Bindloss Harold
Thrice Armed

CHAPTER IX
MERRIL TIGHTENS THE SCREW

The Sorata went to sea again next morning, and one night a week later she bore up for Vancouver before a westerly breeze. A thin crescent moon had just cleared the dim white line of the mainland snow, and the sea glittered faintly in her frothing wake under a vast sweep of dusky blue. The big topsail swayed across it, blotting out the stars, and there was a rhythmic splashing beneath the bows.

Anthea Merril stood at the tiller outlined against the heave of sea, for the night was warm and she was dressed in white. Nellie Austerly sat on a locker in the cockpit, and her father on the saloon skylights with a cigar in his hand. Valentine lay on the deck not far away, and Jimmy a little further forward.

"I suppose we will be in soon after daylight, and I'm sorry," said Nellie Austerly. "It has been an almost perfect cruise in spite of the bad weather. Don't you wish we were going back again, instead of home, Anthea?"

Jimmy roused himself to attention, for he would very much have liked to hear Miss Merril's real thoughts on the matter; but she laughed.

"I don't think it would be very much use if I did," she said. "One can't go sailing always – and if you feel that that is a pity, you can think of the rain and the wind."

"Ah!" said Nellie Austerly, "one has to bear so much of them everywhere. Sometimes one wonders whether life is all gray days and rain; but this trip has made me better, and, perhaps, if Mr. Valentine will take us, we will go back next year and revel once more in the sea and the sunshine – we really had a good deal of the latter."

Jimmy saw his comrade make a little abrupt movement, and guessed what he was thinking, for he too realized that before another year Nellie Austerly would in all probability have slipped away from the sad gray weather to the shores of the glassy sea where there is eternal radiance.

Then Austerly looked around, and his observation was very matter-of-fact, as usual.

"If circumstances are propitious, I should be glad to arrange it," he said. "I certainly think Mr. Valentine has done everything he could for us. Indeed, we owe it largely to him that this has been such a pleasant trip."

He appeared to expect some expression of approval, and Anthea laughed. "Of course. It's only unfortunate he couldn't arrange the weather."

"I wonder," said Nellie reflectively, "why you both leave Jimmy out?"

There was a certain suggestiveness in the girl's tone which Jimmy noticed, though he did not think her father did, and he wished it had been light enough to see Anthea Merril's face; but unfortunately it was not. She appeared to disregard the question, and glanced in Valentine's direction.

"Couldn't we have the big spinnaker up?" she asked.

Valentine hesitated a little. The breeze was moderately fresh and the Sorata traveling fast enough, while it is not a very easy thing to steer a craft running under the great three-cornered sail, which is apt to swing over in case of a blunder at the tiller.

"You could hold her steady before the wind?" he asked.

"If I don't, I will make my father buy you a new mast," said Anthea.

Valentine made a little gesture which was expressive of resignation. It was, he had discovered, singularly hard to say no to Anthea Merril; but it seemed to him that the new mast might be needed if she ventured too far now. He and Jimmy between them got the great sail up and its boom run out, though it cost them an effort; and then Jimmy glanced aft with more than a trace of uneasiness at the white figure at the helm. The Sorata had now on each side of her a swelling mass of canvas that dwarfed the narrow strip of hull, and she swung each of them high in turn as she rolled viciously. Still, as far as Jimmy could see, the girl stood very composedly at the tiller. Then, as the great mainboom went up high above the sea, Valentine signed to him.

"You had better get out and steady it," he said. "It wouldn't need much to bring that boom over."

Jimmy crawled out on the slippery spar, and sat astride near the end of it, while Valentine made his way along the one beneath the spinnaker. Their weight checked the lifting of the sails in some degree, but for the first few minutes it seemed to Jimmy that they and their companions were hazarding a good deal. If the girl at the helm let the tiller swing a hand's-breadth too much when the Sorata, piling the froth about her, rushed up a dim slope of water, either mainsail or spinnaker would swing over, and the men on the booms would have no opportunity for attempting to obviate the unpleasantness that would certainly succeed it. In all probability they would be flung off headlong into the sea. Still, the sail did not come over, for the Sorata drove along straight before the wind, and once more Jimmy paid silent homage to the girl at the tiller.

He could see her only dimly, a blurred white shape against the dusky sea, but he could imagine the little glow in her eyes and the way in which her lips were pressed together. He had seen her look that way when she sat beside him in the cockpit one wild morning as the Sorata plunged over the great Pacific combers, and it seemed to him that she was one who would face difficulties and perils of any kind as unwaveringly. Indeed, he was angry with himself for having fancied there was any hazard at all in leaving her to steer the Sorata under spinnaker, for he felt that Anthea Merril must necessarily be capable of carrying out anything she had undertaken.

So he swung contentedly with the lifting boom, now hove high above the dark water, now dropped down until his feet were almost in the streaming froth, while shadowy islets clothed with pines sprang out of the sea ahead, grew into solid blurs of blackness, and flitted by, until at last Austerly said that his daughter must go below. Then Valentine and Jimmy came in along the booms, stowed the spinnaker with some difficulty, and dropped the topsail too, for the dim mainland shore was black ahead when the rest left the deck to them.

"That girl has quite excellent nerves," said Valentine. "Still, what I like about her is that she doesn't think it necessary to impress it on you. Her husband won't have much to complain of if she ever marries anybody, though I'm not sure that's certain."

"Not certain?" said Jimmy.

"No," replied Valentine reflectively. "A girl of her kind is apt to be particular. The man who pleases her would have to be quite straight, and it's scarcely likely he'd go to leeward either."

Jimmy fancied that his comrade was right, though he said nothing, for after all it was, as he compelled himself to admit, no concern of his. However, he sighed a little as he went down and crawled into his cot, leaving Valentine to feel his way along the dusky shore.

It was early next morning when they rowed Austerly and his two companions ashore, and the man shook hands with them on the wharf.

"I feel that I am indebted to both of you," he said with somewhat unusual diffidence. "In fact, I can't exactly consider that the attention you have shown my daughter is no more than one would expect – from the charter."

He seemed to feel that he was becoming involved, and went on abruptly. "She desires me to say that it would be a pleasure should either of you care to call at any time."

Jimmy left him to Valentine, and, when the latter had handed Miss Austerly into the waiting vehicle, saw that Anthea Merril was looking at him.

"If you don't mind my saying so, I think that was rather good of Austerly," she said. "You probably know his point of view, and I daresay it cost him an effort. I think your comrade should go. Nellie finds him amusing, and there is naturally not very much in her life that pleases her."

She stopped with a little soft laugh. "Mr. Wheelock – isn't it? I haven't the least difficulty in saying as much as Austerly did. Any time you or Mr. Valentine care to call I should be glad to receive you. Our house is always open, and anybody will tell you where it is."

Jimmy once more remembered that he had on a pair of burst canvas shoes, as well as old duck trousers cobbled with sail twine, and a man-o'-war cap that had grown shapeless with the rain. He also realized that his companion was quite aware of it too.

"I'm afraid it wouldn't be a very appropriate thing if I did," he said.

Anthea looked at him steadily. "Pshaw!" she said. "Still, you really can't expect me to urge you."

Perhaps it was a slight relief to both of them that Valentine signed to Jimmy just then. "They want this box," he said. "The rest of the things are to wait for the express wagon."

Jimmy, who turned away, heaved the box into the vehicle, and did not see the curious little smile in Anthea Merril's eyes. In a few minutes she had driven away, and, he fancied, had passed out of his life altogether. He stood still on the wharf and sighed.

"Well," said Valentine, "where are you going now?"

"Straight back to the schooner," said Jimmy. "I see her lying outside the steamboat yonder. You might bring my things across when you have straightened up the boat."

Valentine promised to do so, and Jimmy, who strode away, met Jordan, whom he had not expected to see there, on the water-front.

"What are you doing in Vancouver?" he asked.

"Looking after my patent rights – among other things," said Jordan. "The mill's shut down for two or three weeks anyway. Between the stone in the water and the new detergent the directors insisted on my using, the boiler has 'most turned herself inside out. Our people have their office here, as you know, and my agreement with them only stands for another month, while it seems that Merril has been buying up their stock. I'm not sure his notions are going to suit me. You heard we had to break off your father's contract?"

"I hadn't, though I was afraid it would happen," said Jimmy, whose face grew a trifle grim. "That was Merril's doing?"

"It was. I couldn't help the thing. But we can't talk here; won't you come along to my hotel?"

Jimmy glanced at his garments, and Jordan grinned. "Those things don't count for so much here," he said. "Anyway, there was a time when I tramped into the wooden cities along Puget Sound looking way more like a dead-beat than you do now. Still, if that's going to worry you, can't you get a boat and take me for a sail?"

Jimmy was sorry that it was out of the question. He had spent only a few evenings with Jordan at the mill, but he liked the man, and was vaguely sensible that Jordan liked him.

"Valentine and I have just run in, and I must see how the old man is getting along," he said. "After that I fancy I ought to go over to a ranch on the Westminster road, and look up my sister. I haven't seen her since I came home."

"Well," said Jordan, "I've nothing on hand until to-morrow. What's the matter with taking me? I'll hire a team somewhere and drive you. I can drop you at the ranch, and go on to Westminster."

They arranged it during the next few minutes, and then Jimmy was rowed off to the Tyee. Prescott met him as he climbed on board, and a glance at his face showed Jimmy that things had not been going well.

"You will be wanted," he said. "Your father has been getting very shaky since you went away, and I don't quite see how he's to hold on to the schooner, now that he has lost that lumber contract and has to face the carpenter's bill. Guess he's worrying over it. Hasn't got up the last three days, and the doctor don't seem to know what is wrong with him."

Jimmy went down into the little stern cabin with a sinking heart, and found Tom Wheelock lying propped up in his berth. He looked very old and haggard, and the perspiration stood beaded on his face, in which pale patches showed through the bronze.

"Glad you've got back, boy," he said. "You'll have to take hold soon – that is, if there's anything left to get a grip on. The old man's played out."

This, it seemed to Jimmy, was painfully evident, and though he contrived to hide it, a sense of dismay crept over him as he sat down. Tom Wheelock looked played out, and though his son was ready to take up his burden, he felt it would be heavy. He realized that through the compassion he felt, and then a sudden fit of anger against the man who had crushed his father came over him. The color darkened a trifle in his face, but he put a restraint upon himself.

"You'll be about again in a day or two," he said cheerily. "Now, tell me all about it. But first of all, what is the matter with you?"

The old man looked at him with a curious little smile. "The doctor Bob brought off didn't quite seem to know, but I could have told him. Guess I'm done, boy. It's quite likely I'll crawl out on deck for a little while, but how's that going to count? Nobody's going to have any more use for your father, Jimmy, and when the month is up Merril will take the schooner from him."

Jimmy clenched a big brown fist, but his voice was very quiet. "Well," he said, "I want to understand what has happened since I went away."

Wheelock reached out for the pipe that lay near him, and fumbled with it, spilling the tobacco with shaky fingers, until Jimmy quietly took it from him, and struck a match as he handed it back to him. The old man raised himself a trifle as he lighted it, and then laid a trembling hand on his son's arm.

"I guess I've worked as hard as most other men, but somehow I don't seem to have gone to windward as the rest did," he said. "Perhaps I was too easy with the money, and a little slack in other ways. Still, your blood's red, Jimmy, and there's a streak of hard sand in you. You got it from your mother; it was she who made me. Hard work don't count, boy. You want to get your elbows into the other people who're standing in your way. Well, I'm glad there's that streak of grit in you. You'll get those fingers on the throat of the man who brought your father down, and gripe the life out of him, some day."

He broke off abruptly, and fumbled with his pipe, which had gone out again. "Let that go; it's fool talk, Jimmy. What do I want putting my trouble on to you? Guess you'll have plenty of your own, boy."

"I think I asked you to tell me what Merril had done," said Jimmy.

"Kept us here under repairs while the lumber was piling up on the sawmill wharf. I 'most guess he'd fixed the thing with the boss carpenter. I was to bring all that the people at the Inlet cut for Victoria or Vancouver down fast as it was ready, or they were to let up on the contract; but Jordan would have made things easy if Merril hadn't bought their stock and put the screw on hard."

"It wouldn't be worth his while to buy the stock for that."

"The thing's quite plain. He's playing a bigger game. Wants control of all that's going on along that coast, and its carrying. Guess I can't stop his getting the Tyee, and she's the second boat he has taken from me. Well, I may get a freight of ore in a week or two, and, it's quite likely, a load from a cannery – go up light – freight one way. How's that going to count, though, when there's the carpenter's bill to meet, and a big instalment on the bond with interest due?"

"How much?" Jimmy asked, harshly.

He sat silent a while, with a hard, set face, when his father told him.

"Then he must have the vessel. Still, he'll have to sell her by auction," he said by and by.

"That won't count. When I've nobody to run the price up against him, it's quite easy for a man like Merril to fix the thing. He'll get one of his friends to buy her in at 'bout half her value, and the bond don't quite call for that. It isn't everybody wants a vessel, and the few men who do fix these things between them."

Jimmy set his lips, and once more there was silence for a while. Then he looked up with a little abrupt movement. "There's a question in front of us to be faced – and I'm going to find the answer; but we won't talk any more about it now. I'm going over with Jordan this afternoon to see Eleanor. You can get along until to-night without me?"

Wheelock made a sign of concurrence. "I guess it's a thing you ought to do. Got a letter from her yesterday, and she was asking about you. Eleanor's like you. Take after your mother, both of you, and, if anything, the harder grit's in her. You have to remember, Jimmy, you can't afford to show a soft spot when you're fighting a man like Merril."

He stopped a moment, with a sigh. "Guess he is too hard for your father. Won't you light me this pipe again? My hand's shaky."

CHAPTER X
ELEANOR WHEELOCK

Jordan was driving a spirited team along the water-front when Jimmy came up from the wharf, and he smiled when the latter swung himself up into the light, four-wheeled vehicle. Jimmy was dressed tastefully in his English shore-going clothes, and now looked very much unlike a yacht-hand. He was well endued physically, and, though the bronze in his face and a certain steadiness of gaze betrayed his calling, there was an indefinite but unmistakable stamp upon him which he had acquired on board the big mail-boats, and perhaps also in a greater measure from his comrades on the battleship. Jimmy had certainly not cultivated it, and was, in fact, not aware that he possessed it, but his companion had already recognized it.

"Take a cigar, and light it before I let the team out. They look as if they could go," he said.

Jimmy did so, and then found it somewhat difficult to keep his seat as his comrade sent the horses through the city as fast as they could lay hoof to the ground, and out of it past the clustering wooden hovels in its less reputable quarter, and up the slope that led into the shadowy bush. Roads are not remarkable for their smoothness anywhere in that country, but it was evident that Jordan liked fast traveling and could handle a team. He laughed when Jimmy said so.

"I come of farmer stock, and that's probably why I always had a notion of the sea," he said. "If you look at it in one way, the thing's quite natural."

"I suppose it is," said Jimmy. "Why didn't you go to sea?"

"It seemed to me one has mighty few chances of picking up money there, though I found out quite early that the poor man has no great show anywhere. It was a mortgage he couldn't pay off that broke up my father."

He stopped for a moment, with a little confidential gesture. "I guess that's why I wanted to do what I could for your father. In one or two ways he's very much like the man I buried back in Washington. He was straight – and it wasn't his fault if he didn't whale all the meanness out of me – but, when smartness means getting your grip on what belongs to somebody else, he was just a trifle slow. He worked hard, and gave every man a hundred cents' worth for his dollar – and that's quite likely why there was mighty little but a mortgage on the ranch when he died."

Jimmy was not astonished, in view of their short acquaintance, that his companion should tell him this. He was aware that reticence is not a prominent characteristic of the men of the Pacific Slope, and, besides this, there was a rapidly growing sympathy between himself and Jordan. Still, he sat silent, and his companion spoke again.

"I was about sixteen then, and I saw I had to make out differently," he said. "Well, somehow I've done it – looked on this life as a battle where the hurt man gets no mercy, and I've cleared quite a little money on my royalties – but now and then the memory of those old days on the ranch comes back to me. Then I feel that if ever it's necessary for me to get my knife into any kind of mortgage man, it will be red right to the hilt when it comes out again."

The snap in his companion's dark eyes and the hardening of his lips were comprehensible to Jimmy, for he had once or twice been sensible of much the same feeling. Jordan had, as is usual in the land to which he belonged, expressed himself frankly, and perhaps a trifle crudely; but Jimmy recognized that it was with very genuine tenderness and regret he remembered the man he had buried long ago in Washington. He asked an abrupt question, which did not, however, altogether change the subject.

"Will you be here any time?" he said.

"I don't quite know. There's no reason I shouldn't tell you what I can, and I feel like talking now. I'm quite pleased to run that mill up the Inlet for our people, that is, while they leave me to fix things as I like them; but as I told you, Merril has been getting his grip on the stock lately, and his views about the royalties on my patents don't quite coincide with mine. I've a couple of other notions that will save labor which our company has not bought up, and it's quite likely I'll turn them over to the Hastings people. In the meanwhile I'm not going to rush things, and it's probable I'll hang on until we've had the stockholders' meeting."

"Then it's Merril who is standing in your way?"

Jordan smiled dryly. "Now you understand the thing. Seems to me neither of us has any great reason to like that man."

Nothing more was said on that point, and by and by they left the scented shadow of the pines, and clattered across a wooden bridge which spanned the turbid, green Fraser, into a stretch of sunlit meadows and oatfields formed by the silt the great river had brought down. In due time they reached a wooden ranch flanked by shadowy bush, and Jordan, pulling the team up before it, glanced down the long white road that leads to New Westminster, a few miles away.

"I guess I'll go on to town, and come back for you," he said. "Still, you had better make sure you're at the right place first."

Jimmy got down, and a man who had apparently heard the beat of hoofs, commenced to throw down the split slip-rails which in Western Canada usually serve as gates.

"Yes," he said, when Jimmy spoke to him, "this is Forster's ranch. In fact, that is my name."

He was dressed in the bush-rancher's jean, but he had a pleasant face with a certain hint of refinement in it, and smiled when Jimmy told him who he was.

"Miss Wheelock's brother? Come right in and put your team up," he said. "It's not more than an hour or so until supper. Your friend will come with you?"

Supper is usually served at six o'clock in that country, and in no way differs from the other meals of the day; while nobody acquainted with its customs would have considered it an unusual thing for the rancher to extend the invitation to Jimmy's companion. Jordan once more glanced down the road to New Westminster, and, though none of them knew it, a good deal was to depend on the fact that he elected to stay.

"Well," he said, turning to Jimmy, "I don't want to worry you, but the fact is, one of the lumber people yonder has been writing me about my gang-saw frame, and, after thinking the thing out last night, I'd sooner hold him off a while. I'd have to call on the man if I drove into town, and, after all, it might be wiser to keep clear of him."

"Then you had better get down," said Forster. "While Miss Wheelock talks to her brother you can walk round the ranch with me. I don't see many strangers, and I'm by no means busy."

Jordan got down, and, after spending an hour with Forster, was somewhat astonished when he was presented to Miss Wheelock in the big general room of the ranch. It was roughly paneled with cedar, very simply furnished, and had, as usual, an uncovered floor, while the sunlight that streamed through the uncurtained window fell upon the girl. She stood still a moment looking at him when she had acknowledged his greeting, and for once, at least, the sawmiller felt almost embarrassed, for Eleanor Wheelock possessed, as her brother did not, a somewhat striking personality.

Jimmy might have passed for a quiet Englishman; but his sister was typically Western in everything but speech – tall, wiry, and a trifle straight of figure, but with something that was almost imperious in her attitude. She had light hair like Jimmy's, but there was a reddish gleam in it, and her eyes which had a glint in them were of a paler blue, while her skin was of a curious colorless purity. Jordan could not analyze her features, but he felt that she was beautiful, and there was a suggestion of vigor about her that further attracted him. One would scarcely have called her domineering, but she had not, as her brother recognized, the quiet graciousness and composure which half-concealed Anthea Merril's strength of character. Jordan, however, was not too discriminating. He liked vigor in any guise, and he noticed that one of the two little girls who had entered with her clung to her hand.

"I think I passed you twice in Vancouver one day a month or two ago," she said.

Jordan made her a little inclination, and his Western candor was free alike from awkwardness or any hint of presumption.

"Then I didn't see you. If I had done so, I should certainly have remembered it."

Eleanor laughed, and turned to the others. "It's ten minutes since Jake called you. Will you sit here, Jimmy, with Mr. Jordan next to you? Mrs. Forster is away just now."

She moved to the head of the table, and the usual ranch supper of pork, potatoes, flapjacks, hot cakes, desiccated fruits, and green tea was brought in. Forster, who appeared to be a man of education, made an excellent host, but it was Eleanor and Jordan who led most of the conversation, and there was delicacy as well as keenness in their badinage. Almost an hour had passed before the party rose, which was a very unusual thing in that country, for the Westerner seldom wastes much time over his meals. Then, as it happened, it was Jimmy who walked round the ranch with Forster, while Jordan sat on the veranda with Eleanor and the little girls while the shadows of the firs crept slowly up to it. They talked about a good many things, while each felt that they were just skirting a confidence, until the little girl who sat next to Jordan looked up at him gravely.

"Why don't you go and see the cows with father and the other man?" she asked.

Jordan laughed, but he looked at Eleanor. "Well," he said, "for one thing, I guess it's a good deal nicer here."

Miss Wheelock met his glance with a directness which, had his disposition and training been different, he might have found disconcerting. She was, like himself, absolutely devoid of affectation, and he felt that she was quietly making an estimate of him. Still, there was not a great deal in his character that he had occasion to hide from any one, and the evident sincerity of his observation was in itself an excuse for it. It was characteristic of the girl that she let it pass, not with the obvious intention of ignoring it because that appeared advisable, but as though she had never heard it. When a thing did not appeal to Eleanor Wheelock, she simply brushed it aside.

"Have you met the Miss Merril Jimmy mentioned?" she asked. "I almost fancy she is the girl I used to see now and then when I was in Toronto. What is she like?"

Jordan, who had met Anthea Merril in Vancouver, told her as well as he was able, and Eleanor's lips set in a straight line.

"One could fancy you were not fond of Miss Merril," he said.

"I have never spoken to her; but I have no great reason to feel well-disposed toward anybody of that family."

"Ah!" said Jordan; "that means Jimmy has told you what Merril is doing. I'm no friend of that man's either, but I'm not quite sure one could reasonably hold the girl responsible for her father."

"Especially when she's pretty? Still, she is his daughter, and must be like him in some respects."

Jordan's eyes twinkled. "Do you consider yourself like your father?"

Eleanor flashed a swift glance at him. "You are keener than I expected. In reality I am not like him in the least, though I don't know why I should trouble to admit it. In any case, I think the rule generally holds good."

She dismissed the subject abruptly, with a laugh. "After all, our affairs can't interest you. You can't have seen very much of my brother."

Jordan appeared to consider this. "I'm not sure that counts," he said. "I seem to have been a friend of Jimmy's quite a long while. There are people who make you feel that, even when it isn't so, although they may not consciously want to. One can't tell how they do it – but I think you have the power in you."

"I don't know," said Eleanor. "I am, however, by no means certain that I was ever very anxious to make friends with anybody."

"That's comprehensible. You would sooner they wanted to make friends with you, and if no one did, you would be sufficient for yourself."

Eleanor looked at him with a chilly smile. "You have a certain penetration, but I don't know that there is any reason why I should confess to you. How do you come to know anything about Mr. Merril?"

Jordan, who appeared to have no doubt as to her ability to understand him, in which he was warranted, told her.

"Well," she said, "suppose this man's influence is too strong for you, and you have to break your connection with the mill?"

"There are two or three other things I could turn to."

"One would suppose as much;" and Jordan took it as a compliment, which perhaps it was, especially as the girl had not said it with the least desire to gratify him. "Still, that is not what I mean. Would you try to find any means of retaliating?"

"If he afterward got in my way – that is, thrust himself between me and something I wanted to do – I would try all I could to get my foot on him, and then perhaps keep it there a little longer than was necessary."

"You would go no further?"

Jordan knew what she meant, though he could not grasp her purpose in pressing the point. "It wouldn't be business if I did. When a man starts out to make money he can't afford to load himself up with purely personal grievances. If another man tries to get the things you want you naturally have to fight, but it's wiser to grin and bear it when he's too smart for you. Still, there are cases when the feeling that you would like to get even afterward is apt to be 'most too much for human nature."

"And in some respects you could be very human?"

Jordan turned to her with the twinkle still in his eyes. "Well," he said, "if I let any weakness of that kind master me in the present case, I should be very much like the black-tail deer that turned around on the man with the rifle. Still, one can't invariably be wise."