The Protector Part 23

Vane was no nearer to owning himself defeated than he had been when they first set out. "We know there's no spruce in this valley; and that's something," he replied. "When we come back again we'll try the next one."

"It has cost us a good deal to make sure of the fact."

Vane's expression changed. "We haven't ascertained the cost just yet. As a rule, you don't make up the bill until you're through with the undertaking; and it may be a longer one than either of us think. Now we'll turn upon our tracks."

Carroll recalled his speech afterwards, but just then he only hitched his burden a little higher on his aching shoulders as he plodded after his comrade down the rain-swept hollow, and he had good cause to remember the march to the inlet. It rained most of the way, and their clothes were never dry; parts of them, indeed, flowed in tatters about their aching limbs, and before they had covered half the distance their boots were dropping to pieces. What was more important, their provisions were rapidly running out, and they marched on a few handfuls of food, carefully apportioned twice daily. At last one night they lay down hungry, with empty bags, to sleep shelterless in the rain, for they had thrown their tent away; and Carroll had some difficulty in getting on his feet next morning.

"I believe I can hold out until sundown, though I'm far from sure of it," he said. "You'll have to leave me behind if we don't strike the inlet then."

"We'll strike it in the afternoon," Vane a.s.sured him.

They set out as soon as they had reslung their packs, and Carroll limped and stumbled. He managed, however, to keep pace with Vane, and some time after noon the latter cried out as a twinkling gleam among the trees caught his eye. Then the shuffling pace grew faster, and they were breathless when at last they stopped and dropped their burdens beside the boat. It was only at the third or fourth attempt they got her down to the water, and the veins were swollen high on Vane's flushed forehead when at last he sat down, panting heavily, on her gunwale.

"We ran her up quite easily, though we had the slope to face then," he remarked.

"You could scarcely expect to carry boats about without trouble, after a march like the one we've made," Carroll pointed out.

They ran her in and pulled off to the sloop. When they sat down in the little saloon, in which there was a mirror, Vane grinned.

"I knew you looked a deadbeat, but I'd no idea I was quite so bad," he said. "Anyhow, we'll get the stove lighted and some dry things on. The next question is--what shall we have for supper?"

"That's simple," Carroll answered. "Everything that's most tempting and the whole of it."

Some little time later, they flung their boots and rent garments overboard and sat down to a feast. The plates were empty when they rose, and in another hour both of them were wrapped in heavy slumber.

CHAPTER XVIII

JESSIE CONFERS A FAVOUR.

It was blowing fresh next morning from the south-east, which was right ahead, and Vane's face was hard when he and Carroll got the boat on deck and set about tying down two reefs in the mainsail.

They got sail upon the sloop and drove her out into a confused head sea, through which she laboured with flooded decks, making very little to windward. When night came, a deluge killed the breeze, and next day she lay rolling wildly in a heavy calm, while light mist narrowed in the horizon and a persistent drizzle poured down upon the smoothly-heaving sea. Then they had light variable winds, and their provisions were once more running out when they drew abreast of a little coaling port.

Carroll suggested running in and going on to Victoria by train, but they had hardly decided to do so when the fickle breeze died away, and the tide-stream bore them past to the south. They had no longer a st.i.tch of dry clothing left, and they were again upon reduced rations.

Still bad fortune dogged them, for that night a fresh head wind sprang up and held steadily while they thrashed her south, swept by stinging spray. Their tempers grew shorter under the strain, and their bodies ached from the chill of their soddened garments and sitting hour by hour at the helm. At last the breeze fell, and shortly afterwards a trail of smoke and a half seen strip of hull emerged from the creeping haze astern of them.

"A lumber tug," said Vane. "She seems to have a raft in tow, and it will probably be for Drayton's people. If you'll edge in towards her, I'll send him word that we're on the way."

There was very little wind just then and presently the tug was close alongside, pitching her bows out of the slow swell, while a ma.s.s of timber, wonderfully chained together, surged along astern. A shapeless oil-skinned figure stood outside her pilot-house, balancing itself against the heave of the bridge, which slanted and straightened.

"Winstanley?" Vane shouted.

The figure waved an arm, as if in a.s.sent, and Vane raised his voice again. "Report us to Mr. Drayton. We'll come along as fast as we can."

The man turned and pointed to the misty horizon, astern. "You'll get it from the north before to-morrow."

Then the straining tug and long wet line of working raft drew ahead, while the sloop crawled on, close-hauled, towards the south. Late that night, however, the mists melted away, and a keen rus.h.i.+ng breeze that came out of the north crisped the water. She sprang forward when the ripples reached her; the flapping canvas went to sleep, and while each slack rope tightened a musical tinkle broke out at the bows. It grew steadily louder, and when the sun swung up red above the eastern hills, she had piled the white froth to her channels and was driving forward merrily, with little sparkling seas tumbling, foam-tipped, after her.

The wind fell light as the sun rose higher, but she ran on all day, and the western sky was still blazing with a wondrous green when she stole into Vancouver harbour.

The light faded as they crept across the inlet before a faint breeze, but when they had got the anchor over and the boat into the water, Carroll made out two dim figures standing on the wharf and waved a hand to them.

"It's Drayton, I think," he said. "Kitty's with him."

They pulled ash.o.r.e, and Drayton shook hands with them.

"I've been looking out for you since noon," he said. "What about that spruce?"

There was eagerness in his voice, and Vane's face clouded. "We couldn't find a trace of it."

Drayton's disappointment was obvious, though he tried to hide it.

"Well," he said resignedly, "I've no doubt you did all you could."

"Of course," Kitty broke in. "We're quite sure of that."

Vane thanked her with a glance; he felt sorry for her and Drayton. They were strongly attached to each other, and he had reason for believing that even with the advanced salary the man expected to get they would find it needful to study strict economy.

"I'm going to make another attempt. I expect some of our difficulties will vanish after I've had a talk with Hartley," he said.

Kitty looked grave. "That's impossible," she answered softly. "Hartley died a week ago."

Vane started.

"I'm sorry," he said. "How's Celia?"

"She's very sick." There was concern in Kitty's voice. "Hartley got worse soon after you left, and she sat up all night with him after her work for the last two weeks. Now she's broken down, and she doesn't seem to know if they'll take her back again at the hotel."

"I must go and see her," said Vane. "But won't you and Drayton come with us and have dinner?"

Drayton explained that this was out of the question--Kitty's employer, who had driven in that afternoon, was waiting with his team; and the party left the wharf together. A few minutes later, Vane shook hands with the girl and her companion.

"Don't lose heart," he said. "We're far from beaten yet."

They separated, and after dinner Vane, who rejoiced in the unusual luxury of clean, dry clothes, walked across to call on Nairn. He was shown into a room where Jessie Horsfield was sitting, but she rose with a slight start when he came in. Vane, who had been preoccupied since he had heard Kitty's news, did not notice it, and Jessie's manner was reposeful and quietly friendly when she held out her hand.

"So you have come back?" she said. "Have you succeeded in your search?"

Vane was gratified. It was pleasant to feel that she was interested in his undertaking.

"No," he confessed. "I'm afraid I have failed."

"Then," said Jessie, with reproach in her voice, "you have disappointed me."

It was skilful flattery, since she had conveyed the impression that she had expected him to succeed, which implied that she held a high opinion of his abilities.