The Silver Horde Part 48

Roused by this statement to a fresh denial, Marsh cried out:

"I tell you there wasn't any woman."

"And there isn't any knife either," Emerson sneered.

The men paused uncertainly. Seeing that they were undecided whether to believe him or his a.s.sailant, Marsh went on:

"If he hasn't a knife, then he must have had a friend with him--"

"Then tell your men what we were doing in here and how you came to be alone with us in the dark." Emerson stared at his accuser curiously, but the Trust's manager seemed at a loss. "See here, Marsh, if you will tell us whom you were choking, maybe we can get at the truth of this affair."

Without answering, Marsh rose, and, leaning upon the watchman's arm, said:

"Help me up to the house. I'm hurt. Send the launch to the upper plant for John; he knows something about medicine." With no further word, he made his way out of the building, followed by the mystified fishermen.

No one undertook to detain Emerson, and he went his way, wondering what lay back of the night's adventure. He racked his brain for a hint as to the ident.i.ty of the woman and the reason of her presence alone with Marsh in such a place. Again he thought of that mysterious third person whose movements had been so swift and furious, but his conjectures left him more at sea than ever. Of one thing he felt sure. It was not enmity alone that prompted Marsh to accuse him of the stabbing. The man was concealing something, in deadly fear of the truth, for rather than submit to questioning he had let his enemy go scot-free.

Suddenly Boyd paused in his walk, recalling again the shadowy outlines of the figure with whom he had so nearly collided on his way up from the beach. There was something familiar about it, he mused; then, with a low whistle of surprise, he smote his palms together. He began to see dimly.

For more than an hour the young man paced back and forth before the door of his sleeping-quarters, so deeply immersed in thought that only the breaking storm drove him within. When at last he retired, it was with the certainty that this night had placed a new weapon in his hand; but of what tremendous value it was destined to prove, he little knew.

CHAPTER XXII

THE SILVER HORDE

The main body of salmon struck into the Kalvik River on the first day of July. For a week past the run had been slowly growing, while the canneries tested themselves, but on the opening day of the new month the horde issued boldly forth from the depths of the sea, and the battle began in earnest. They came during the hush of the dawn, a mad, crowding throng from No Man's Land, to wake the tide-rips and people the s.h.i.+mmering reaches of the bay, las.h.i.+ng them to sudden life and fury. Outside, the languorous ocean heaved as smiling and serene as ever, but within the harbor a wondrous change occurred.

As if in answer to some deep-sea signal, the tides were quickened by a coursing mult.i.tude, steadfast and unafraid, yet foredoomed to die by the hand of man, or else more surely by the serving of their destiny. Clad in their argent mail of blue and green, they worked the bay to madness; they overwhelmed the waters, surging forward in great droves and columns, hesitating only long enough to frolic with the s.h.i.+fting currents, as if rejoicing in their strength and beauty.

At times they swam with cleaving fins exposed: again they churned the placid waters until swift combers raced across the shallow bars like tidal waves while the deeper channels were shot through with shadowy forms or pierced by the lightning glint of silvered bellies. They streamed in with the flood tide to retreat again with the ebb, but there was neither haste nor caution in their progress; they had come in answer to the breeding call of the sea, and its exultation was upon them, driving them relentlessly onward. They had no voice against its overmastering spell.

Mustering in the early light like a swarm of giant white-winged moths, the fis.h.i.+ng-boats raced forth with the flowing tide, urged by sweep and sail and l.u.s.ty sinews. Paying out their hundred-fathom nets, they drifted over the banks like flocks of resting sea-gulls, only to come ploughing back again deep laden with their spoils. Grimy tugboats lay beside the traps, shrilling the air with creaking winches as they "brailed" the struggling fish, a half-ton at a time, from the "pounds," now churned to milky foam by the ever-growing throng of prisoners; and all the time the big plants gulped the sea harvest, faster and faster, clanking and gnas.h.i.+ng their metal jaws, while the mounds of salmon lay hip-deep to the crews that fed the butchering machines.

The time had come for man to take his toll.

Now dawned a period of feverish activity wherein no one might rest short of actual exhaustion. Haste became the cry, and comfort fled.

At Emerson's cannery there fell a sudden panic, for fifty fishermen quit.

Returning from the banks on the night before the run started, they stacked their gear and notified Boyd Emerson of their determination. Then, despite his utmost efforts to dissuade them, they took their packs upon their shoulders and marched up the beach to Willis Marsh's plant. La.r.s.en, the day-foreman, acted as their spokesman, and Boyd recognized, too late, the result of that conversation he had interrupted on the night of his visit to Cherry.

This defection diminished his boat-crew by more than half, and while the sh.o.r.emen stoutly maintained their loyalty, the chance of putting up a pack seemed lost. Success or failure in the Behring Sea fisheries may depend upon the loss of a day. Emerson found himself facing a situation more desperate than any heretofore; Marsh had delayed the execution of his plans until the run had started, and there was no possibility of recruiting a new force. Alarmed beyond measure, Boyd swallowed his pride and went straightway to his enemy. He found Marsh well recovered from his flesh-wound of a week or more before, yet extremely cautious for his safety, as he evidenced by conducting the interview before witnesses.

"We are short-handed, and I gave instructions to secure every available man," he announced at the conclusion of Emerson's story. "It is not my fault if your men prefer to work for me."

"Then you force me to retaliate," said Boyd. "I shall hire your men out from under you."

Marsh laughed provokingly.

"Try it! I am a good organizer if nothing else. If you send emissaries to my plants, it will cause certain violence--and I think you had better avoid that, for we outnumber you ten to one."

Stormy accusations and retorts followed, till Emerson left the place in helpless disgust.

Nor had he hit upon any method of relief when Cherry came down to the plant on the following morning, though he and Big George had spent the night in conference. She lost no time in futile indignation, but inquired straightway:

"What are you doing about it? The fish have begun to run, and you can't afford to lose an hour."

"I have sent a man to each of the other plants to hire fishermen at any price, but I have no hope that they will succeed. Marsh has his crews too well in hand for that."

Cherry nodded. "They wouldn't dare quit him now. He'd never let them return to this country if they did. Meanwhile, the rest of your force is on the banks, I presume."

"Yes."

"How many boats have you?"

"Ten."

"Heavens! And this is the first day of the run! It looks bad, doesn't it?

Has the trap begun to fill?"

"No. George is down there now. I guess Marsh succeeded in corking it.

Meanwhile all the other plants are working while my c.h.i.n.ks are playing fan-tan."

Cherry gazed curiously at her companion, to see how he accepted this latest s.h.i.+ft of fortune. She knew that it spelled disaster; for a light catch, with the tremendous financial loss entailed, would not only mean difficulty with Hilliard's loan, but other complications impossible to forecast. Her mind sped onward to the effect of a failure upon Boyd's private affairs. He had told her in unmistakable terms that this was his last chance, the final hope upon which hung the realization of his dreams.

In some way his power to hold Mildred Wayland was bound up with his financial success. If he should lose her, where would he turn? she asked herself, and something within her answered that he would look for consolation to the woman who had stood at his shoulder all these weary months. Sudden emotion swept over her at the thought. What cared she for his success or failure? He was the one man she had ever known, the mate for whom she had been moulded. If this were his last chance, it promised to be the opportunity she had so long awaited; for once that other was out of his mind, Cherry felt that he would turn to her. She knew it intuitively, knew it from the light she had seen in his eyes that night at her house, knew it by the promptings of her own heart at this moment. She began to tremble, and felt her breast swelling with a glad determination; but he interrupted her flight of fancy with a sigh of such hopeless weariness that her pity rose instinctively. He gave her a sad little smile as he said:

"I seem to bring misfortune upon every one connected with me, don't I? I'm afraid I'm a poor sort."

How boyish he was, the girl thought tenderly, yet how splendidly brave he had been throughout the fight! There was a voiceless, maternal yearning in her heart as she asked him, gravely:

"If you fail now, it will mean--the end of everything, will it not?"

"Yes." He squared his tired shoulders. "But I am not beaten yet. You taught me never to give up, Cherry. If I have to go back home without a catch and see Hilliard take this plant over, why--I'll begin once more at something new, and some day I will succeed. But I sha'n't give up. I'll can what salmon we catch and then begin all over again next season."

"And--suppose you don't succeed? Suppose Hilliard won't carry you?"

"Then I shall try something else; maybe I shall go to mining again, I don't know. Anyhow, _she_ would not let me grow disheartened if she were here, she wouldn't let me quit. She isn't that sort."

Cherry Malotte stirred and s.h.i.+fted her gaze uncertainly to the gleaming bay. Abreast of them the fleet of fis.h.i.+ng-boats were drifting with the tide; in the distance others were dotted, clear away to where the opal ocean lay. A tug was pa.s.sing, and she saw the sun flash from the cargo in its tow, while the faint echo of a song came wafting to her ears. She stood so for a long moment, fighting manfully with herself, then wheeled upon him suddenly. There was a new tone in her voice as she said:

"If you will let me have one of your launches, I may be able to help you."

"How?" he demanded, quickly.