Bindloss Harold
Partners of the Out-Trail

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CHAPTER XV
JIM'S ENLIGHTENMENT

Jim waited for some time behind a bowlder by the salt-water pond, and then shot a duck. The report echoed among the belts of fog and after the noise died away the roar of the advancing tide was ominously loud, but Jim thought he heard something else. He listened, and in a few moments a cry came faintly across the sands. Somebody was calling for help, and Jim began to run. He might have to go some distance and his punt would soon float.

After a few minutes he plunged into a belt of mist. The sand was soft and his waders and heavy gun embarrassed him, but he heard the call again and thought he knew the voice. He labored on, breathing hard, until by and by the tog melted and he saw two figures not far off.

"Jake!" he shouted. "Is it you and Carrie?"

Jake answered, and Jim was conscious of a relief that shook him when the others came up. Carrie was splashed by mud and breathless with haste.

"What are you doing on the sands?" he asked.

"Car broke down; we tried to get across," Jake replied. "Saw the Langrigg hill when we started and then the fog came on. They told us to head for some stake-nets, but we couldn't find them. Then we met the water and reckoned we were lost. Is your punt about?"

"She is not far off," said Jim, who turned to Carrie. "We must hustle. Can you run?"

Carrie said she would try and they set off, but when they had gone a few hundred yards a wave of thick fog rolled up, blotting out the moonlight.

"This is awkward," Jim gasped, taking Carrie's arm and helping her on. "Still, if we keep going, we'll soon strike the gutter."

The roar of the surf gave him some guidance, but sound is puzzling in a fog; there was very little wind, and he could not see the moon. He knew the tide was now running up the channel and hoped he was heading the right way. Shortly afterwards a dull report rolled across the sands.

"A ten-bore!" he exclaimed. "Mordaunt uses a twelve. I expect Dick's shooting, and since the water's rising, he's on the shore flat. Where do you locate the shot?"

"A little to the left," said Jake.

They swerved and presently heard the gun again.

"That's for us," gasped Jim. "Dick has found the punt; I reckon she's afloat."

"Let me go, Jim," said Carrie. "Hurry on and get the punt."

Jim pressed her arm and urged her forward. "I'm going to stick to you until you're safe on board."

"Water!" shouted Jake, from a few yards in front; and something glimmered in the fog, which was getting thin again.

They could see for a short distance, but when they stopped at the edge of the channel the punt was not about. She was, however, painted an inconspicuous gray, and Jim thought she was not far off. While he hesitated, wondering which way to turn, a heavy report came out of the melting fog.

"Hallo!" Jake shouted. "Where's our punt?"

"On your side," somebody answered. "Saw her five minutes since and then the water drove me back."

The voice came from their left and after running a short distance they stopped. A low, indistinct object floated about thirty yards off, and Jim, dropping Carrie's arm, stood for a moment with his hands clenched. The wave-lined sand was level, and this meant much, because the bank of the gutter was steep. The tide had filled the hollow and he could not see across. He was not disturbed about the depth, but the current rippled across the sand, carrying along clumps of weed and flakes of foam that showed how fast it went.

"Give me your knife," he said to Jake, as he pulled off his oilskin. "I've got to swim. You must stay with Carrie; I swim better."

He slit the waders and tore them off with his canvas shoes; then he ran along the sand, heading up stream, and when he judged he had gone far enough plunged in. After he had taken a few steps the water frothed about his waist, and next moment swept him off his feet. He swam savagely, swinging his left arm out and steering obliquely against the current that carried him along. The water was horribly cold and cut his breathing and cramped his muscles, but if he missed the punt he might be swept some distance up the channel before he could land. He must not miss the punt, because he would be too exhausted to try again and did not think Jake could reach her.

After a minute or two he saw the punt; she was swinging about in the rush of tide and seemed to forge towards him. A rippling line marked her painter. He stopped swimming and let himself drift. He must not be carried past; and presently he made a quick stroke and felt a triumphant thrill when his numbed fingers clutched the craft's low side. For all that, he had not conquered yet. He was tired, and it is hard to get on board a floating punt.

The current swept his legs under the boat, and when he tried to lift himself she rolled down with his weight and threatened to capsize. But he must not be beaten. He was fighting for Carrie's life, and remembering this gave him extra strength. Sliding his hands along the side of the punt, he let the current take him aft, and then with a desperate effort lifted the upper of his body above the pointed stern. Next moment, he fell forward on the deck and crawled to the well. He had won. He tried to shout, but could not. His heart beat like a hammer and he choked.

Pulling himself together, he seized the line at the bow, and in a few moments the anchor was on board and he picked up the pole. The punt drifted fast up channel while he headed for the bank, but he saw Jake running along the sand and presently threw the light anchor as far as he could. Jake caught the line and Jim, springing overboard, ran through the water and picked up Carrie.

He felt her tremble and kissed her as she put her arms round his neck. It did not matter it Jake saw or not. After putting her on board he jumped in and grasped the pole.

"Shove us off," he said to Jake. "I'll come back for you."

They lost the bank in the fog, and soon the pole did not touch bottom and Jim used the paddle. After a few minutes, he saw an indistinct figure, apparently in the water; and then his paddle struck sand. Jumping over, he held out his arms and did not put Carrie down until he had carried her some distance from the channel. He had afterwards a hazy notion that he kissed her again. When he turned back Dick was pushing off the punt.

"I'll bring Jake; you have had enough," he said.

Jim shoved him back. "It's my job; he's my partner. Look after Carrie. Start for the marsh."

He got on board and when the punt vanished in the fog Dick turned to Carrie. "They may be ten minutes; the tide's running fast. You are wet and perhaps we had better get off."

"No," said Carrie. "I won't move until they're safe across."

Dick gave her a quick glance. She looked resolute; her voice had a strange exultant note. He was anxious to start, since he thought they might find some water in a gutter between them and land, but it was obvious that Carrie could not be persuaded. Presently the punt came across and the others got out.

"Have you been here long?" Jim asked when he had driven the anchor into the sand.

"No," said Dick. "I fired the gun as soon as I arrived. The punt was on your side, I imagined you were about, and I can't swim much. I'd seen the punt before. I went to meet Jake and Carrie, but met the water. No doubt, they crossed the channel that stopped me, farther up."

Jim nodded. "Looks like that. It was a big relief when we heard you shoot. But I'm puzzled: the punt was some distance from the bank and the anchor was covered. I thought I'd carried it far enough back."

"Then you didn't move her after you pulled her up?"

"Certainly not," Jim rejoined, with some surprise. "If I'd wanted her to float, I wouldn't have bothered to drag her up over the steep mud."

"Oh, well, we must get off," said Dick, who did not want to talk about the punt. "The tide's running fast across the flats; I think we'll make for the shell ridge."

Although the fog was thick, they reached the marsh, where Dick left them. He was wet and it was some distance to Whitelees, but he would not go to Langrigg and put on dry clothes. When Jim got calm he might feel curious about the punt. Dick was not ready to satisfy his curiosity yet. He was disturbed and wanted to get away.

The others went on, and when they came down to dinner nobody looked much the worse. Jim, however, was quiet and although Carrie talked and sometimes laughed, he imagined her cheerfulness was forced. Jake alone seemed to have a good appetite and Jim was annoyed when Mrs. Winter remarked that he did not eat much. She declared the dinner was pretty good, although it had been served an hour or two late. When it was over, Jim looked at the clock and proposed that they should play cards. He would sooner have gone off to the library by himself, but Jake might speculate about this and so long as they were occupied he need not talk. The others would go to bed soon, and then he could grapple with an awkward situation.

At length, Jake put down his cards. "I can't make it; you have beaten us," he said, and pushed back his chair. "If you want to see the men start to-morrow we had better go to bed."

He brought Mrs. Winter a candle and they left the hall; but Carrie stopped to pick up the cards, and Jim waited. He heard Jake say good night to his mother on the landing, and their steps died away. It was very quiet in the hall, except for the snapping of the fire; and Jim's hand trembled as he struck a match and lighted Carrie's candle. She heard him move and looked up. There was some color in her face, which cut sharply against the dark oak. Jim put the candle on the carved newel-post at the bottom of the stairs.

"I was badly scared when we found the water was round the punt," he said. "In fact, I rather lost my control."

"You were not scared for yourself and were very cool and quick," Carrie replied and forced a smile. "Perhaps some people do lose control when they are strongly moved, but you are not that kind."

Jim gave her a keen glance. It looked as if she meant to persuade him that he had acted normally, but this was ridiculous. Perhaps she meant to hint that his rashness must not be talked about. Coolness was hard, but he was honest and there was something to be said.

"I wonder whether you know I am going to marry Evelyn?" he remarked.

She met his glance. "Yes, Jim; I knew some time since. It doesn't matter that you told nobody. Well, she's beautiful and very charming." She moved, and taking the candle from the post, calmly looked back at him. "Of course, you're going to marry Evelyn! But the others have gone, and I'm tired. Good night."

He let her go, and when she went up the shallow stairs, crossed the floor to the hearth. There was a looking-glass close by and he started as he saw his face. His brows were knitted and his mouth was set. Carrie was clever and while he talked to her he had looked like that! He began to see what she had meant when she said he was, of course, going to marry Evelyn.

He sat down and gazed savagely at the sinking fire. What a fool he had been! Evelyn had moved him to romantic admiration. Her beauty, her high cultivation and refinement had made a strong appeal, but he had not known that they appealed mainly to his intellect, and it counted for much that she was the first Englishwoman of her type he had met. He knew now, and saw he had deceived himself. Enlightenment had come when Carrie ran some risk of being drowned and he had taken her in his arms.

Evelyn was, so to speak, a model of perfection, worthy to be admired, but really out of his reach. In a sense, she left him cold; but Carrie was warm and loving flesh and blood. She had worked with him and cheered him in the lonely North; her small failings had a curious charm. She appealed to all that was human in him; it was ridiculous that he had imagined his love for her was brotherly.

He began to think about their last interview, when he had lighted the candle. She had said little, but she had meant much. His kissing her must be forgotten and he must marry Evelyn. Carrie wanted him to understand that she saw this and was jealous for his honor. If he drew back and broke his faith with Evelyn, she would have nothing to do with him. Moreover, it was unthinkable that he should draw back. He sat still for some time with his hands clenched and then got up abruptly and went out.

The wind the surf had threatened had come and blown back the fog. Its rude buffet braced him, the roar of the sea and wail of the trees that rolled down the slope were soothing. The moon was bright and when he saw the foam glitter in the bay his sense of rebellion began to melt. Carrie was safe; he had saved her and she had shown him his duty. Well, he was going to carry it out, and after all Evelyn's charm was strong. He had been a fool, but only Carrie knew, and Evelyn must not pay. By and by he went back to the house, calmed but not much comforted.

In the meantime, Dick reached Whitelees and did not say much about his adventure. When he had got some food he went to the smoking-room and looked for paper and a pencil. He wanted to refresh his memory of the footsteps about the punt and the marks left by the anchor line. It was important that he should do so, but although he sat for an hour, drawing rough plans of the spot, he was not satisfied. Unluckily, he could not go back to the sands in the morning and study the ground, because he had promised to join some friends in town for a week. All the same, it was some relief to put off the matter and go to bed, but he did not sleep much and felt moody when he got an early breakfast and started for the station.

CHAPTER XVI
EVELYN'S RESOLUTION FAILS

Disturbing thoughts spoiled Dick's visit to town and one morning soon after his return he went out on the sands when the tide was low. He took a note-book and a compass, and before he went walked up and down a measured distance on the lawn until he thought he knew the length of his stride. Since he was going to make some investigations that he tried to hope would banish his doubts, it was necessary to be accurate. He found the spot where Jim had left his punt; there was a little runlet of water down the bank that fixed it, and he stepped off the distance to the level sand above. Then he smoked a pipe while he tried to recapture the footsteps as he had seen them in the moonlight, and when he was roughly satisfied, went across to the creek that ran into the main channel.

He counted his steps until he reached the spot where the shadowy figure had vanished in the fog. The creek bent just there; he remembered the bend, which he had cut across, and the bank was steep. If Lance, wearing light-colored shooting clothes, had gone into the hollow, nobody could have seen him a few yards off. Dick made some notes and marked the distances, and then went back to Whitelees, feeling strangely troubled. His doubts had not vanished; they had changed to certainties.

Dick was young and often careless, but now a sense of responsibility weighed upon him. He had a liking for Jim and an affection for Carrie that might have ripened to a stronger feeling had she allowed it, and both had run some risk of being drowned. For all that, Dick could not see his way. The honor of the house must be guarded, and although he knew himself a coward he hesitated for a miserable week.

Then Jim came to Whitelees one evening when Mrs. Halliday and Dick were dining somewhere else. He stopped for two or three hours, and unluckily Evelyn was bored when he arrived and Jim was dull. He had had a disappointing day, for a sluice-gate had fallen down, a workman had got hurt, and a valuable horse had broken its leg. Jim talked about his troubles at some length while Evelyn tried to look sympathetic, and afterwards stated, with numerous particulars, his projects for improving the estate, although he carefully explained that his losing his money might prevent their being carried out. While he sketched his plans he unconsciously delineated his character, and when he went away Evelyn felt daunted.

Pulling a chair to the fire, she sat for a time trying to face a crisis she had begun to fear must come. She had thought she understood Jim and had known that when she married him she must give up much; but now she saw him as he really was. He cared nothing for amusements and not much for music and art; in fact, he had no use for the refinements and amenities that smoothed the life she enjoyed. Langrigg could not be made a center of pleasant social intercourse and perhaps political influence; Jim's wife must study economy and help to manage his farms. It was not that he was selfish. All his habits were utilitarian and he would not change. Well, she could not marry a farmer and devote herself to strenuous work. She must be amused; the life Jim had planned for her was frankly impossible. Getting up before Mrs. Halliday returned, she left word that she had a headache and went to bed.

Next morning Mordaunt came to Whitelees and found Evelyn alone. He sat down opposite with a careless smile and she noted his smooth urbanity and easy pose. Jim as a rule was restless, and highly-strung.

"Seeing Dick and your mother in the car encouraged me to call," he said. "Dick and I were staunch friends, but I didn't want to meet him. He has recently been strange."

"He has been moody since he came from town, although he was not in very good spirits the morning he left," Evelyn agreed in a thoughtful voice. "I imagine something that might account for it happened the night Jim's friends were lost on the sands."

Mordaunt felt disturbed, but Evelyn's remark stiffened his resolution. She had noted Dick's moodiness, and since the lad was suspicious he must act quickly. He might have trouble afterwards, but he would meet it when it came.

"It's possible," he said, "Dick's temperament is nervous and perhaps he had some grounds for feeling a strain. I expect you have noted that he is attracted by Miss Winter?"

"I have noted it," Evelyn admitted with an unconscious frown. "It will lead to nothing. Dick's romantic, but he is not a fool."

"He is headstrong and his own master. Miss Winter has beauty."

"For all that, it's ridiculous to imagine Dick would marry her."

"I don't know," said Mordaunt, coolly. "You are going to marry Jim."

Evelyn colored, because she knew what he meant. For the most part, the objections that could be urged against Carrie applied to Jim.

"I don't know if I'm going to marry Jim or not," she said.

Mordaunt looked hard at her and his eyes sparkled. "Ah," he said, "I imagined something like this would happen; in fact, I have waited for it. It was plain that Jim would pall. He has his virtues, but he is not the man for you."

"He has many virtues; he's big and strong and honest. It would be easier if he had some of our shabby faults. Jim's code is as rude as himself, but it's stern and he lives up to it. I don't know if I can."

"I know," said Mordaunt, smiling; "you could not! Jim is something of a savage, but all the same, he belongs to the old school and his rudeness is austere. We are modern and live on another plane. But how did you come to see the truth I've seen all along?"

"Jim showed me," Evelyn replied with some feeling. "Unconsciously, of course. He was here last evening and talked about his plans. They are good plans. Had I been different, I might have helped, but they left me out. I don't like to be left out. Am I the girl to satisfy a man who lives to farm and dig marsh drains? You know me, Lance."

"The thing is ridiculous," Mordaunt declared, and was silent for a moment or two. He did know Evelyn, and her frankness meant much. It was plain that she meant to break with Jim but felt she needed help.

"What are you going to do about it?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said drearily. "I can't go on."

Mordaunt made a sign of sympathetic agreement. "You cannot; but there is a way out. I think you see the way. Durst I hope you'll take it with me?"

Evelyn said nothing and turned her head, and he went on: "I'm not utilitarian, and my rule is yours. We understand each other. My talents will be used to amuse you and not to dig drains." He got up and stood by her chair. "You have pluck, Evelyn. Tell Jim you have found you cheated yourself and let him go."

"I haven't much pluck," she said, quietly. "Jim rather carried me away. He stood for romance, struggle, and adventure; things I haven't known. He's a man, a plain, hot-blooded fighting man, and I was tired of conventional languidness. But I began to doubt and see I wasn't strong enough to live his life. I had wrapped myself up in flimsy artificialities until they got needful and I couldn't break loose." She paused and looked up. "Well, you are my kind, Lance, and if you want me, I am willing. I'll tell Jim, but I shrink. He may not understand, and it will hurt us both."

Mordaunt thought for a moment. It might be better if Evelyn did not tell Jim, and he was afraid Dick would meddle. He took and kissed her hand.

"My dear!" he said. "But you must not get hurt, and I have a plan. Hasn't Florence urged you to stop with her in town? Well, suppose you go and I join you there? We can be married by license and go to France or Italy. Before we come back Jim's disappointment will have cooled and our friends have got over their surprise."

Evelyn saw the plan had advantages. It would obviate the need for awkward apologies, and when she and Lance came back it would be too late for people to disapprove. She agreed and submitted without emotion when Mordaunt put his arm round her, but in spite of some regrets she was firm. Romance had been a treacherous guide; she had found this out and was logical again. When Mordaunt went away all had been arranged, and when she sat down to write to Florence in London her hand was steady and composition easy. After the note was written she hesitated for a moment, and then resolutely fastened the envelope.

A few days after Evelyn went to town, Dick, coming back from shooting one afternoon, met Tom Shanks on the marsh. When he saw the fellow his anger flared up, for he had felt his responsibility and wondered with keen disturbance what he ought to do. Although Lance was on the sands the night Carrie was nearly drowned and knew much about the matter, Dick had grounds for believing Shanks moved the punt. He had meant to be cautious and wait until he saw his way, but something in the fellow's furtive, sullen look, banished his control.

He stopped Shanks and found it a relief to let himself go. The other was cool and hinted darkly that Dick had better leave things alone. He said Dick had nothing to go upon; he had not seen Shanks near the punt, and if he went to the police about it, might get somebody else into trouble. Shanks knew what he knew, and if he were forced would tell. Dick then used tact, scoffing at the other's hints until Shanks abandoned some of his reserve, and when the stormy interview was over Dick went home moodily. The plan he had made of the marks by the punt was accurate, but the line he ought to take not yet plain. Lance was his relation.

In the evening he drove Mrs. Halliday to Dryholm, where Jim and his friends had been asked to dine. They had not arrived, and while Bernard talked to Mrs. Halliday, Dick went to the library to look at a book about sport. When he opened the door Mordaunt was writing and there was a letter, to which he seemed to be replying, on the table. He nodded and went on writing, and Dick was glad he did not want to talk. After a few minutes a car rolled up the drive and when Mordaunt fastened the envelope they heard Jim's party in the hall.

Mordaunt went down stairs and Dick, coming after, saw an envelope on the floor. Imagining Mordaunt had dropped it, he picked it up and frowned as he recognized Evelyn's hand. Mordaunt was talking to Mrs. Winter and Dick did not want to disturb them; besides, he would sooner give Lance the letter when they were alone. Then Bernard beckoned him and before long dinner was served.

Dick did not enjoy the meal. He could hardly rouse himself to talk to Carrie and when she turned to Mordaunt, the latter's careless smile as he began to joke moved him to almost uncontrollable rage. Dick was in a black mood, for the secret he carried had worn his nerves, and he did not like Evelyn's writing to Lance. He was resolved that his sister should have nothing to do with the fellow. When dinner was over he said to Mordaunt, "I'd like to see the gun you bought."

"Very well," said Mordaunt and they went to the gun-room.

The room was small. A glass case, holding guns and fishing rods, ran along one wall; a bench occupied the other. There was a plain table, stained by oil, and a fire burned in a stove with an open front, for the night was damp. A flickering glow played about the walls and shone on the greasy guns. Dick stopped Mordaunt, who put his hand on the electric-light switch.

"Never mind the light," he said, throwing a letter on the table. "You dropped this."

"I did," said Mordaunt, turning to Dick, who leaned against the table. "Imagined I'd put it in my pocket. Thank you for picking it up."

Dick thought it significant that he had not opened the case to get the new gun. Lance's voice was calm but his glance was quick. He seemed to be waiting.

"What was Evelyn writing to you about?" Dick asked.

The light from the stove touched Mordaunt's face, which hardened.

"Then, you have not read the letter?"

"You know I have not," Dick rejoined, for his control gave way at the other's taunt. Lance wanted to make him angry and find out how much he knew. Well, he should find out and Dick thought he would get a jar. "Anyhow, you must stop writing to Evelyn," he resumed. "I'd sooner you kept away from Whitelees when she comes home."

"You bore with my visits not long since. Are you afraid to state why you want them to stop?"

"Not at all," said Dick, seeing the other meant to force him to be frank; he knew Lance had pluck. "You are a clever philanderer, but Evelyn's going to marry Jim."

Mordaunt smiled, imprudently, since his smile infuriated Dick.

"Looks as if you wanted to quarrel! I imagine I shall not write to Evelyn again for some time. This ought to satisfy you. Perhaps I'm dull, but I don't know why our friendship should break off."

"You well know!" Dick exclaimed. "You meant to let Jim drown not long since!"

"You're a theatrical fool," Mordaunt remarked, coolly, although his voice was rather hoarse. "Anyhow, I think you're sober and you have made a statement that must be justified."

"I'm willing to justify it, if you force me," Dick declared. "But I'd sooner you admitted the thing and left the neighborhood, without an awkward explanation. If you go at once and don't come back, it's perhaps not needful the others should know why you went. You can live in town; I don't care where you live, so long as you don't see Evelyn again."

He stopped and his face got very red, for the door opened and Mrs. Halliday and Bernard came in.

"I imagined we would find you here, but it looks as if you were quarreling," Bernard remarked.

"We were quarreling," Dick admitted with strange calm, for he was relieved that a chance to get rid of his load had come. It was his duty to tell Jim and Bernard and he had been afraid. Now he could leave matters to the head of the house.

"You are hot-blooded, Dick, but I don't imagine you would get angry about nothing. May I inquire the grounds for the dispute?"

"I'll tell you if you will send for Jim. The thing touches him."

Bernard pressed an electric bell and Mordaunt said: "You will be very sorry for this, Dick."

The bell rang and when a servant came Bernard said, "Tell Mr. Dearham we would like to see him here."