lead the conversation back to its former channel. He wished to impress Mildred with the fact that if he had not quite succeeded, he had by no means failed; but she listened indifferently, with the air of humoring an insistent child.
"I wish you would give it up and try something else," she said, at last. "This is no place for you. Why, you are losing all your old wit and buoyancy, you are actually growing serious. And serious people are not at all amusing."
Just then Alton Clyde and a group of people, among whom was Willis Marsh, emerged from the cabin, talking and laughing. Mildred arose, saying:
"Here come the Berrys, ready to go ashore."
"When may I see you again?" he inquired, quickly.
"You may come out this evening."
His eyes blazed as he answered, "I shall come!"
As the others came up, she said:
"Mr. Emerson can't accompany us. He wishes to see father."
"I just left him in the cabin," said Marsh. He helped the ladies to the ladder, and a moment later Emerson waved the party adieu, then turned to the saloon in search of Wayne Wayland.
In Mr. Wayland's stiff greeting there was no hint that the two men had ever been friendly, but Emerson was prepared for coolness, and seated himself without waiting for an invitation, glad of the chance to rest his tired limbs. He could not refrain from comparing these splendid quarters with his own bare living shack. The big carved desk, the heavy leather chairs, the amply fitted sideboard, seemed magnificent by contrast. His eyes roved over the walls with their bookshelves and rare paintings, and between velour hangings he caught a glimpse of a bedroom all in cool, white enamel. The unaccustomed feel of the velvet carpet was grateful to his feet; he coveted that soft bed in yonder with its smooth linen. For all these things he felt the savage hunger that comes of deprivation and hardship.
Mr. Wayland had removed his glasses, and was waiting grimly.
"I have a good deal to say to you, sir," Emerson began, "and I would like you to hear me through."
"Go ahead."
"I am going to tell you some things about Mr. Marsh that I dare say you will disbelieve, but I can verify my statements. I think you are a just man, and I don't believe you know, or would approve, the methods he has used against me."
"If this is to be an arraignment of Mr. Marsh, I suggest that you wait until he can be present. He has gone ashore with the women folks."
"I prefer to talk to you, first. We can call him in later if you wish."
"Before we begin, may I inquire what you expect of me?"
"I expect relief."
"You remember our agreement?"
"I don't want assistance; I want relief."
"Whatever the distinction in the words, I understand that you are asking a favor?"
"I don't consider it so."
"Very well. Proceed."
"When you sent me out three years ago to make a fortune for Mildred, it was understood that there should be fair play on both sides—"
"Have you played fair?" quickly interposed the old man.
"I have. When I came to Chicago, I had no idea that you were interested in the Pacific Coast fisheries, I had raised the money before I discovered that you even knew Willis Marsh. Then it was too late to retreat. When I reached Seattle, all sorts of unexpected obstacles came up. I lost the ship I had chartered; machinery houses refused deliveries; shipments went astray; my bank finally refused its loan, and every other bank in the Northwest followed suit. I was harassed in every possible way. And it wasn't chance that caused it; it was Willis Marsh. He set spies upon me, he incited a dock strike that resulted in a riot and the death of at least one man; moreover, he tried to have me killed."
"How do you know he did that?"
"I have no legal proof, but I know it just the same."
Mr. Wayland smiled. "That is not a very definite charge. You surely don't hold him responsible for the death of that striker?"
"I do; and for the action of the police in trying to fix the crime upon me. You know, perhaps, how I got away from Seattle. When Marsh arrived at Kalvik, he first tried to sink my boilers; failing in that, he ruined my Iron Chinks; then he 'corked' my fish-trap, not because he needed more fish, but purely to spoil my catch. The day the run started he bribed my fishermen to break their contracts, leaving me short-handed. He didn't need more men, but did that simply to cripple me. I got Indians to replace the white men, but he won them away by a miserable trick and by threats that I have no doubt he would make good if the poor devils dared to stand out.
"His men won't allow my fellows to work; we have had our nets cut and our fish thrown out. Last night we had a bad time on the banks, and a number of people were hurt. The situation is growing worse every hour, and there will be bloodshed unless this persecution stops. All I want is a fair chance. There are fish enough for us all in the Kalvik, but that man has used the power of your organization to ruin me—not for business reasons, but for personal spite. I have played the game squarely, Mr. Wayland, but unless this ceases I'm through."
"You are through?"
"Yes. The run is nearly a week old, and I haven't begun to pack my salmon. I have less than half a boat crew, and of those half are laid up."
The president of the Trust stirred for the first time since Boyd had begun his recital; the grim lines about his mouth set themselves deeper, and, staring with cold gray eyes at the speaker, he said:
"Well, sir! What you have told me confirms my judgment that WillisMarsh is the right man in the right place."
Completely taken back by this unexpected reply, Boyd exclaimed:
"You don't mean to say that you approve of what he has done?"
"Yes, of what I know he has done. Mr. Marsh is pursuing a definite policy laid down by his board of directors. You have shown me that he has done his work well. You knew before you left the East that we intended to crush all opposition."
Emerson's voice was sharp as he cried: "I understand all that; but am I to understand also that the directors of the N. A. P. A. instructed him to kill me?"
"Tut, tut! Don't talk nonsense. You admit that you have no proof of Willis' connection with the attempt upon your life. You put yourself in the way of danger when you hired scab labor to break that strike. I think you got off very easily."
"If Marsh was instructed to crush the independents, why has he centred all his efforts on me alone? Why has he spent this summer in Kalvik and not among the other stations to the south?"
"That is our business. Different methods are required in different localities."
"Then you have no criticism to make—you uphold him?" Boyd's indignation was getting beyond control.
"None whatever. I cannot agree that Marsh is even indirectly responsible for the collision of the scows, for the damage to your machinery, or for the fighting between the men. On the contrary, I know that he is doing his best to prevent violence, because it interferes with the catch. He hired your men because he needed them. Nobody knows who broke your machinery. As for your fish-trap, you are privileged to build another, or a dozen more, wherever you please. Willis has already told me everything that you have said, and it strikes me that you have simply been outgeneraled. Your complaints do not appeal to me. Even granting your absurd assumption that Marsh tried to put you out of the way, it seems to me that you have more than evened the score."
"How?"
"He is still wearing bandages over that knife-thrust you gave him."
Emerson leaped to his feet.
"He knows I didn't do that; everybody knows it!" he cried. "He lied to you."
"We won't discuss that," said Wayne Wayland, curtly. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to end this persecution. I want you to sail him off."
"In other words, you want me to save you."
Emerson swallowed. "I suppose it amounts to that. I want to be let alone, I want a square deal."
"Well, I won't." Wayne Wayland's voice hardened suddenly; his sound, white teeth snapped together. "You are getting exactly what you deserve. You betrayed me by spying upon me while you broke bread in my house. I see nothing reprehensible in Mr. Marsh's conduct; but even if I did, I would not censure him; any measures are justifiable against a traitor."
Boyd Emerson's face went gray beneath its coating of tan, and his voice threatened to break as he said:
"I am no traitor, and you know it. I thought you a man of honor, and I came to you, not for help but for justice. But I see I was mistaken. I am beginning to believe that Marsh acted under your instructions from the first."
"Believe what you choose."
"You think you've got me, but you haven't. I'll beat you yet."
"You can't beat me at anything." Mr. Wayland's jaws were set like iron.
"Not this year perhaps, but next. You and Marsh have whipped me this time; but the salmon will come again, and I'll run my plant in spite of hell!"
Wayne Wayland made as if to speak, but Boyd went on unheeding: "You've taken a dislike to me, but your conduct shows that you fear me. You are afraid I'll succeed, and I will."
"Brave talk!" said the older man. "But you owe one hundred thousand dollars, and your stockholders will learn of your mismanagement."
"Your persecution, you mean!" cried the other. "I can explain. They will wait another year. I will raise more money, and they will stand by me."
"Perhaps I know more about that than you do."
Emerson strode toward the desk menacingly, crying, in a quivering voice:
"I warn you to keep your hands off of them. By God! don't try any of your financial trickery with me, or I'll—"
Wayne Wayland leaped from his chair, his face purple and his eyes flashing savagely.
"Leave this yacht!" he thundered. "I won't allow you to insult me; I won't stand your threats. I've got you where I want you, and when the time comes you'll know it. Now, get out!" He stretched forth a great square hand and closed it so fiercely that the fingers cracked. "I'll crush you—like that!"
Boyd turned and strode from the cabin.
Half-blinded with anger, he stumbled down the ladder to his launch.
"Back to the plant!" he ordered, then gazed with lowering brows and defiant eyes atThe Grande Dameas she rested swanlike and serene at her moorings. His anger against Mildred's father destroyed for the time all thought of his disappointment at her own lack of understanding and her cool acceptance of his failure. He saw only that his affairs had reached a final climax where he must bow to the inevitable, or—Big George's parting words came to him—strike one last blow in reprisal. A kind of sickening rage possessed him. He had tried to fight fair against an enemy who knew no scruple, partly that he might win that enemy's respect. Now he was thoroughly beaten and humbled. After all, he was merely an adventurer, without friends of resources. His long struggle had made him the type of man of whom desperate things might be expected. He might as well act the part. Why should he pretend to higher standards than Wayne Wayland or Marsh? George's way was best. By the time he had reached the cannery, he had practically made up his mind.
It was the hour of his darkest despair—the real crisis in his life. There are times when it rests with fate to make a strong man stronger or turn him altogether to evil. Such a man will not accept misfortune tamely. He is the reverse of those who are good through weakness; it is his nature to sin strongly.
But the unexpected happened, and Boyd's black mood vanished in amazement at the sight which met his eyes. Moored to the fish-dock was a lighter awash with a cargo that made him stare and doubt his vision. He had seen his scanty crew of gill-netters return empty-handed with the rising sun, exhausted, disheartened, depleted in numbers; yet there before him were thousands of salmon. They were strewn in a great mass upon the dock and inside the shed, while from the scow beneath they came in showers as the handlers tossed them upward from their pues. Through the wide doors he saw the backs of the butchers busily at work over their tables, and heard the uproar of his cannery running full for the first time.
Before the launch had touched, he had leaped to the ladder and swung himself upon the dock. He stumbled into the arms of Big George.
"Where—did those—fish come from?" he cried, breathlessly.
"From the trap." George smiled as he had not smiled in many weeks. "They've struck in like I knew they would, and they're running now by the thousands. I've fished these waters for years, but I never seen the likes of it. They'll tear that trap to pieces. They're smothering in the pot, tons and tons of 'em, with millions more milling below the leads because they can't get in. It's a sight you'll not see once in a lifetime."
"That means that we can run the plant—that we'll get all we can use?"
"Hell! We've got fish enough to run two canneries. They've struck their gait I tell you, and they'll never stop now night or day till they're through. We don't need no gill-netters; what we need is butchers and slimers and handlers. There never was a trap site in the North till this one; I told Willis Marsh that years ago." He flung out a long, hairy arm, bared half to the shoulder, and waved it exultantly. "We built this plant to cook forty thousand salmon a day, but I'll bring you three thousand every hour, and you've got to cook 'em. Do you hear?"
"And they couldn't cork us, after all!" Emerson leaned unsteadily against a pile, for his head was whirling.
"No! We'll show that gang what a cannery can do. Marsh's traps will rot where they stand." Big George shook his tight-clinched fist again. "We've won, my boy! We've won!"
"Then don't let us stand here talking!" cried Emerson, sharply. "Hurry!Hurry!" He turned, and sped up the dock.
He had come into his own at last, and he vowed with tight-shut teeth that no wheel should stop, no belt should slacken, no man should leave his duty till the run had passed. At the entrance to the throbbing, clanging building he paused an instant, and with a smile looked toward the yacht floating lazily in the distance. Then, with knees sagging beneath him from weariness, he entered.
"I've heard the news!" cried Cherry, later that afternoon, shrieking to make herself heard above the rattle and jar of the machinery.
"There seems to be a Providence that watches over fishermen," said Boyd.
"I am happy, for your sake, and I want to apologize for my display of temper. Come away where I won't have to scream so. I want to talk to you."
"It is music to my ears," he answered, as he led her past the rows of Chinamen bowed before their soldering-torches as if busied with some heathen rites. "But I'm glad to sit down just the same. I've been on my feet for thirty-six hours."
"You poor boy! Why don't you take some sleep?"
"I can't. George is coming with another load of fish, and the plant is so new I am afraid to leave it even for an hour."
"It's too much for one man," she declared.
"Oh, I'll sleep to-morrow."
"Did you see—her?" questioned Cherry.
"Yes!"
"She must be very proud of you," she said, wistfully.
"I—I—don't think she understands what I am trying to do, or what it means. Our talk was not very satisfactory."
"She surely must have understood what Marsh is doing."
"I didn't tell her that."
"Why not?"
"What good would it have done?"
"Why"—Cherry seemed bewildered—"she could put a stop to it; she could use her influence with her father against Marsh. I expected to see your old crew back at work again. Oh, I wish I had her power!"
"She wouldn't take a hand under any circumstances—it wouldn't occur to her—and naturally I couldn't ask her." Boyd flushed uncomfortably. "Thanks to George's trap, there is no need." He went on to tell Cherry of the scene with Mr. Wayland and its stormy ending.
"They have used all their resources to down you," she said, "but luck is with you, and you mustn't let them succeed. Now is the time to show them what is in you. Go in and win her now, against all of them."
He was grateful for her sympathy, yet somehow it made him uncomfortable.
"What was it you wished to see me about?" he asked.
"Oh! Have you seen Chakawana?"
"No."
"She disappeared early this morning soon after the yacht came in; I can't find her anywhere. She took the baby with her and—I'm worried."
"Doesn't Constantine know where she is?"
"Why, Constantine is down here, isn't he?"
"He hasn't been here since yesterday."
Cherry rose nervously. "There is something wrong, Boyd. They have been acting queerly for a long time."
"Then you are alone at your place," he said, thoughtfully. "I think you had better come down here."
"Oh no!"
"I shall send some one up to spend the night at your house. You shouldn't be left unprotected." But just then Constantine came sauntering round the corner of the building.
"Thank Heaven!" cried Cherry. "He will know where the others are."
But when his mistress questioned him, Constantine merely replied: "I don' know. I no see Chakawana."
"They have been gone since morning, and I can't find them anywhere."
"Umph! I guess they all right."
"There is something queer about this," said Emerson. "Where have you been all day?"
"I go sleep. I tired from fighting last night. I come back now and go work. Bime'by Chakawana come back too, I guess."
"Well, I don't need you to-night, so you'd better go back to Cherry's house and stay there till I send for you."
Constantine acquiesced calmly, and a few minutes later accompanied his mistress up the beach.
As she passed Marsh's cannery, Cherry saw a tender moored to the dock, and noticed strangers among the buildings. They stared at her curiously, as if the sight of a white girl attended by a copper-hued giant were part of the picturesqueness they expected. As she drew near her own house, she saw a woman approaching, and while yet a stone's-throw distant she recognized her. A jealous tightening of her throat and a flutter at her breast told her that this was Mildred Wayland.
Cherry would have passed on silently, but Miss Wayland checked her.
"Pardon me," she said. "Will you tell me what that odd-looking building is used for?" She pointed to the village above.
"That is the Greek church."
"How interesting! Are there many Greeks here?"
"No. It is a relic of the Russian days. The natives worship there."
"I intended to go closer; but the walking is not very good, is it?" She glanced down at her dainty French shoes, then at Cherry's hunting-boots. "Do you live here?"
"Yes. In the log house yonder."
"Indeed! I tried to find some one there, but—you were out, of course. You have it arranged very cozily, I see." Mildred's manner was faintly patronizing. She was vexed at the beauty and evident refinement of this woman whom she had thought to find so different.
"If you will go back I will show it to you from the inside, Miss Wayland." Cherry enjoyed her start at the name and the look of cold hostility that followed.
"You have the advantage of me," said Mildred. "I did not think we had met. You are—?" She raised her brows, inquiringly.
"Cherry Malotte, of course."
"I remember. Mr. Marsh spoke of you."
"I am sorry."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I say I am sorry Mr. Marsh ever spoke of me."
Mildred smiled frigidly. "Evidently you do not like him?"
"Nobody in Alaska likes him. Do you?"
"You see, I am not an Alaskan."
It occurred to Cherry that this girl was ignorant of the unexpected change in Boyd's affairs. She decided to sound her—to find out for herself the answer to those questions which Boyd had evaded. He had not spoken to Mildred of Marsh. Perhaps if she knew the truth, she would love him better, and even now her assistance would not be valueless.
"Do you know that Mr. Marsh is to blame for all of Boyd's misfortune?" she said.
"Boyd's?"
"Yes, Boyd's, of course. Oh, let us not pretend—I call him by his first name. I think you ought to know the truth about this business, even if Boyd is too chivalrous to tell you."
"Why do you think he has not told me?"
"I have just come from him."
"If Mr. Emerson blames any one but himself for his failure, I am sure he would have told me."
"Then you don't know him."
"I never knew him to ask another to defend him."
"He never asked me to defend him. I merely thought that if you knew the truth, you might help him."
"I? How?"
"It is for you to find a way. He has met with opposition and treachery at every step; I think it is time some one came to his aid."
"He has had your assistance at all times, has he not?"
"I have tried to help wherever I could, but—I haven't your power."
Mildred shrugged her shoulders. "You even went to Seattle to help him, did you not?"
"I went there on my own business."
"Why do you take such an interest in Mr. Emerson's affairs, may I ask?"
"It was I who induced him to take up this venture," said Cherry, proudly. "I found him discouraged, ready to give up; I helped to put new heart into him. I have something at stake in the enterprise, too—but that's nothing. I hate to see a good man driven to the wall by a scoundrel like Marsh."
"Wait! There is something to be said on both sides. Mr. Marsh was magnanimous enough to overlook that attempt upon his life."
"What attempt?"
"You must have heard. He was wounded in the shoulder."
"Didn't Boyd tell you the truth about that?"
"He told me everything," said Mildred, coldly. This woman's attitude was unbearable. It would seem that she even dared to criticise her, Mildred Wayland, for her treatment of Boyd. She pretended to a truer friendship, a more intimate knowledge of him. But no—it wasn't pretense. It was too natural, too unconscious, for that; and therein lay the sting.
"I shall ask him about it again this evening," she continued. "If there has really been persecution, as you suggest, I shall tell my father."
"You won't see Boyd this evening," said Cherry.
"Oh yes, I shall."
"He is very busy and—I don't think he can see you."
"You don't understand. I told him to come out to the yacht!" Mildred's temper rose at the light she saw in the other woman's face.
"But if he should disappoint you," Cherry insisted, "remember that the fish are running, and you have no time to lose if you are going to help."
Mildred tossed her head. "To be frank with you, I never liked this enterprise of Boyd's. Now that I have seen the place and the people—well, I can't say that I like it better."
"The country is a bit different, but the people are much the same in Kalvik and in Chicago. You will find unscrupulous men and unselfish women everywhere."
Mildred gave her a cool glance that took her in from head to foot.
"And vice versa, I dare say. You speak from a wider experience than I." With a careless nod she picked her way toward the launch, where her friends were already assembling. She was angry and suspicious. Her pride was hurt because she had not been able to feel superior to the other woman. Instead, she had descended to the weak resource of innuendo, while Cherry had been simple and direct. She had expected to recognize instantly the type of person with whom she had to deal, but she found herself baffled. Who was this woman? What was she doing here? Why had Boyd never told her of this extraordinary intimacy? She remembered more than one occasion when he had defended the woman. She resolved to put an end to the affair at once; Boyd must either give up Cherry or—
During the talk between the two young women Constantine had kept at a respectful distance, but when Mildred had gone he came up to Cherry, with the question:
"Who is that?"
"That is Miss Wayland. That is the richest girl in the world,Constantine."
"Humph!"
"And the pity of it is, she doesn't understand how very rich she is. Her father owns all these canneries and many more besides, and lots of railroads—but you don't know what a railroad is, do you?"
"Mebbe him rich as Mr. Marsh, eh?"
"A thousand time richer. Mr. Marsh works for him the way you work for me."
Being too much a gentleman to dispute his mistress' word, Constantine merely shook his head and smiled broadly.
"She fine lady," he acknowledged. "She got plenty nice dress—silik."
"Yes, silk."
"She more han'somer than you be," he added, with reluctant candor."Mebbe that's lie 'bout Mr. Marsh, eh? White men all work for Mr.Marsh. He no work for nobody."
"No, it is true. Mr. Marsh knows how rich she is, and that is why he wants to marry her."
The breed wheeled swiftly, his soft soles crunching the gravel.
"Mr. Marsh wantmarryher?" he repeated, as if doubting his ears.
"Yes. That is why he has fought Mr. Emerson—they both want to marry her. That is why Marsh broke Mr. Emerson's machinery, and hired his men away from him, and cut his nets. They hate each other—do you understand?"
"Me savvy!" said Constantine shortly, then strode on beside the girl."Me think all the time Mr. Emerson goin' marry you."
Cherry gasped. "No, no! Why, he is in love with Miss Wayland."
"S'pose he don' marry her?"
"Than Mr. Marsh will get her, I dare say."
After a moment Constantine announced, with conviction: "I guess Mr.Marsh is damn bad man."
"I'm glad you have discovered that. He has even tried to kill Mr.Emerson; that shows the sort of man he is."
"It's good thing—get marry!" said Constantine, vaguely. "The Father say if woman don' marry she go to hell."
"I'd hate to think that," laughed the girl.
"That's true," the other affirmed, stoutly. "The pries' he say so, and pries' don' lie. He say man takes a woman and don' get marry, they both go to hell and burn forever. Bime'by little baby come, and he go to hell, too."
"Oh, I understand! The Father wants to make sure of his people, and he is quite right. You natives haven't observed the law very carefully."
"He say Indian woman stop with white man, she never see Jesus' House no more. She go to hell sure, and baby go too. You s'pose that's true?"
"I dare say it is, in a way."
"By God! That's tough on little baby!" exclaimed Constantine, fervently.
All that night Boyd stayed at his post, while the cavernous building shuddered and hissed to the straining toil of the machines and the gasping breath of the furnaces. As the darkness gathered, he had gone out upon the dock to look regretfully toward the twinkling lights onThe Grande Dame, then turned doggedly back to his labors. Another load had just arrived from the trap; already the plant, untried by the stress of a steady run, was clogged and working far below capacity. He would have sent Mildred word, but he had not a single man to spare.
At ten o'clock the next morning he staggered into his quarters, more dead than alive. In his heart was a great thankfulness that Big George had not found him wanting. The last defective machine was mended, the last weakness strengthened, and the plant had reached its fullest stride. The fish might come now in any quantity; the rest was but a matter of coal and iron and human endurance. Meanwhile he would sleep.
He met "Fingerless" Fraser emerging, decked royally in all the splendor of new clothes and spotless linen.
"Where are you going?" Boyd asked him.
"I'm going out into society."
"Clyde is taking you to the yacht, eh?"
"No! He's afraid of my work, so I'm going out on my own. He told me all about the swell quilts at Marsh's place, so I thought I'd lam up there and look them over. I may cop an heiress." He winked wisely. "If I see one that looks gentle, I'm liable to grab me some bride. He says there ain't one that's got less than a couple of millions in her kick."
Boyd was too weary to do more than wish him success, but it seemed that fortune favored Fraser, for before he had gone far he saw a young woman seated in a patch of wild flowers, plucking the blooms with careless hand while she drank in the beauty of the bright Arctic morning. She was simply dressed, yet looked so prosperous that Fraser instantly decided:
"That's her! I'll spread my checks with this one."
"Good-morning!" he began.
The girl gave him an indifferent glance from two fearless eyes, and nodded slightly. But "Fingerless" Fraser upon occasion could summon a smile that was peculiarly engaging. He did so now, seating himself hat in hand, with the words:
"If you don't mind, I'll rest a minute. I'm out for my morning walk. It's a nice day, isn't it?" As she did not answer, he ran on, glibly: "My name is De Benville—I'm one of the New Orleans branch. That's my cannery down yonder." He pointed in the direction from which he had just come.
"Indeed!" said the young lady.
"Yes. It's mine."
A wrinkle gathered at the corners of the stranger's eyes; her face showed a flicker of amusement.
"I thought that was Mr. Emerson's cannery," she said.
"Oh, the idea! He only runs it for me. I put up the money. You know him, eh?"
The girl nodded. "Yes; I know Mr. Clyde also."
"Who—Alton?" he queried, with reassuring warmth. "Why, you and I have got mutual friends. Alton and me is pals." He shook his head solemnly. "Ain't he a scourge?"
"I beg your pardon."
"I say, ain't he an awful thing? He ain't anything like Emerson.There's a ring-tailed swallow, all right, all right! I like him."
"Are you very intimate with him?"
"Am I? I'm closer to him than a porous plaster. When Boyd ain't around, I'm him, that's all." From her look Fraser judged that he was progressing finely. He hastened to add: "I always like to help out young fellows like him. I like to give 'em a chance. That's my name, you know, Chancy De Benville—always game to take a chance. Is that your yacht?"
"No. My father and I are merely passengers."
"So you trailed the old skeezicks along with you? Well, that's right. Make the most of your father while you've got him. If I'd paid more attention to mine I'd have been better off now. But I was wild." Fraser winked in a manner to inform his listener that all worldly wisdom was his. "I wanted to be a jockey, and the old party cut me off. What I've got now, I made all by myself, but if I'd stayed in Bloomington I might have been president of the bank by this time."
"Bloomington! I understood you to say New Orleans."
"My old man had a whole string of banks," Fraser averred, hastily.
"Tell me—is Mr. Emerson ill?" asked the girl.
"Ill enough to lick a den of wildcats."
"He intended coming out to the yacht last night, but he disappointed us."
"He's as busy as an ant-hill. I met him turning in just as I came out for my constitutional."
"Where had he been all night?" Her voice betrayed an interest thatFraser was quick to detect. He answered, cannily:
"You can search me! I don't keep cases on him. As long as he does his work, I don't care where he goes at quitting time." He resolved that this girl should learn nothing from him.
"There seem to be very few white women in this place," she said, after a pause.
"Only one, till you people came. Maybe you've crossed her trail?"
"Hardly!"
"Oh, she's all right. Take it on the word of a fire-man, she's an ace."
"Mr. Emerson told me about her. He seems quite fond of her."
"I've always said they'd make a swell-looking pair."
"One can hardly blame her for trying to catch him."
"Oh, you can make book that she didn't start no love-making. She ain't the kind to curl up in a man's ear and whisper. She don't have to. All she needs to do is look natural; the men will fall like ripe persimmons."
"They have been together a great deal, I suppose."
"Every hour of the day, and the days are long," said Fraser, cheerfully. "But he ain't crippled; he could have walked away if he'd wanted to. It's a good thing he didn't, though, because she's done more to win this bet for us than we've done ourselves."
"She's unusually pretty," the girl remarked, coldly.
"Yes, and she's just as bright as she is good-looking—but I don't care for blondes." Fraser gazed admiringly at the brown hair before him, and rolled his eyes eloquently. "I'm strong for brunettes, I am. It's the Creole blood in me."
She gathered up her wild flowers and rose, saying:
"I must be going."
"I'll go with you." He jumped to his feet with alacrity.
"Thank you. I prefer to walk alone."
"Couldn't think of it. I'll—" But he paused at the lift of her brows and the extraordinarily frigid look she gave him. He stood in his tracks, watching her descend the river trail.
"Declined with thanks!" he murmured. "I'd need ear-muffs and mittens to handle her. I think I'll build me some bonfire and thaw out. She must own the mint."
At the upper cannery Mildred found Alton Clyde with the younger Berry girl. She called him aside, and talked earnestly with him for several minutes.
"All right," he said, at length. "I'm glad to get out, of course; the rest is up to you."
Mildred's lips were white and her voice hard as she cried:
"I am thoroughly sick of it all. I have played the fool long enough."
"Now look here," Clyde objected, weakly, "you may be mistaken, and—it doesn't look like quite the square thing to do." But she silenced him with an angry gesture.
"Leave that to me. I'm through with him."
"All right. Let's hunt up the governor." Together they went to the office in search of Wayne Wayland.
A half-hour later, when Clyde rejoined Miss Berry, she noticed that he seemed ill at ease, gazing down the bay with a worried, speculative look in his colorless eyes.
Boyd Emerson roused from his death-like slumber late in the afternoon, still worn from his long strain and aching in every muscle. He was in wretched plight physically, but his heart was aglow with gladness. Big George was still at the trap, and the unceasing rumble from across the way told him that the fish were still coming in. As he was finishing his breakfast, a watchman appeared in the doorway.
"There's a launch at the dock with some people from above," he announced. "I stopped them, according to orders, but they want to see you."
"Show them to the office." Boyd rose and went into the other building, where, a moment later, he was confronted by Wayne Wayland and Willis Marsh. The old man nodded to him shortly. Marsh began:
"We heard about your good-fortune. Mr. Wayland has come to look over your plant."
"It is not for sale."
"How many fish are you getting?"
"That is my business." He turned to Mr. Wayland. "I hardly expected to see you here. Haven't you insulted me enough?"
"Just a moment before you order me out. I'm a stockholder in this company, and I am within my rights."
"You a stockholder? How much stock do you own? Where did you get it?"
"I own thirty-five thousand shares outright." Mr. Wayland tossed a packet of certificates upon the table. "And I have options on all the stock you placed in Chicago. I said you would hear from me when the time came."
"So you think the time has come to crush me, eh?" said Emerson. "Well, you've been swindled. Only one-third of the capital stock has been sold, and Alton Clyde holds thirty-five thousand shares of that."
The old man smiled grimly. "I have not been swindled."
"Then Clyde sold out!" exploded Boyd.
"Yes. I paid him back the ten thousand dollars he put in, and I took over the twenty-five thousand shares you got Mildred to take."
"Mildred!" Emerson started as if he had been struck. "Are you insane?Mildred doesn't own—Why, Alton never told me who put up that money!"
"Don't tell me you didn't know!" cried Wayne Wayland. "You knew all the time. You worked your friends out, and then sent that whipper-snapper to my daughter when you saw you were about to fail. You managed well; you knew she couldn't refuse."
"How did you find out that she held the stock?"
"She told me, of course."
"Don't ask me to believe that. If she hadn't told you before, she wouldn't tell you now. All I can say is that she acted of her own free will. I never dreamed she put up that twenty-five thousand dollars. What do you intend to do, now that you have taken over these holdings?"
"What do you think? I would spend ten times the money to save my daughter." The old man was quivering.
"You are only a minority stockholder; the control of this enterprise still rests with me and my friends."
"Your friends!" cried Mr. Wayland. "That's what brings me here—you and your friends! I'll break you and your friends, if it takes my fortune."
"I can understand your dislike of me, but my associates have never harmed you."
"Your associates! And who are they? A lawless ruffian, who openly threatened Willis Marsh's murder, and a loose woman from the dance-halls."
"Take care!" cried Emerson, in a sharp voice.
The old man waved his hands as if at a loss for words. "Look here! You can't be an utter idiot. You must know who she is."
"Do you? Then tell me."
Wayne Wayland turned his back in disgust. "Do you really wish to know?"Marsh's smooth voice questioned.
"I do."
"She is a very common sort," said Willis Marsh. "I am surprised that you never heard of her while you were in the 'upper country.' She followed the mining camps and lived as such women do. She is an expert with cards—she even dealt faro in some of the camps."
"How do you know?"
"I looked up her history in Seattle. She is very—well, notorious."
"People talk like that about nearly every woman in Alaska."
"I didn't come here to argue about that woman's character," broke inMr. Wayland.
"You have said enough now, so that you will either prove your words or apologize."
"If you want proof, take your own relation with her. It's notorious; even Mildred has heard of it."
"I can explain to her in a word."
"Perhaps you can also explain that affair with Hilliard. If so, you had better do it. I suppose you didn't know anything about that, either. I suppose you don't know why he advanced that loan after once refusing it. They have a name for men like you who take money from women of her sort."
Emerson uttered a terrible cry, and his face blanched to a gray pallor.
"Do you mean to say—I sent—her—to Hilliard?"
"Hilliard as good as told me so himself. Do you wonder that I am willing to spend a fortune to protect my girl from a man like you? I'm going to break you. I've got a foothold in this enterprise of yours, and I'll root you out if it takes a million. I'll kick you back into the gutter, where you belong."
Boyd stood appalled at the violence of this outburst. The man seemed insane. He could not find words to answer him.
"You did not come down here to tell me that," he said, at last.
"No. I came here with a message from Mildred; she has told me to dismiss you once and for all."
"I shall take my dismissal from no one but her. I can explain everything."
"I expected you to say that. If you want her own words, read this." With shaking fingers, he thrust a letter before Emerson's eyes. "Read it!"
The young man opened the envelope, and read, in a hand-writing he knew only too well:
"DEAR BOYD,—The conviction has been growing on me for some time that you and I have made a serious mistake. It is not necessary to go into details—let us spare each other that unpleasantness. I am familiar with all that father will say to you, and his feelings are mine; hence there is no necessity for further explanations. Believe me, this is much the simplest way.
Boyd crushed the note in his palm and tossed it away carelessly.
"You dictate well," he said, quietly, "but I shall tell her the truth, and she will—"
"Oh no, you won't. You won't see her again. I have seen to that. Mildred is engaged to Willis Marsh. It's all settled. I warn you to keep away. Her engagement has been announced to all our friends on the yacht."
"I tell you I won't take my dismissal from any one but her. I shall come aboardThe Grande Dameto-night."
"Mr. Marsh and I may have something to say to that."
Boyd wheeled upon Marsh with a look that made him recoil.
"If you try to cross me, I'll strip your back and lash you till you howl like a dog."
Marsh's florid face went pale; his tongue became suddenly too dry for speech. But Wayne Wayland was not to be cowed.
"I warn you again to keep away from my daughter!" he cried, furiously.
"And I warn you that I shall come aboard the yacht to-night alone."
The president of the Trust turned, and, followed by his lieutenant, left the room without another word.