The Secret of the Reef

CHAPTER XVIII – BOGUS GOLD

Cold as it was, Jimmy lay for a long time on the sloop’s deck when he had been stripped of the diving gear. How he had crawled out of the hole and climbed the ladder was not clear to him; he thought that he must have untangled the line as he fell and have been driven forward by an overpowering longing for the upper air.

He found some trouble in explaining to Moran what had happened, for he felt limp and shaky yet. And he shuddered at the thought of going down again.

“When we once get the box out of the hold,” he said, “there should be no trouble in swinging it on board.”

Moran smoked out a pipe before he took his turn. When the copper helmet disappeared, Jimmy got a firm grip on the signal line; and while he waited he looked about.

The days were rapidly shortening, and the light was growing dim. The horizon seemed to be creeping in on them, obscured by smoky fog, which stirred and wreathed about as the wind sprang up. Small ripples were splashing round the sloop, and the swell was steeper.

“I hope Hank will manage to sling that box,” Jimmy said to Bethune, who nodded as he steadily turned the pump.

“We may get another turn or two, but that will be all. There’s a breeze behind the heave that’s working in.”

Neither of them said anything further, but waited with what patience they could summon until Moran came up.

“I got the box out of the hold before I was beat; the next man shouldn’t have much trouble in hitching a sling round it,” he said, and glanced out to sea as he added significantly: “He’d better get through mighty quick.”

A gust of wind rent the fog, and a long, low mass, shining a dead, cold white, appeared in the gap. Then, while the haze streamed back, another pale streak showed up on the opposite bow.

“They’re all around us!” Jimmy exclaimed hoarsely.

The men were not easily daunted, and they had borne enough in the North to harden them, but the sight was strangely impressive, and their courage sank. This was a peril with which none of them except Moran had grappled; and he had no cause for thinking light of it. The pack-ice was gathering round the island, hemming them in, and the sloop would be crushed like an eggshell unless she could avoid its grip. Then, to make things worse, a blast of bitter air whipped the men’s anxious faces, and the sea broke into short, angry ripples.

“We have got to quit,” said Moran despondently. “But I surely want that box.”

“You shall have it, if I can get the sling on,” Bethune replied. “Help me on with the dress as quick as you can.”

He flung a hasty glance about. A long raft of ice with ragged edges was drifting nearer, and the fog, disturbed by the rising breeze, rolled across the sea in woolly streamers.

“It looks as if I had to finish the job this time,” he said with a harsh laugh. “I no longer have the cheap hotel to fall back on.”

When he had been down for some time, Jimmy, turning the pump in obedience to the plucking of the signal line, began to wonder when he would come up. Bethune seemed particular about his air supply, and Jimmy surmised that he found it needful to move the case along the bottom to get a clear lead for the lifting line because the Cetacea had altered her position. Moran put his hand on the crank when required, but at other times he stood motionless, watching the ice with an imperturbable brown face. Indeed, Jimmy, as a relief from the tension, began to speculate about his comrade and wonder what he thought. Though they had toiled hard and faced many perils together with mutual respect and confidence, he felt that he knew very little about the man. Moran’s reserve and stolid serenity were baffling. When strenuous action was required he could be relied upon, but even then he was seldom hurried, and his movements somehow suggested that his splendid frame was endowed with unreasoning, automatic powers. For all that, Jimmy knew that such a conception of his friend was wrong. He had seen the cool judgment and indomitable courage that controlled the man’s strength in time of heavy stress.

All this, however, was not of much consequence. Jimmy fixed his eyes upon the frothing patch of bubbles that broke the troubled surface of the swell. It was stationary, and Bethune had already stayed below an unusual time. He was not in difficulties, because when Jimmy jerked the line he got a reassuring signal in reply. It looked as if the man expected to bring up the case.

In the meanwhile the ice was driving nearer, propelled by wind and tide, and its low height suggested that it had formed in some shallow bight. If this were so, it might not ground before reaching the sloop. Still, its progress was not rapid, and Jimmy did not think there was any urgent need to recall Bethune, particularly as he must finish his task or abandon it.

At last the bubbles began to move back. It was difficult to follow them because the swell was streaked with foam, but although they were occasionally lost for a few moments, they reappeared. Then the top of the ladder swung against the rail and soon the copper helmet rose out of the sea. Bethune flung an arm on deck and grasped a cleat, but he seemed to have some difficulty in getting any farther, and they dragged him on board. His face was livid when they released him, and he lay back on the skylight without speaking for some moments. Then he gasped painfully:

“The case is slung; I had to move it clear of her. Heave up!”

They sprang to the line he had brought and hauled it in; Jimmy trying to control his fierce impatience. Care was needed lest the sling get loose in dragging along the sand. At last the line ran perpendicularly down, and they were encouraged by the weight they had to lift. Even Moran showed excitement as a corner of the box broke the surface. Throwing himself down, he swung it on board with a powerful heave. Then he and Jimmy dropped down limply on the deck and gazed at their treasure. The box was thick and bound with heavy iron, the wood waterlogged; but, making allowances for that, it obviously contained a large quantity of gold. Jimmy felt exultant, but after a time Bethune disturbed his pleasant reflections.

“Look at the ice!” he exclaimed.

The floe was bearing down on them, and in the distance, half hidden by the fog, a taller mass seemed to have stranded on the reef, for the spray was leaping about it and there was a great splash as a heavy block fell off. Moran glanced at the floe and ran forward. Jimmy joined him and they hurriedly got the chain cable in; then, with Bethune’s help, they reefed the mainsail and stowed the folding ladder and pumps below, but they had a struggle to lift the kedge anchor. It seemed to have fouled some waterlogged timber below; but they would not sacrifice it by slipping the warp, because they knew it might be a long time before they could come back. When they finally broke it out Bethune had already hoisted the mainsail. There was no time to lose, for the fog was getting thicker in spite of the rising wind, and a glimmering mass of ice had crept up threateningly close. Moreover, the light was going and the sea getting up. Hurriedly setting a small jib, they stood out for open sea.

“Make the best offing you can,” directed Jimmy, leaving Moran at the helm. “I’ll get the stove lighted, and after supper we’ll open the case.”

It was nearly twenty-four hours since he had eaten anything and he was beginning to feel faint from want of food. Indeed, he had some difficulty in getting the fire to burn and was conscious of an annoying, slack clumsiness. When the meal was ready he called Bethune down and handed out Moran’s share.

“I’ve been extravagant, but we have earned a feast to-night,” he said exultantly.

They ate hungrily while the water splashed beneath the floorings and the lamp swung at erratic angles as the Cetacea rolled; and Bethune made no objection when Jimmy afterward lighted his pipe. The case lay against the centerboard trunk, but they did not feel impatient to open it. This was a pleasure that would lose nothing by being deferred; they were satisfied to sit still in the warm cabin and gloat over their success.

“Strictly speaking, we have no right to break into the thing,” Bethune said; “and it might perhaps lay us open to suspicion; but I’m afraid I can’t keep my hands off until we get home. Get out the tools, Jimmy.”

Jimmy did so, and then, opening the scuttle, called to Moran.

“We’re going to look inside the box. Is it safe for you to come down?”

Moran seemed to make a negative sign, though Jimmy could hardly see him. It had grown dark, and thick fog was driving past the boat, while the spray that beat in through the weather shrouds indicated that she was sailing hard. Dropping back below, Jimmy closed the scuttle and took up a hammer. His fingers shook and he felt his nerves tingle as he drove a wedge under the first band.

“I wish we’d cleaned out the strong-room; but we can come back, and we have got enough to wipe off our debt and give us a luxurious winter,” he said happily. “It will be a change to put up at a good hotel – we might even make a trip to California; and if Jaques can get somebody to run the store we will bring him and his wife to town.”

“It’s not a very ambitious program,” Bethune laughed. “I dare say we can carry it out; though we don’t know yet what our share will come to.”

“I’ll stand out for half,” declared Jimmy with a determined air. “In fact, we’ll make a bargain before we deliver up the stuff.”

Working eagerly, he soon started the band and inserted a chisel under a board. In a few moments he prized it loose, and thick folds of rotten canvas were exposed.

“There seems to be a lot of packing,” Bethune remarked. “There’s a seal here we’ll have to break; but we have smashed one already. Don’t waste time. Rip it open!”

Jimmy used his knife, and plunged his hand into the case. He was surprised by the feel of its contents.

“It seems to be in small ingots,” he said.

“That’s curious, because there’s no smelter in the country. Slash the wrapping to bits and let’s see it!”

Jimmy did so and then uttered an exclamation as he dropped the object he took out. It was dark-colored, and fell with a dull thud.

“It’s lead!” he cried.

Tilting the case in savage anger, Jimmy shook out a number of small gray lumps. They scattered about the floorings, and when he gashed one with his knife the metal cut soft and showed a silvery luster. He dropped the knife and his face grew hard and white. There was tense silence for a moment, and then Jimmy, rousing himself with an effort, flung the scuttle back.

“Hank!” he called, and his voice was strangely hoarse.

It seemed that Moran recognized the urgent tone, for they felt by the change of motion that he was altering the boat’s course, but with characteristic coolness he neglected no seamanlike precaution. Jimmy heard the jib being hauled aback and the mainsheet got in, and she was hove to, rising and falling with an easy lurch, when Moran dropped through the scuttle. He stooped over the box, and after a time looked up with a heavy frown.

“Some crook has worked off a low-down trick on us!” he said.

“On the underwriters first, but that’s no matter,” replied Bethune, who was struggling against the shock. “Slit one of the bags, Jimmy, and let’s see if it’s all the same.”

Jimmy took the bag he had found in the wreck, and when he cut it open a few coarse, yellow grains ran out.

“That looks all right, but there’s not very much of it; and the bag Hank brought up isn’t large,” he said gloomily.

“You want to sew it up before you lose the stuff,” advised Moran, sitting down on the box. “Now, if there’s anything to be fixed, we had better get it settled. She’s carrying all the sail she wants and I can’t leave her long.”

“Are we to go back?” Bethune asked. “We haven’t emptied the strong-room, and what we have left behind may be genuine.”

“Can’t do it,” Moran said grimly. “The way the wind is, the drift ice will be packed solid along the shore to-morrow.”

They sat silent for a while. There was only one thing to be done, but they shrank from indicating it and owning their defeat. At last Jimmy made a gesture of resignation.

“Square away; our course is south,” he said.

Moran nodded silently and went up through the scuttle, and Jimmy threw himself down on the locker while Bethune lighted his pipe. Neither of them spoke until they heard a rattle of blocks and the rush of water along the lee side showed that the Cetacea had swung round.

“Our plans for the winter won’t materialize,” Bethune said; “we’ll be glad to put up at a dollar hotel if we’re lucky enough to get taken on at a mill. However, we can talk about this to-morrow; I don’t feel quite up to it now.”

After a curt sign of agreement, Jimmy pulled a damp sail over him and, although he had not expected to do so, presently went to sleep.

When Moran wakened him to take his turn at the helm it was blowing hard and bitterly cold. Settling himself as far as he could in the shelter of the coaming, he began his dreary watch. Long, white-topped seas raced after the sloop, ranging upon her weather quarter, while the spray she flung aloft beat in heavy showers on Jimmy’s slicker. He could scarcely see her length ahead, and knew that he was running a serious risk if there was ice about; but he thought she would not be much safer if he hove her to, and, fixing his eyes on the compass, he let her go.

After exhausting toil and many hardships, their search had failed, and he was too jaded and depressed to wonder whether it would ever be resumed. They were going back bankrupt; he could not see how they were even to retain possession of the sloop. At the best, they could make no use of her until the spring. The outlook was black, and what intensified the gloom was that Jimmy now recognized that since Bethune had first broached the scheme he had been buoyed up by a faint but strongly alluring hope. He had not allowed his mind to dwell on it, but it had hovered in the background, beckoning him on. After all, there had been a certain chance that their project would succeed, and in that case his share of the salvage should have been sufficient to set him on his feet. There were many openings in western Canada for a man with energy and means enough to give him a start, and Jimmy did not see why he should not prosper. Then when he had begun to make progress he might renew his acquaintance with Ruth Osborne.

He had thought of her often, and looking back on their voyage, he ventured to believe that he had to some extent won her favor. He recollected trivial incidents, odd words and glances, which could not have been altogether without their significance. Could he lift himself nearer her social level, it was not impossible that he should gain her love. The thought of this had driven him stubbornly on.

Now he had failed disastrously. He was going back a ruined man. The best he could hope for was that by stern self-denial and rough work on the wharves or in the sawmills, he might earn enough to discharge his debt to the storekeeper who had trusted him. Beyond that there was nothing to look forward to. He must try to forget Ruth.

Jimmy’s heart sank as he sat shivering at the helm while the bitter spray whirled about him and the sloop lurched on through the darkness, chased by foaming seas.

CHAPTER XIX – A DANGEROUS SECRET

A cold snap had suddenly fallen over the northern half of Vancouver Island, and tall pines and unpaved streets were white with frozen snow. A chilling wind swept round Jaques’ store and rattled the loose windows; tiny icicles formed a fringe about the eaves; but the neat little back room, with its polished lamp and its glowing stove, seemed to Jimmy and his comrades luxuriously bright and warm. Supper had been cleared away, and the group sat about the table discussing what could now be done, after the failure of the second attempt to recover the gold.

Jaques leaned his head on his hand, with his elbow resting on the table; Mrs. Jaques sat opposite him, her eyes fixed intently on Bethune, who was the spokesman for the party. Jimmy, with a gloomy expression, gazed toward the one window, where a frozen pine bough occasionally scraped against the pane with a rasping sound that was heard above the rattle of the sashes. Moran, with a downcast face, sat where the lamplight fell full upon him.

There was silence for a few moments, broken only by the cheery crackle of the stove. Then Jaques spoke.

“We might as well thrash the thing out from the beginning,” he said. “The first matter to be decided is what had better be done with your boat.”

“That raises another point,” asserted Bethune. “What we do with her now depends on our plans for the future, and they’re not made yet.”

“Then suppose we consider that you’re going back to try again in the spring?”

Jimmy looked at Mrs. Jaques, and fancied that her expression was encouraging.

“You’re taking it for granted that we can get out of debt. If such a thing were possible, we’d haul her up and strip her for the winter with the first big tides.”

“Not here,” Jaques said pointedly. “For one thing, she’d be spotted, and you’ll see why you had better avoid that if you’ll listen.”

“I see one good reason now,” Bethune answered with a rueful grin. “You’re not our only creditor, and the other fellow isn’t likely to show us much consideration.”

“Let that go for the present. Do you know any lonely creek some distance off where she’d lie safe and out of sight?”

“I dare say we could find one,” Jimmy replied.

“Then I’m going to talk. Some time after you left, a man from Victoria called on me. Said he was an accountant and specialized on the development of small businesses. He’d undertake to collect doubtful accounts, show his clients how to keep their books, and buy on the best terms, or sell out their business, if they wanted; in fact, he said that some of his city friends thought of trying to make a merger arrangement with the grocery stores in the small Island ports.”

“No doubt it seemed an opportunity for getting a good price for your store,” Bethune suggested.

“I wasn’t keen. Things had improved since you were here, and trade was looking up. However, I showed the man my books, and I saw that he was especially interested when he came to your account. Asked me did I know that you were a remittance man who had forfeited his allowance and that your partner was a steamboat mate who’d been fired out of his ship. I told him that I was aware of it; and he said the chances were steep against your making good. Then he gave me some useful hints and went away.”

“That’s interesting,” Bethune commented. “Did you hear anything more from him?”

“I did; not long ago he sent me an offer for my business as it stands, with all unsettled claims and liabilities. When I got a Vancouver drummer I know to make inquiries, he said that it ought to be a safe proposition – the money was good.”

“Ah! It looks as if somebody thought us worth powder and shot. Did you take his offer?”

“No, sir! I stood off, for two reasons. I knew that the buyers either foresaw a boom in the Island trade, in which case it would pay me to hold on, or they’d some pretty strong grounds for wanting to get hold of you. On thinking it over, I didn’t see my way to help them.”

“Thanks. I wonder whether Mrs. Jaques had any say in the matter?”

“She certainly had,” Jaques admitted fondly. “She thought it wouldn’t be the square thing to give you away, and that to see you through might be the best in the end.”

“We’re grateful; but I’m not sure that she was wise. It’s obvious that there was something crooked about the wreck, and what you have told us implies that some men with money are anxious to cover up their tracks. I suspect they’ve grown richer since the bogus gold was shipped, and might be willing to spend a good sum to keep the matter dark. The fellow who called on you probably knew nothing of this; he’d be merely acting for them on commission.”

None of the others spoke for the next minute. The situation demanded thought, for they were people of no consequence, and they did not doubt that men with means were plotting against them.

“You seem to have got hold of a dangerous secret,” Mrs. Jaques said, breaking the silence.

“An important one, at least,” Bethune agreed. “It might, perhaps, get us into trouble; but our position’s pretty strong. I’ll admit, though, that I can’t see what use we had better make of it.”

Mrs. Jaques watched him closely.

“I suppose it has struck you that you might make a bargain with the people who insured the gold? They’d probably pay you well if you put the screw on them.”

Jimmy started and frowned, but Bethune motioned to him to be silent.

“I wonder whether you really thought we’d take that course, ma’am?” he asked.

“No,” she smiled; “I did not. But what’s the alternative?”

“We might go to the underwriters and see what we could get from them. I suppose that’s what we ought to do; but I’d rather wait. If we can clean out the strong-room, we’ll have the whole thing in our hands.”

“In your hands, you mean.”

“No; I meant what I said. My suggestion is that your husband should relinquish his claim on us, and take a small share in the venture. If he’d do so, we could go back next spring. It’s a proposition I wouldn’t make before, but things have changed, and we want another man.”

“Well,” said Jaques, “I half expected this, and I’ve been doing some figuring. The mills are booked full of orders for dressed lumber, there’s a pulp factory going up, and I’m doing better now that trade’s coming to the town. Still, I see a risk.”

“So do I,” Bethune replied. “We’re three irresponsible adventurers without a dollar to our credit, and we have men of weight and business talent up against us. It’s possible that they may break us; but I think we have a fighting chance.” He turned to Mrs. Jaques. “What’s your opinion?”

“Oh, I love adventure! And somehow I have confidence that you’ll make good.”

“Thank you! It’s evident that the opposition can do nothing at the wreck when we’re on the spot, and the ice will keep the field for us while we’re down here; but we must get back before they can send a steamer in the spring. In the meanwhile, we have the bags of gold to dispose of.”