Front matter (continued 5)

All the lines stretching taut as bow-strings to the pressure made a musical humming which sounded pleasantly upon the ears of the listening men aft. They still held their weapons in readiness, but it was evident that Bahama Bill was going to send his favourite through to a finish in a style fitting her record.

With one hand upon the wheel-spokes, he lounged upon the steering-gear, nor ducked nor winced as the rifle projectiles now and again sang past. The range was getting too great to be dangerous, and the ammunition of the marshal was getting low. Finally the fire astern ceased, and the two vessels raced silently across the Stream, each striving to the utmost for the objective point, the Great Bahama Bank, seventy miles away, due east.

Once upon the shoal, the wrecker would have the advantage, for he knew the Bank well, and could follow channels which the heavier schooner would almost certainly fetch up in. The marshal knew this, and urged the schooner to the limit of her powers.

Away they went across the Stream. The Silver Bar was rooting deeply into the choppy sea, caused by the strong northerly current which flows eternally between the Florida Reef and the Great Bahama Bank. She would plunge headlong, and bury her bows clear to the knightheads, ramming the water so heavily that it burst into a great comber from both sides. Then she would raise her dripping forefoot clear, until one could see under her body aft to the heel of the foremast, rearing up like a spirited horse under the spur. Down she would plunge again with a forward lunge, and every line of standing rigging would set like a bar with the strain.

Fields, the marshal, was getting all he could out of her, and she was gradually hauling up in the wake of the wrecker. Before the sun sank in the west she was less than half a mile astern, and coming along handsomely.

Smart, on the Sea-Horse, trimmed his canvas, stretched the peak of the mainsail, and sweated the topsail sheet and tack until the lines would stand no more. The Sea-Horse was literally flying through it, and her heavy build caused her to strike the seas with a smash which flung the spray in showers.

Bahama Bill glanced astern, and saw that he would soon be alongside the pursuer, and the anxious faces of the passengers told of a nervousness which could not be concealed. Both Sam and Heldron were aware that they were making a getaway, but they had no choice in the matter, and they would obey the mate to the last.

Smart studied out several wild propositions which occurred to him to disable the sloop and be overhauled, but, as there was every prospect of getting shot for any attempt, he wisely kept on, feeling sure that the marshal would soon be alongside and force surrender.

They had run all the afternoon, and had gone many miles, but now that they were really at sea, the schooner would have the advantage.

Darkness came on, and the thin man holding the revolver appeared to tire. "You might get dinner ready," said he, "I'm about ready to eat again."

"I don't got noddings but pork, cold an' fat," said Heldron, who acted as cook.

"Bring it on deck," said the invalid. "It's a shame you fellows live the way you do."

He bolted a full pound of the greasy meat, and seemed to enjoy it.

"Does me good to see how you've improved under the salt air," said Smart.

"The more he eats the thinner he gets," said the pale-eyed man, shifting his automatic pistol into his left hand. "You can let me have a try at it now."

After all hands had eaten, the darkness had grown to the blackness of a tropic night. The Sea-Horse kept along without lights, but those of the schooner soon showed close astern, and appeared exceedingly near. No shots had been fired, although the range was now close, and there was every opportunity, could the marshal see, of hitting a man, but the plunging of the vessels evidently made his aim uncertain, and he reserved his fire, feeling sure that he would soon be close enough to force matters to a satisfactory conclusion without bloodshed.

"Dere ain't but one chanct in fo'ty ob our makin' de gitaway," said Bill, gazing astern at the approaching vessel, "but I'll do the bes' I kin to shoo fly dat ornery marshal. Dere's a bit ob a squall makin' ah'ad, an' ef we kin hold on till it comes up, I'll try to fluke him when it's thick."

"My black friend, if your boat was any good you could make a getaway without trouble, but this craft is surely on the bum," said the thin-faced invalid ruefully. "I've no doubt you think her all right in her way, but her way is not that of those who expect to make either comfort or time when afloat—she's rotten."

"Look here," said Bahama Bill. "Yo' better take my advice an' not hit this sloop any more. If yo' don't think she's any good, why yo' come abo'd her? Why yo' want to run off with her, hey?"

"Why, indeed?" sighed the invalid, shifting his gun and gazing ahead at the gathering blackness of the squall, which was just one of those little puffs of smudge, a bit of breeze and drizzle, common to southerly wind in the Stream.

"Shall I run her off an' make the try fo' it?" asked the mate.

"Yes, do the best you can," said the iconoclast, nursing the barrel of the six-shooter. "Looks like we're up against it," he added to his pale-eyed partner, who seemed to grow more and more anxious as the pursuing schooner drew up in the wake of the Sea-Horse.

"Stand by to haul down the jib an' fo'sta's'l," ordered the mate, and just then the first puff of the squall heeled the sloop over slightly, and gave her greater speed. The rain came with the breeze, and for a moment the vessel fairly tore along with the increased pressure. It gave them considerable advantage over the schooner, for it struck them first.

Just as it began to show signs of slacking up, Bahama Bill gave his final orders. The head-sails were run down so as not to show against the sky, and the mainsail run off until the leech was on edge to the pursuing vessel, the Sea-Horse squaring away and running off at nearly right angles to her course. In this manner she presented little besides her mast to be seen in the darkness, her white canvas being now almost if not quite out of sight.

"Stan' up an' look astern, now," said Bahama Bill to the thin-faced man.

The request was complied with, both men standing up and gazing back into the blackness, which now showed only the port, or red, light of the schooner, telling plainly that she had not discovered their ruse, and was holding on with the freshening breeze, confident that when it let up she would be close aboard the sloop.

The course of the Sea-Horse was almost due north, while that of the pursuing vessel was east. Before the thickness of the rain was over, the wrecker would be safely out of sight to the northward, and the marshal would hold on only to find he was chasing nothing. They watched her pass on toward the Bahamas, and her lights fade out, and then the thin-faced passenger spoke.

"For a bum old boat, this did the trick, all right," said he to his partner. "I didn't think we'd make it, but I guess we will, all right, now—what?"

"Looks like we're off for fair," said the pale-eyed man. "We'll make a landing without delay, and let the marshal go hunting the town of Nassau for two well—but not favourably—known gentlemen. That's a strong shooting rifle he carries, hey?"

While they talked, interested in the chase, the mate of the Sea-Horse had begun to think of his part in the affair. Both he and Smart had now to face a serious charge, and the prospect was not pleasant, especially as they had not chosen to take part in the escape of the two men who now had shown that they were fugitives from the law and the marshal.

The mate had outwitted his old enemy, and, as the success of his seamanship became evident, he began to realize that the game was now up to him. Smart stood near, and was about to say something to that effect, when he caught the glint of the black man's eye, shining white in the darkness.

It conveyed a meaning to the yacht captain, for he was well versed in tricks of the sea, and he at once spoke to the passengers, calling their attention to the vanishing ship. He did not know just what Bahama Bill would do, but he knew from that look he would act, and act at once.

Almost instantly the mate pushed the wheel-spokes slowly over, doing it so gently, so gradually, that only Smart was aware that the wind was hauling to the lee, and that the mainsail would soon be taken aback. He spoke again, and the men gazed a moment more at the shadow passing out across the Stream. Then the mainsail took the wind to port, and swung with a quick jibe to starboard.

The sheet well off came over in a bight, and, while the two gentlemen of fortune had agility enough to dodge the main boom, the line caught the tall, thin-faced invalid, and jerked him quickly over the side into the sea.

The other man sprang out of the way, but almost instantly recovered himself, and covered the mate with his weapon. He seemed to realize that some trick had been played, but just what he failed to understand. He hesitated to fire, and that instant cost him the game. Bahama Bill made a quick plunge over the taffrail, and disappeared in the white wake astern. The pale-eyed man held his pistol in readiness to shoot, but he was warned again by Smart's voice.

"Don't fire, you fool, he'll save your friend," cried the captain. "They'll hear the shot aboard the schooner—put up your gun."

The quickness of events seemed to cause even the cool-headed burglar to hesitate as to what course to pursue. The mate had gone overboard evidently to save his companion. It was certain death to be left out there in the ocean, and Smart was even now swinging the Sea-Horse around in a great circle, heading well to the westward, to make it farthest from the disappearing schooner.

Heldron and Sam had sprung to the sheet, and were rapidly hauling it in hand over hand, while Smart bawled out orders for them, regardless of the saturnine passenger with the gun, who seemed undecided whether to shoot some of them or not.

He sat down and gazed astern at the place where the two men had vanished. He knew his companion was a strong swimmer, but he knew nothing of the black man's giant strength, his remarkable staying powers, and fishlike ability in the sea.

Smart hauled the sloop up on her port tack, and slowly circled, knowing almost exactly where he would pick up the mate. He would not go too fast, for fear of overrunning him, and he felt certain that he need not hurry on his account.

The pale-eyed man appeared to think there was little use hunting for men in the darkness, and his knowledge of his whereabouts was evidently completely lost.

"What's the use, now?" he asked finally. "You can't find a man in the ocean on a dark night. Better give it up. Let's make a run back for the Keys."

"With Bill trying to save your partner?" asked Smart, in feigned disgust.

"Oh, well, my friend, if there was any use of hunting for them, I would stay as long as the next man."

"I'm not exactly what you might call your friend," said Smart coldly, "but I'm going to stay around here a little while. Don't try to force matters, because I won't leave this part of the Atlantic until I'm satisfied both are gone for good."

"See here, Mr. Sailor-man," said the pale-eyed one. "I hold the decision just now. I don't want to make rough-house on board of your excellent yacht, but you must do as I say. I'm not a knocker. I don't want to say anything against you. But you take my orders, and make a getaway from here in about two minutes. I want to land that box before daybreak—you understand?"

Smart was about to argue the matter further, but desisted for a few minutes while he had the forestaysail run up and the jib hoisted. He was swinging around in a large circle, and was now ready to carry head-sail and have his vessel manageable. In the meantime, Bahama Bill was busy some two hundred fathoms distant.

IV

When the mate plunged overboard after the thin-faced gentleman, he had a very definite idea of what he must do. To attempt to retake his ship under the guns of two armed men who were expert at the use of firearms would have been suicide. They would have shot him before he could have taken charge.

He knew Smart to be a good sailor, and had considerable faith in his ability to handle himself properly in an emergency. He felt certain that the captain understood the game, and gave him merely a look to signify that he was ready. Then he had gone over the side for the man who had the six-shooter, feeling sure that the fellow would not let go of the weapon until he had to.

He swam quickly along in the swirl of the wake, keeping his eyes open for the head of the passenger to appear upon the whitened surface. In a moment he saw him.

The thin-faced rogue was a strong swimmer. He was also a powerful man, spare and muscular, capable of taking care of himself in that smooth sea for a long time. He had suddenly found himself flung far over the side by the jibing sheet, but he clutched his pistol firmly, knowing that his partner would take charge until he was safe aboard again.

The weapon was heavy, but he jammed it into his waist-belt and struck out slowly, meaning to swim along easily until the sloop returned to pick him up. He could see her plainly, and he saw Smart start to swing her around to return.

Then he was suddenly aware of a black head and face close aboard him, the head sticking out of the sea and coming along at a smart pace. At first the sight startled him. He hardly knew what had happened. Then he surmised that the mate had been swept overboard also, and was swimming near for company.

"You got it, too?" he asked, as the head of Bahama Bill came nearer. The answer was a terrific blow between the eyes, which sent the stars sailing through his brain. Then he felt the powerful hands of the giant black closing upon him, and he fought with furious energy to keep free. They clutched and clinched, the mate getting a firm hold of the man's right hand, which he twisted around behind him. The struggle caused them to sink below the surface, and the straining made breathing necessary.

The giant mate swam fiercely to regain the surface, dragging his antagonist along with him. He finally got his head clear, and breathed deeply the salt air of the ocean, spitting out a quantity of salt water.

The thin-faced man had swallowed much brine, and he came up weakly. He still struggled, but he was no match for the black diver. In a few minutes Bahama Bill had his hands secured behind him, and then rolling easily over upon his back, he grasped the fellow by the collar, and proceeded to swim with him in the direction of the Sea-Horse, turning his head now and then to keep her whereabouts certain.

He lost her several times in the splash and froth of little seas, which broke again and again over his head, for he swam low and saved his strength, but he knew that Smart would stand by. Soon he made her out coming along smartly right for him, and he suddenly raised himself and called out loudly:

"Get the small boat over—don't yo' try to pick me up from de sloop," he bawled, in his bull-like tones.

Smart understood, and threw the Sea-Horse into the wind, Sam and Heldron heaving the small boat upon the rail, and waiting for her headway to slacken before launching her. Then they dropped her over and sprang aboard.

Somewhere off in the darkness they stopped and pulled the men from the water, but neither Smart nor his passenger could see in just what condition they were rescued. The boat seemed to take a long time over the matter, and when she finally started back the pair on board the Sea-Horse saw only the two men, Sam and Heldron, rowing as they had started out.

As the boat came alongside, the pale-eyed man peered over to see if his partner had been rescued. He still held his weapon in readiness for enforcing his orders, intending to push matters rapidly the moment the men were aboard again.

The first intimation he received of anything wrong was a spurt of fire issuing from the bottom of the small boat, accompanied by a loud explosion.

At the same instant a heavy bullet struck him just below the collar-bone, slewing him around and causing his pistol to fall from his hand. The next instant Smart was upon him, and bore him to the deck.

The men clambered aboard, Bahama Bill leading, and in less than five minutes they had the two worthies triced up in a shipshape and seamanlike manner, lying upon the after-deck.

The giant mate gave a grunt of approval as he glanced at Smart.

"Yo' suah did de right thing, cap—I reckoned yo' might—but dat was a bad place toe jump a man, out dere in de water; it was dat, fer a fact. Now, yo' Dutchman, yo' Sam, git de grub from de box ob dat invalid, I'm mighty hungry, I kin suah eat a tid-bit—then we'll see how long it takes us toe git in behind Floridy Cape. I s'pose yo' wouldn't mind a bite ob dat good grub yo' brought abo'd, hey, perfesser?" he asked, addressing the reclining invalid.

"Don't rub it in, cap'n; don't rub it in," said the thin-faced man from his place upon the planks. "You take my advice and let that box alone. It'll take a stick of dynamite to bust it, being as it is made of steel under the outside wood cover. It's a very good safe, and strong. Better let that Dutchman get us a few pounds of that salt pig you have aboard, and some boiled corn. I'll risk the indigestion—and let it go at that."

Before daylight they had landed their prisoners and the safe upon the dock at Miami, and Sam had gone up-town to notify the authorities that the marshal was taking a cruise for his health to the Great Bahama Bank.

"If the vessel had been any good," muttered the thin-faced, as he was led away, "we'd have made good easily enough. She was a bum ship, mighty poor, and that was what caused the trouble."

"I still has a lot ob faith in her," said Bahama Bill.

XII

Journegan's Graft

When Stormalong Journegan found that running a saloon in coöperation with the police had its draw-backs, he turned his attention to more lucrative fields.

"It's no use fooling with such fellows as you," he said one day, "you are sharks, pure blood-sucking sharks, you don't give a fellow half a show to make a living. I'm through with you. I'm done. I sell out to-day. Shanahan might be able to stand you off, he's rough, rough as a file and ready to get into trouble. I'm past that stage of the game. I want to live quietly without so much fuss, so much fracas and so much blackmail. I'm going where brains count for as much as trickery and downright rascality. I'm going where there are some educated Yankees, some Northern men of means who can tell a man when they see him—yes, I'm through with you Conchs and crabs."

After delivering himself he spent several days winding up his affairs at the Cayo Huesso, the beautiful white bar at Key West, converted his belongings into cash and took the steamer for Miami, where he arrived in due course of time. He stood upon the deck of the steamer one morning and watched the rising of the Florida Cape to the northward, stood and gazed at the beautiful bay of Biscayne, where the Northern tourists had been flocking during the cold weather to fish and hunt in the bright sunshine of the reef. The bay was full of small craft, yachts of all descriptions thronged the dredged harbour and small boats came and went over the bright coral banks which shone varicoloured a few feet beneath the surface in the glare of the torrid sun. Yes, there was some life here, something more than the dull and sullen Conchs, the voracious grafters of the reef city and the straying ship's passenger. Here was Northern capital, Northern progress.

"It looks very good to me," mused Mr. Journegan as he gazed serenely down from the hurricane deck of the Key West steamer.

They passed several vessels he knew. There was the wrecking-sloop, Sea-Horse of Key West, the Silver Bar, schooner-yacht for charter, and several others. Upon the deck of the wrecker he saw the big black mate, Bahama Bill, sitting smoking his pipe, his muscular shoulders shining like coal in the sunlight, while he rubbed his rheumy eyes, the red-rimmed eyes of a diver in salt water, to see better as he watched the approaching ship. Yes, and there was Captain Smart of the lost Dunn schooner, sitting upon the taffrail fishing. He waved his hand to them as the steamer swung past, the thudding of her paddles drowning his hail of welcome which he called out when abreast.

He landed and made his way to the hotel. He had plenty of money and would live right while he felt like it. There was no reason why he should stint himself in any worldly pleasure. Several thousand dollars would last him some time, and after it was spent—well, he seldom went broke. It was not men of his ability who went broke. Oh, no, money was too easy. He never could see why some people found it hard to get. Get, why it seemed to come to him. He couldn't keep it away. After all, he figured that he must be something of a man to make it so easily when so many strove so hard. Yes, it was brains that made money, brains, not brawn, not toil—foolishness. Well, he was here to see, to watch, to take notice. If there was anything floating about, it was most likely he would pick it up. He couldn't help it.

The gambling-place allowed by the management of the hotel was very well kept. It was surrounded by palms and flowers, and its green tables were made as enticing as human ingenuity allowed. Mr. Journegan found them much to his taste, and as the days slipped by he found that instead of a few thousand dollars in his pockets he had but a scant hundred. He also had a hotel bill running up at something like twenty dollars per day. He awoke slowly to the realization that he must quit the game and hustle for cash. It was about this time that he made the acquaintance of a gentleman from New York who had read much and studied more, deeming the human race a fit problem to devote his mind upon. Mr. Smithe, who insisted that he had an "e" to his name, found the yarns of Journegan much to his liking. The two met upon the hotel verandas and also at the gaming-tables, and after a few days they began to spar for an opening for personal confidences.

"You know," said the studious Smithe, "that there is an enormous waste of material here. Just look at all that water, that magnificent bay. Don't you know, my dear Journegan, that every pint of sea-water holds a small per cent. of gold, yes, real gold, gold that we are playing for every night, gold that we need to pay our bills with—gold—"

"Are you stung, too?" asked Journegan irrelevantly, interrupting the flow of wisdom.

Mr. Smithe eyed him a moment with some concern.

"You interrupted me—I don't understand you," he said.

"Come down. Is that straight, that gold business? Are you stringing me, or is that a chemical fact?" said Journegan.

"I am not in the habit of lying, my friend. That gold remark is a chemical fact, a truth which can be proven by any one familiar with analytical chemistry—"

"And you're stung,—broke, or whatever you choose to call it—same as me, same as some more of the crowd what follows the spinning-wheel. Smithe, you are the goods, you are the real thing, if you're telling the truth. If that gold yarn of yours is true, we win—see?" interrupted the irrepressible Journegan, upon whose mind a great light was dawning, a vast glare of an intellectual day.

"You seem a bit nutty," spake the learned Smithe, breaking at last into the speech of his youth. "What the hell has gold in the sea-water to do with us, hey?"

"It grieves me to hear a learned man speak hastily," said the now calm Journegan, "but you are like many learned ones, perfectly helpless when it comes to applying your knowledge to some purpose, to some real use besides that of entertaining a few half-drunken admirers about a table. Man, we're as good as made if you are straight about that gold business. You're known here as the real thing in chemistry, you're something of a 'Smart Alec' among the push. If you can prove that gold is in that sea-water—it's all to the good—leave it all to me—don't waste time asking questions a babykins would laugh at—come away—come away with your uncle, I want to talk with you—come."

It was only two days later that the announcement was made that the celebrated chemist, Mr. Smithe, and his friend and manager, Mr. Journegan, were buying property along the shore for the purpose of establishing a plant for converting the free gold held in solution in the clear water of the reef to a commercial commodity in the shape of gold dust, which same being worth about twenty dollars per ounce in the coin of the realm. The announcement created some surprise, and also some curious comment coupled with amusement, but the two gentlemen maintained such a dignified silence concerning the affair, and declined with such natural modesty to discuss it in any manner or form, that the idle rich, from at first laughing, came to regard them with respect, then with awe, and finally with a desire to a better acquaintance. Mr. Smithe condescended to shake hands with some of the most curious, told them many interesting yarns and anecdotes to hold their attention, and all the time kept his method a mystery, his discovery a thing which was of far too great importance to talk about to strangers.

Journegan with commendable activity secured a small frontage a short distance down the shore. Here he bought a small wharf running out into the bay until a depth of six or seven feet was reached. With some haste he had a small enclosure made, a sort of fish-pound built of small piling and decked over across the middle so that a man could walk upon the boards and gaze down into the liquid depths where the gold undoubtedly was. The whole was screened from the curious gaze by high boarding, and a small door was let into the fish-pound for allowing free access of the tide. It was necessary, he explained, to have the water change freely as it was quickly exhausted of its valuable qualities by the process of electrolysis. The naming of the mysterious current as part of the outfit caused more and more favourable comment upon the part of the curious. Electricity, electricity, oh, how many things unknown and mysterious are relegated to your strange power. Yes, Journegan had heard of electric combs, electric shoes, electric belts, electric—well, pretty much anything which an honest dealer could not sell upon its merits alone. It sounded well to have the plant run by electricity, convincing, undeniable. Who knew that electricity would not do anything its master might bid it? It was a force in its infancy, a giant unknown, undeveloped. It moved the carriages of the rich. It might just as well separate them from some of their wealth. It depended—

A set of wires was run from the plant furnishing the lights for the town, and they were kept in exaggerated evidence all along the little dock and building at its end. A few bulbs lit the scene at night and caused more comment by those who passed the place after dark, when the noise of workmen within could be heard plainly by the curious. It was Journegan's lay to have the place operated solely at night. He gave it out finally that the night tides were most favourable for work, and also that it was a time when for certain mysterious reasons they could work to better advantage.

In a very few days Mr. Smithe began to let slip a few secrets concerning the plant. It was now working all right, he assured his listeners, and he would not only tell them how the thing was done but would go so far as to show some of the more worthy the entire process. If Mr. Jones, who was a millionaire furniture dealer suffering with tuberculosis, would do him the honour, and Mr. Jackson, a millionaire iron producer with gout, would also go along, he would show how he produced gold from sea-water, precipitated it, he said, precipitated it upon the end of an electric wire under the surface. They would have refreshments served at the dock, and a negro would carry their things for them. It might take several minutes to wait for the precipitation, and as the night was warm, but damp, he would have their comforts provided for. When this news was spread broadcast it created almost a panic among the people of the town. When two such men of undoubted wealth and position as Mr. Jones and Mr. Jackson were to see the thing in operation it was no longer a thing to doubt, it must certainly be a success. They had been living all their lives upon the very edge of a vast gold mine without knowing it, and now these two strangers were going to enlighten them to the real things of life. It was wonderful, great, they might even get a chance to go into the thing later on. What was the use of toiling when gold could be gotten for the trouble of picking it from the end of a wire.

Mr. Smithe having made this announcement with a confidential air and a manner urbanity itself, sought at once Mr. Journegan.

"I've invited the gents," he announced with warmth, spitting fluently at a spider crawling along the veranda, "but it's up to you to make good. How the thunder we're going to get that piece of gold stuck to the end of that wire while the current is playing upon it, beats me. It took two twenties hammered into a passable nugget to make the bait. Now it's you to land the men, and fix that bait on the wire. Mind you, it's got to be done right there in that bullpen, right there under their eyes. When the current is turned on it has got to form and become attached to the end of the pole in the water."

"It'll be dead easy, Bo, dead easy. Go take a drink and sleep the afternoon away. You trust in father Bullinger—an' he will see you through. Beat it, I say, and don't come worrying me with such trifles as making gold form on the ends of wires. Gimme somethin' dead easy. If you want to hold my attention explain the philosophy of love, or something like that, but say, don't come around me, you a full-grown man, talking about not being able to make gold form on the end of a wire. Man, you are a strange thing. You know some real facts, but after that you're at sea, clean plumb out to sea without a chart or compass. You've done your share, the hard part, getting the yaps into the game. Hell! that's the whole thing, don't you know it. Getting the yaps interested. After that the game is like stealing taffy from a kid, robbing a babe of its milk. You're on. Go take a snooze. I'll finish this cigar and then attend to the details. I promise to see to the details and if that gold don't form on that wire you may strike me dead for a galoot too drunk to know his name. Git out, Bo. Go take a snooze and leave the rest to your Uncle Rube. Man, I haven't seen such easy graft for years. Why, we'll be rich if we can hold it two months. Rich, I say. Money to burn. Why, half a hundred yaps will be frantic to cast their bread upon the waters, cast their money into our pockets—and then what—and then—well, the boat leaves here daily for Nassau—thence to—Oh, well, anywhere at all. What's the difference where you are if you have the coin in your clothes. Say, Bo, you're all right. You know a thing or two that's worth knowing, the only thing I can't understand is how you grew up without becoming a millionaire. Can't fathom it, old man, can't fathom it. Say, if I knew as much of the books as you do I'd be in the Standard class all right—very well—So long, sneak."

Mr. Smithe went back into the hotel. He was a bit nervous for one who had spent much time and great trouble ascertaining the value of his fellow men. The scheme seemed now to be futile, for how any one could finish with any hope of success appeared impossible. He gathered together his belongings, made them into a bundle easy for transportation, locked his new and somewhat aggressive trunk after screwing it firmly to the floor, and having finished these necessary preparations for a hurried departure, betook himself to the flowing bowl, which in his case was nothing more or less than a bottle of very bad whiskey furnished by the management of the hotel at two hundred per cent. profit. The draught of alcohol gave him new courage. It warmed the cockles of his heart, a heart that was none too rigorous in its action, but under the influence of the stimulant he drowsed and thought, dreamed and wondered at the versatility of his friend Mr. Stormalong Journegan.

II

"Hello, Stormy," growled the mate of the Sea-Horse, who was sitting upon the deck of his sloop watching the shore, "seems like you struck it rich fer a fact. Must be a wise one dat guy you goes with."

Journegan had reached the edge of the dock about twenty feet distant from the Sea-Horse which was lying off.

"Oh, yes, we make a few thousand dollars a day at that gold plant. 'Tain't much, but it goes," said he.

"Don't suppose you'd chin with such fellers as me no more," said Bill, squirting a stream of tobacco into the sea with a vehemence that told of his opinion of those who became stuck up at success, "but I ain't forgot that last deal you played. I'm glad we got clear with our coin, not as you meant we should, but it goes dat way," and Bahama Bill looked thoughtfully into the distance. He had not forgotten the game at Stormalong's bar at the Cayo Huesso when Captain Smart had been fleeced by the gang of Havana crooks, of which "Skinny Ike" had been the leader. He had reason to remember that night, for it had made it necessary for both him and Smart to get to sea without delay, he himself getting a sore shoulder from the six-shooter of the head crook for his interference. But he had cleaned up the entire crowd, with Smart to help, and the memory was evidently pleasant, for he smiled as he looked into the distance.

"Come abo'd, Stormy, if you don't mind yo' good clothes. Yo' shuah is gittin' toe be a dude—how you come by dem duds, hey?" he said still smiling. "I don't need toe make yo' acquainted with Cap Smart—yo' remember him—what?"

Journegan remembered Smart very well indeed. He looked at him a moment askance, for he had set out to do up the captain that night in Key West, and would have succeeded but for the interference of the giant mate. He, however, saw the point at once and never alluded to the past, but grasped Smart's hand with vigour and assured him that of all people in the world he was most glad to see the captain doing so well. Smart eyed him coldly, but waited for events to shape themselves, knowing full well that the Conch was not there for idle pastime, but had some ultimate purpose in view which was probably of importance.

Journegan was not long in getting down to business. He had plenty of time, but the anxiety of his accomplice caused him to hurry matters and settle the affair at once.

"I want to get a good diver, Bill," said he, finally. "I want a man who will work for twenty dollars an hour in shallow water. Yes, I want a man who can work at a little depth of six or seven feet and do what he's told without asking questions—do you know of any one?"

"Yep, there's Sam—he kin work at that depth, an' I reckon he'll do it for twenty an hour, an' not squeal," said the mate of the Sea-Horse, his ugly face wrinkling into a strange smile and his rheumy eyes turning slowly upon Journegan, fixing him with a curious squinting look which seemed to go clear through him.

"Don't you think you could do the trick for me?" asked Journegan pointedly.

"Nix, not fo' dat little money. Why, man, we're just waitin' fo' a few thousand dollars on some ammunition we salved from the wreck ob de Bulldog, brig—out on de Bank two weeks ago. No, if yo' kin pay a man's wages I might get toe work fo' yo', but don't come around heah, Mr. Journegan, with them clothes on an' ask me, me, Bahama Bill, toe work fo' nothin'—Nix, I say nix—don't keep up de conversation—I don't want toe hear no mo'."

The mate of the Sea-Horse had received a lesson in regard to pay only a short time before from Smart when they had been chartered by a stranger. He was not slow to learn, and he knew that if Journegan would pay twenty dollars an hour he would pay a hundred—if he had it. There must be some necessity for urgent work—some work perhaps upon the gold plant down the bay which needed repair at once, or there might be a corresponding loss of metal. He had heard of the outfit, and had laughed when he found out it was Stormalong Journegan who was mixed up in it. The name of the chemist was unknown to him, but he thought it might well be that the Northerner had really found something worth working.

"I'll make it fifty an hour—only working one hour a night—how's that?" asked Journegan. "Work one hour and do as you're told and you get fifty—get the money in advance—what?"

"Yo' make me tired, Stormy. I knows yo' fo' a good business man, I seen dat at de Cayo Huesso, but don't come abo'd heah an' begin fool talk. Cap'n Smart heah is my partner, jest now,—he wouldn't let me work fo' dat price." And the big mate rose as though to go below.

Smart looked at Journegan with a cold eye. He knew the fellow, but he knew also that they were both dead broke, that their money from the salved cargo was no nearer than it had been the day they arrived in port. It might be a month or two before they received anything on their diving. The ammunition had to be tested and there was no use hurrying matters. That it would be good, there was not the least doubt, but it had been in the hold of the brig completely submerged for some time, so long in fact that it had been abandoned by the first wrecking crew, composed of the Sea-Horse men and the steam tug from Key West. Yes, fifty dollars an hour might get something to eat while they waited the leisure of the agents of the ammunition house buying the stuff. Fifty dollars was good pay, and he knew he could not afford to let the mate pass it for any personal matter that might exist between himself and Journegan. He watched the pair steadily and when Bahama Bill showed signs of giving it up he spoke out.

"Better take it on, Bill," he said, as the giant stretched himself at the companionway. "I know you're worth more'n that to Mr. Journegan, but I think you might take it on for a few days."

"De hell yo' do," quoth the mate, glaring at him.

"I'll make it seventy-five," said Journegan, "that's as high as I'll go."

"Well, so long as Cap'n Smart say do it, I'll jest take it on dat figure," said the mate. "What's de lay?"

"The process of extracting gold from sea-water is a secret one, my dear Bill," said Mr. Journegan. "I really don't quite know the manner of doing it myself. You will come up to the hotel in about an hour and a half, or before sundown, and Mr. Smithe, the chemist, the brains of the plant, will give you your instructions. You had better come alone, and before you make the deal I want you, of course, to promise that you will not tell of anything—not a thing you see in the plant—understand. The process is patented, but if every one knew it there would be no reason in the world why anybody couldn't get money the same way."

"Dat seems fair enough," assented Bill. "Ob co'se I kin see somethings dere, but I promise not toe tell de neighbours—yep, it goes at dat—I'll be up toe de swell shack befo' dark—so-long."

Mr. Journegan stepped into the small boat and a moment later was walking leisurely up the road to his rooms at the hotel. He could count on the success of Mr. Smithe's scheme to a certainty and the knowledge gave him much pleasure. It had been quite easy, only that shark of the reef, Bahama Bill, had robbed him. He cursed the avaricious mate, cursed him freely and fluently for his greed, but in the end he laughed, for was not the gold plant to be a great success. Bah, a few hundred dollars one way or the other was not to be considered. He and his partner had enough for a few days yet, and by then they would be rich men. He made his way to the rooms of Mr. Smithe, knocked at the door and was confronted with a six-shooter held in that brainy gentleman's hand.

"Aw, gwan—put it up," said Journegan.

Mr. Smithe quickly did so. The knock had aroused him from pleasant reveries to an acute appreciation of the present. He saw the form of the marshal at his door and with trembling fingers he seized his gun for a last stand. It had been something of a relief to find his accomplice standing there with a complacent smile upon his face, his long six feet three of skin and bone fairly shaking with laughter.

Journegan entered unbidden and quickly closed the door.

"It's all right, Bo, the deed is done. I have the means at hand. They will be here shortly. Let's have a drink?" he said.

Mr. Smithe acquiesced, and over the liquor the plan was gone over to the mutual satisfaction of both.

"Gad, but you're not so bad, Mr. Journegan," said the brainy Smithe. "You have executive ability to a marked degree. You have imagination, a thoughtful mind—oh, if it had only been trained in its youth—"

"Skin it, Bo," said Journegan, "don't make me feel badly. I have seen things in my day, things just as instructive as anything you get out of text-books, even chemistry. Have another drink. My man will be here very soon. Don't go around packing that light artillery. It won't do if we're caught up suddenly. What would the Muldoons think if they found us going around this peaceful hostelry armed with Gatlings of forty-five calibre. No, put on your best duds and come away. We've won—mark what I say—we've won. I have the best diver on the Great Bahama Bank to do the trick, the best and biggest man on the reef—see. It's all right. Now, then, I hear his gentle footsteps on the veranda and I think we had better get him in here without delay—what?"

Half an hour later the mate of the Sea-Horse emerged from the room with a faint smile upon his ugly face. He strode forth quickly and made his way to the water-front, getting into a small boat waiting for him and starting down the bay in the direction of the gold plant.

It was about eight in the evening, after supper at the hotel, that the party set out in a gasoline launch for the dock where the gold plant was located. The evening was fine and the western sky still showed the last faint tints of the setting sun. Darkness came apace and the cool sea-breeze made the ride very pleasant, the boat rushing through the water leaving a long, bright wake, flaring here and there with phosphorescence where the screw turned the water and sent it whirling astern. By the time they reached the dock it was quite dark, so dark in fact that the shadow of the wharf loomed dimly above the tide. The launch was made fast at the steps and the party climbed up into the enclosure.

"It is an ideal evening for our work," said Mr. Smithe to Mr. Jackson. "The tide is right and there seems to be no sea, no extraordinary commotion which might interfere with the chemical result. It is generally best to work on calm nights, but the process will obtain under each and every condition the weather permits. Allow me to light up." So saying he switched on the electric lights and the enclosure lit up dimly.

"Seems like you might have had a few more lamps," said Mr. Jones a little testily. "It'll be hard to see anything with just two sixteen-candle bulbs."

"I shall have that attended to at once," said Mr. Journegan. "You see we have been so busy with the results that we seldom miss the lights to any extent. The same current that lights up the place is used for forming the precipitate upon the wire—the gold precipitate, you understand."

"Well, let her commence," said Mr. Jackson, a little unfavourably impressed at the stillness and peculiar surroundings of the outfit. "I'll sit here on this box and wait—I hope it won't be long, but I must say that if you men can do this thing, you certainly can do something no one else has ever attempted in history—mind you, I don't say you won't do it, but I say commence, I want to see with my own eyes."

Mr. Smithe, with great deliberation and some complex manœuvring, took up a wire and wrapped it in a cloth. He then fastened it with a small piece of copper wire and dipped the whole into a strong solution of something that had a most offensive odour.

"You see, gentlemen," said he, "the contents of this basin,"—here he pointed to the mixture which had such a terrific odour. "This is the secret part of the whole process, it produces the electrolysis which causes the gold to form upon the positive pole of the current. I shall now toss it overboard and we will await results."

He threw the wire over the edge of the enclosure and it disappeared at once in the black depths below. The white cloth tied to the end still showed faintly at a depth of six feet below the surface.

"I now shall start the current," he said, and taking up a hammer he struck savagely upon the flooring of the dock several time. There was a faint sound from shoreward, the sound of a gentle splashing, but this soon subsided. Suddenly a commotion in the water below attracted the attention of Mr. Jones. A large fish appeared to break water at the entrance of the enclosure. Then it disappeared, and Mr. Journegan remarked that the small sharks of the reef were most numerous at this season.

Mr. Smithe watched the surface of the water carefully. A huge dark shadow glided beneath him towards the end of the wire which held the white cloth.

"I must have more current," he called petulantly to Mr. Journegan, "give me more current for a few minutes, this wire is cold."

For answer Journegan switched off the lights for few seconds. Mr. Jones and Mr. Jackson watched the water steadily, but nothing broke its now black surface.

"It's getting warm now," called Mr. Smithe, and on the instant Journegan switched on the lights again. They all sat there for some minutes awaiting the result but the water gave no token save that now the cloth had disappeared from the end of the wire and as the minutes dragged by Mr. Smithe called attention to this fact.

"You see, it has begun to work," he called, pointing below at the invisible wire. "In a moment I shall pull it up—a few dollars worth of metal is all we need wait for to-night. I have an engagement at the Casino at ten."

Suddenly he pulled up the wire. Upon its end, fixed fast and apparently imbedded, was a small mass of a peculiar metal, bright, shiny and unmistakably gold. Yes, he had done it. He had made the sea give up its own. There it was, gold, pure gold in an ingot Worth about forty dollars. The astounded Mr. Jones gazed in wonder. The skeptical Mr. Jackson let his eyes open wide. It was certainly the wonder of the era. It was tremendous.

"You can take this specimen and have it assayed," said Mr. Smithe, handing the nugget to Mr. Jackson; "you can return it at your convenience."

When Mr. Smithe struck the blows with the hammer, thereby causing the current to flow, it roused Bahama Bill from his drowsing in the bottom of a small boat close to the shore. He grinned and arose. He had been told just what to do and paid heavily for keeping his mouth shut about doing it. It was none of his business why they did these things, it was his business to dive for money, no matter what the affair. He was well paid and he saw no reason why he should not take the money. A man of more refined mind would have possibly refused the work, but Bahama Bill was brought up in the school where it was necessary to live, necessary to have the means to live without going too far outside the rules of the game. It was Journegan's business to make gold out of sea-water. It was his to do a bit of diving for him and perform certain feats which might or might not affect the pockets of the gentlemen now waiting to see the result. There were so many questionable ways of separating folks from their coin that he was amused at the graft of these two. At the gambling house kept by the pious and strict manager of the hotel, there were many ways of separating folks from their cash. It had the sanction of the "Boss"—that was the only difference he could see in the matter. He was a plain wrecker, a man who made his living from the misfortunes of others. Yet it was a legitimate business, and he generally played fair. He was simply a big, powerful man, a giant diver of the Bank. He dropped his trousers and stood forth naked in the darkness as the last banging of the hammer died away. It was the signal agreed upon and without a moment's hesitation he made a long clean dive into the dark water. Coming to the surface he swam quickly and noiselessly toward the end of the dock where the gate, or opening in the piling, would allow him to get within the enclosure. He was a little doubtful of finding the end of the wire, as he had been instructed to, but he thought the white cloth might make it visible, for the water was very clear.

He never fancied swimming at night over the coral banks, for there were always many denizens of the ocean that came in and either rested or fed during the hours of darkness. Many a big shark lay log-wise in the waters of the reef during the night, waiting for a rush upon the feeding mullet or other small fry. He had found sharks always dangerous at this season of the year, and he was now without even a knife. However, he managed to reach opposite the opening without mishap. Then he floated silently and took a few deep breaths for the work in hand.

He could hear the voices of the men within the enclosure and he heard Mr. Smithe announce that the wire was ready. He was just about to dive when a disturbance in the sea close to him made him hesitate and turn. A triangular fin cut the surface not two fathoms distant. It was that of a gigantic shark. Instantly the diver went under and strove with mighty strokes to gain the opening in the piling. He felt instinctively that the monster would follow him, but it was the nearest place of refuge. Guided solely by memory of direction, he fairly tore through the water, struck the opening with his hand and with a mighty effort swung himself within, remaining under and shooting ahead with the momentum of his flight. A commotion, a sweep of a strong current at the gate told of a passing heavy body, but nothing touched him. He could not hold his breath much longer on account of the sudden effort, and he was sworn not to come to the surface within the piles. It was at this moment that Mr. Smithe, seeing something of what had occurred by the shadows beneath the surface, called for more electricity, and Journegan with his rare presence of mind switched off the lights. Bahama Bill came to the surface gently, and had it not been for the noisy conversation of Smithe, his deep breathing would surely have made his presence known to all. As it was he lay upon his back, close within the shadow of the piling and just let his nose come into the air. In a few moments he had regained his wind and sank downward to the end of the wire. Then Mr. Smithe switched on the light and announced that the wire was warm. It was a close call, close in more ways than one, but the mate had made good, he had done his part. He saw the white cloth without difficulty and attached the piece of gold. Then he fled for the open with a courage which might have called forth the admiration of the watchers had they known his danger.

Once clear, he swam silently and with all his strength for the small boat. The feeling that something was pursuing him kept him nerved to the utmost. He fairly tore through the sea, but only raised his head every twenty to thirty feet to breathe. He swam almost all the way under water. This he knew was the safest, for the predatory denizens of the coral banks depend as much on hearing, or a sense akin to it, as on sight. The feeling that something still followed drove him along at his top speed, but he could see nothing, know nothing of its shape or form. It was just the instinctive fear, or nerve straining one feels in the dark where danger lurks. He gained the small boat quickly and at that instant a great shadow swept past leaving a trail of phosphorescent fire in its wake.

"If you gentlemen are satisfied, we will now go back to the hotel," said Mr. Smithe with his most urbane manner. "If at any other time you would like a renewal of the test, we shall be only too glad to give it, provided of course, neither you nor your guests talk of the process and thus set curious people at work to find out our secret."

Amid murmurs of approval and congratulations, the party broke up and started back in the launch, Mr. Journegan especially active in getting away from the dock and explaining vehemently the reason that the extraction had not been made before was that it took a man with brains and one with executive ability to work a thing like that together, to a successful conclusion.

Before twenty-four hours had elapsed there had been a company formed with Mr. Smithe at its head, and there had been twenty-five thousand dollars in ready cash put at its disposal in the town bank for the purpose of carrying on the experiments and continuing the production of gold from the waters of the Bay of Biscayne.

Twice during the week following the experiment was repeated with equal success. The cloth disappeared from the wire and the gold was found upon the pole. It was astounding, but there was no way of contradicting the evidence of the senses. There was the gold. That was enough for many—gold, gold, gold. The thing took like wild-fire. The news was spread broadcast, and Bahama Bill sat in the mornings reading the papers with a grin of derision upon his big ugly face.

"Of course, it's none of my business," said Smart, "but if you're wise you'll not go into any crooked game. It's all well enough to repair their outfit, but if you're in anything crooked, you're not playing fair with me."

"Yo' wanted me toe go into it," growled the mate.

"I dun promised not to gib way nuthin'—fo' a big stake. Yous livin' high on fresh beef and good whack, Sam and Heldron is paid off and everythin' seems all right 'Tain't none of mah business what those fellows do—I'm jest doin' what I agreed to—jest divin'—divin'—see."

"Better quit it when you've got enough to lay by with until we make our deal," said Smart. "Of course you can't tell me what you do, what your lay is down at the plant?"

"I dun passed mah word," said Bahama Bill gravely. "I ain't playin' straight, but I dun passed mah word—"

"Could you give an exhibition of the part you play?" asked the sailor.

The big mate thought a moment. He did not seem to like the idea, it was not fair according to his standpoint of honour. He had his limitations, but he generally did what he said he would. At the same time he knew he was getting into a game which would cause him trouble in the end if he did not get out quickly. The thing was too good to last.

"Yep,—I—might," he finally said, grinning.

"I'll get some of the gentlemen down to the plant in the small boat and let them see, for I for one don't take much stock in that fellow who tried to skin me in his barroom to the southward," said Smart.

"Git 'em any time yo' see fit—I'll do the part I generally does," said the mate.

Smart dressed and went to the hotel. It was afternoon and the two partners in the gold plant were at the tables playing heavily. They were somewhat at ease as to their finances, for the thing was a veritable gold mine in fact. They knew nothing of the departure of Mr. Jones and Mr. Jackson in company with Smart and Bahama Bill, rowing down the shore in the small boat of the Sea-Horse. Reaching the dock, Smart had little difficulty in effecting a landing at the enclosure and of making an entrance. There was no lock upon the door, for there was nothing to secure, and the four men were soon within the sacred precincts of the gold plant.

"Which is the wire?" asked Smart of Mr. Jones. The gentleman explained.

"Was there anything on it?" he asked.

Mr. Jones said there was something like a bit of cloth. Smart tied a piece to it.

"Now, Bill, do what you generally do," said the captain.

The big mate grinned. He was undecided as to whether he was acting fairly with those who had employed him. Then he sprang into the small boat and rowed away a short distance. The three within the place waited.

Suddenly Smart called attention to a shadow approaching under the surface of the water. It came quickly within the gate of the pound, and although it was deep below the surface all had no difficulty in recognizing the giant form of Bahama Bill. The great black diver swam quickly to the end of the wire, pulled off the cloth and attached something in its place, going away instantly with powerful strokes. He was within the enclosure but a minute altogether and as he went rapidly through the water-gate into the open bay, he broke the surface just a little with one huge ham-like foot.

"As a swimming feat, that was the best exhibition I ever saw," said Jones to his friend. "In the night time it was wonderful. That white cloth was there for an excellent purpose, but even in that clear water it must have been hard to have picked it up to a certainty in the dark. I suppose the sooner we get the news to the marshal the better it will be for all hands. I for one am not very much ashamed of myself."

"Nor I," said Mr. Jackson.

"You will understand," said Smart, "that neither my mate nor myself had anything to do with the game further than to obey orders and accept pay for diving."

"You will neither be mentioned nor asked to appear—no matter what happens," assured Mr. Jones. "We will make this discovery ourselves. It is due us as intelligent men—eh?" he added to Mr. Jackson. That gentleman agreed with vigour.

Stormalong Journegan had lost heavily at the wheel, the seductive roulette. He said very little, but arose before his accomplice and going to the bank drew out nearly the whole amount to the credit of the company. As it happened the whistle of the Nassau steamer was blowing its first warning blast for the people to get ashore who were not going to sea within a few minutes. Journegan noticed it and walked along the water-front. As he went his way he noticed the small boat of the Sea-Horse with Mr. Jones, Mr. Jackson, Smart and—yes, there was no mistake—Bahama Bill. The giant mate was rowing and sending the craft along with sweeping strokes. Stormalong Journegan looked but for a moment more. Then he ran with all the speed his long legs could give for the steamer. He reached her just as she was pulling out from the wharf and managed to make the jump aboard without creating comment. He instantly made his way to the lavatory, where he remained for at least an hour, washing and rewashing his hands. When he appeared on deck the steamer was well down the channel standing for the open sea. He was never seen again after landing the next morning at Nassau.

Mr. Smithe was aroused by a knock at his door some time that afternoon and he called out affably to the person to enter, thinking it his energetic partner, Mr. Journegan, whom he had missed for several hours. The marshal entered, and Mr. Smithe had the satisfaction of seeing his trusty gun lying safe and snug in his bureau drawer.

"You can raise your hands, Mr. Smithe," said the officer of the law.

Mr. Jones waited not very long before paying his hotel bill. He proceeded to the writing-room and wrote a short note home, telling of his marked improvement, his ability to travel alone, and that he would soon be North again. "I have been taking the gold cure," said he as he ended his letter, leaving his family very much disturbed.

Mr. Jackson found urgent business calling him North the next day. He declined to be interviewed. "In the interest of science, I shall keep the secret of the chemical precipitation of gold in sea-water," he said. "It is a wonderful discovery."

Bahama Bill sat and grinned in the morning as he read the news in the daily paper. Captain Smart felt easier in his mind.

"That man, Journegan, surely was a fellow of ability," he said. "He has cleared—gone clean away on the ship for Nassau—but I don't think he will ever come back."

"'Tain't likely," grunted Bahama Bill. "No, it won't do for him toe come along dis way agin—if yo' don't mind, cap, I'll git yo' toe write me a letter to my wife—fightin' Jule—I reckon I better be gittin' some ob dishear money down toe her, or she'll be a-coming along up heah fo' toe take a look at things.—I see dat Mr. Smithe has been let go—no one to prosecute him—toe bad, toe bad."

XIII

Shanghaing the Tong

Captain Smart sat upon the deck of the wrecking-sloop Sea-Horse, and read a letter from the agents of the cartridge company which had furnished the ammunition to the Bulldog, brig, wrecked some time before upon the Great Bahama Bank. It caused him some uneasiness, for he scowled and wrinkled his brow, read and re-read it until the giant black mate, Bahama Bill, could keep back his curiosity no longer.

"What is it, cap? What dat guy say? No use keepin' bad news back. I kin stan' it, I reckon. Let's have his lay—ain't dat cartridge case no good?"

"He says," began Smart, "that the samples are good, that the cases are all right, and he will take the ten tons, about three hundred thousand rounds, at a cent and a half, the cartridges retailing at three cents, or thirty dollars per thousand. That nets us four thousand five hundred, or a little over two thousand dollars apiece for our day's work——"

"Well, dat ain't so bad—no, dat's all toe de good, hey?"

"So far, yes," said Smart, "but the railroad won't carry them under three hundred dollars, and won't give any guarantee that they'll be delivered on time; won't insure them—in fact, won't do anything but carry them at an exorbitant rate, and they say they must have the goods within one week from the eighth of this month, or upon the fifteenth. Otherwise they won't fill the order, they don't want them. It's now the tenth—that's the rub. How are we going to make good? Shall we trust to the railroad? It never does what it agrees to, and in this case we look like bad ones. That's what's worrying me. What do you say? You're half-partner—it's up to you, Bill."

The big black mate sat looking at the shore for some minutes. His ugly face was wrinkled and his rheumy eyes were puckered in thought, his huge shoulders hunching up, and giving him the air of one who has struck a problem too great to solve. Finally he spoke.

"Jule will be along on the morning boat," said he solemnly.

"Who is Jule?" asked Smart.

"Jule? Why, I thought you knew, cap—why, Jule is my wife. 'Fightin' Jule' deys calls her, an' I reckon dat's a good name. She got dat letter you wrote, and de money I sent from de diving at de gold plant. She dun heard ob dat gold plant, an' she's comin' on up. She'll be here in about an hour."

"You think she can give us good advice—is that it?" suggested Smart, eying the big mate keenly.

"Er—er—dat ain't exactly what I was thinkin'—no, sah, cap," said Bahama Bill, with a sickly grin.

"I'm not a mind-reader, Bill," said Smart.

"Well, sah, cap—seein' as it's you, well, sah—er—er—well, I don't know but what we better make de run toe Noo York ourselves. Or else back toe Key West, an' ketch de Noo York steamer. She kin make de run in three days; dat'll do de trick, hey?"

"Has your wife brought her children with her?" asked Smart.

"Oh, no, cap, she always leaves dem with her ma when she starts off on de rampage——"

"I see; you're afraid of her," said Smart, smiling.

"Not eggzactly dat, cap; not eggzactly—I ain't afeared ob nothin'; no, sah, dat I ain't, but she shuah do make me nervous; she shuah do make me feel—well, I jest don't know how, but it'll be best fo' you—fo' you, cap—if we start fo' Noo York before she gits here. Yo' understand?"

Captain Smart thought a moment. He had heard of Bahama Bill's wife, the well but not favourably known "Fighting Jule," of Key West. On the whole, it was worth considering. They might make the run in five or six days. It had been done before, but not often. The Sea-Horse was an able sloop, but that was testing her too much. The great six-masters had made the run to Havana in five days, two hundred miles farther on, but they seldom did it in ten. It was a great risk; a risk which might end up in the loss of the entire consignment, for they might not be able to get another chance for a sale.

On the other hand, there was Key West, the New York steamer, which would be due the next morning, and she would take the freight at proper prices, and be sure to land it in town—she couldn't help it, making the run North in three days to a certainty. The Key West run seemed to be the best one, but there were certain other considerations which had to be thought of.

"How about Key West?" asked Smart. "Do you think we could run in after that fracas at Journegan's bar? Won't the police want us pretty bad if they think they can shake us down for a thousand dollars?"

"I shuah think dey will dat," assented the mate, "if dey think we got anything. Dey certainly trim de folks right smart down dere. I reckon you're right, 'tain't no place fo' us wid a cargo of ca'tridges. I reckon you're wise; I reckon we'd better be gittin' farther No'th."

"There's the New York ship from Jacksonville—how's that?" asked Smart. "We can make that run in two days with a good wind——"

"Git de mainsail on her—Sam, Heldron—lay aft, yo fellers," said Bahama Bill, springing to action. "We'll catch de Saturday ship, an' git de stuff in town in plenty o' time—dat's de lay—Jacksonville—an' dere's de smoke o' de Key West comin' up de Hawk's Channel—see him?" And he pointed to the southward.

"I'll go ashore and get my clothes. They're at the Chinese laundry," said Smart, jumping into the small boat.

"Yo' want toe hurry up—we ain't got no time toe lose. Git my shirts, too, cap. I dun left 'em with de Chink las' week—an' git a five-poun' ham on de way back, we'll need a bit o' grub——"

Smart was already rowing briskly toward the shore, where he landed and made his way rapidly up the street. Wah Lee, the Chinaman who ran the laundry, stood within his doorway and gazed with mild amazement at the unwonted gait of the seaman. Fast walking was not the habit of the Florida cracker, and to see a man sprint along at Smart's gait aroused the suspicion that he was either making a "getaway" from some one or something, or was bent upon most important business.

"He allee samee good mans," said Wah Lee, to one of his numerous brothers ironing a shirt. "Wachee mee skinee him—allee samee bunk. Him sailor fell! Him gotee mon, mon, mon. Me con mans, allee samee bunk. Ha! ha! You see."

Smart stepped into the shanty with a brisk step.

"Get the clothes up, John. Get 'em tied fast right away—all, Bahama Bill's and mine both—hurry, you savvy? Hurry." And the sailor handed over his slip.

"You go to sea to-day?" asked the active Lee, scurrying around behind his counter and trying to match the slip of paper with its strange characters to one of the many bundles already tied fast with white twine, and laid carefully upon the shelves along the walls.

"Yes; sail in a minute—hurry up. Got to get to sea before the steamer gets in——"

"Ah! Allee same good—you take him. Two dolla' fiftee cent."

"What! For just three shirts and two ducks? You are a robber."

"Two dolla' fiftee cent, allee right—you pay him—no shirt, no pay him," said the usurious Lee, lowering truculently at the skipper. One of his brothers sniggered.

When a Celestial sniggers at a white man it is bad. Especially if the white man happens to be a sailor—and in a hurry. Just what makes the Easterner an inferior is not quite definite, not quite clear to the socialistic mind, but that he is inferior is generally conceded—among white men. Among the Orientals there is a quite different opinion based upon their point of view, which, when discussed from its ethical standpoint, is not illogical or unreasonable. Sailors seldom are analytical, seldom go into the reason of things; they are content to accept them as they are, or as they appear to be. Therefore, Smart was much wroth at the sniggering Chink, the more so because he knew he was being cheated by Wah Lee in his wash bill.

But Wah Lee was a hatchetman. He was a leader of the Hip Sing Tong, and a very bad Chinese to fool with. He was in Florida only for his health, not for gain; and the fact that gain came his way was incidental. He took advantage of it. His little ratlike eyes glinted strangely as he spoke his soft sing-song speech.

"Two dolla' fiftee cent—no shirt, no pay—you savvy?" he drawled.

"Come, come, John, be quick about it, and don't put up any foolishness—I haven't time to play this morning," said Smart quickly. "Get the clothes or I'll wade in and take charge of some of those on the shelves."

"You pay two dolla' fiftee cent—you no' pay right off you pay tlee dolla' slixty cent," sang Mr. Wah Lee, his eyes still narrowing, and his hands feeling softly in among his sleeves, where he kept his weapons; "I no time to foolish mans."

"You're on the 'bunk,' then," said Smart; "is that it?"

"Two dolla' fiftee cent, or——"

His answer was quickly given. Smart swung for his jaw, and landed full upon the Oriental chin. Wah Lee went to the floor with a crash, bringing down an ironing-board with him; the flat-irons, clothes, and other gear rolling in a mess. He drew a huge, blue-barrelled gun from his sleeve, and, while he lay supine, levelled it at the sailor. Smart missed getting the shot by a hair, and managed to land a kick upon Lee's pistol-arm before the furious Chink could fire, whereupon not less than four powerful hatchetmen, trained athletes from the Orient, sprang upon him at once.

The seaman was dumfounded at the assault. A Chink was beneath contempt, and to find oneself beset by several powerful Orientals, who were more than his match, was simply heart-breaking, pride-destroying. He swung right and left, furiously clinched, and the five of them rolled with a surging smash against the counter, breaking it down in a mass of splinters, sending clothes, boards, and other laundry paraphernalia in all directions.

One of the men let out a shrill yell, and the two not fighting sprang to the doors and slammed them fast. It would not do to let the populace of the town see the fracas. A Chinaman never advertises the fact that he is a fighter, and is never glad to have it found out, especially among Americans. Besides, had not the foreign pig struck down their leader, the most high Wah Lee, and had not the august Lee essayed to kill the pig—was he not doomed?

Yet none of them wished to act as executioner without direct and explicit orders from the chief. This was a poor country to kill a man in, his friends always made such a fuss; and the police with clubs always made it bad, impossible to hide for a very long time. A rope and a neighbouring tree were the usual finishing touches if they failed to find the lost one.

Smart fought with a fury born of broken pride, lost self-esteem. He was degraded, lowered to the level of common Chinks, and he gave short-arm jolts with amazing lifting power begotten of many years' hard hauling upon lines.

With both hands and feet he strove wildly to free himself from the tangle of baggy sleeves, cotton trousers, and yellow arms. The mass of struggling men rolled and surged over the floor. Smart raised himself again and again to his knees, striking, punching, clinching, using elbows, feet, and knees; and the tide of struggling forms flowed across the room, demolishing everything in its path.

Wah Lee tried in vain to use his gun, and a fellow ruffian tried to strike with the deadly little hatchet used for such occasions, but ever and again the pile of struggling arms, legs, and bodies prevented. The noise of the struggle was drowned in the shrill curses of the contestants, while the sailor fought silently like a bulldog, gripping, smashing, kicking, and flinging the mass about in the vain hope to throw them off enough to get in a full arm-stroke from his fists. If he could but strike a full swing once or twice he felt sure of the outcome, for a Chinaman will seldom stand to a full-arm stroke upon the jaw.

Wah Lee, seeing that to shoot was to endanger his men, dropped his gun into his cash-drawer, and fell foul of the bunch to try to do his share in overcoming the foreign pig. His remaining followers seeing him, flung themselves into the pile, and the mass of men was increased.

Smart began to feel the extra weight of numbers. He was growing tired, and, in spite of his excellent wind, was panting hoarsely, his breathing hampered considerably by gripping fingers he was forced to tear time and again from his throat. He raised himself to his knee for the last giant effort. His heart was breaking. He smashed wildly, furiously; plunged, bucked, threw himself about, twisting, turning, striving with the last remnant of his dying strength. Then he gradually gave way, growing weaker, fighting slower, sinking gradually down, while the pile of men fastened their grips upon him for the finish. In a few moments he was lying limp, and the panting Celestials rose, one after the other, to their feet, while Wah Lee passed a line about the sailor's arms and legs, making him secure.

It had been a most excellent affair; a most magnificent affray worthy of a sailor striving for his rights; and Wah Lee gazed with narrowing eye at the form while he panted out his losses to the surrounding brothers of his Tong. The entire front of the laundry was swept bare, the ironing-boards smashed, the clothes in masses of rags; bundles and papers rolled and mixed in confusion. Flat-irons, holders, chairs, and shelves arranged themselves in piles as though an earthquake had swept through the place; and, while Lee looked sadly at the wreck, he murmured: "Two dolla' fiftee cent."

It had been a bad business for the Chinaman. He had made another mistake, but he would wreak his vengeance at will now upon the helpless Smart. Hot irons, melted lead, and quicklime were some of the items running through his furious mind, and just when and how he would use them upon his victim. He would have to wait to see if the white pig had many friends, who might make a thorough search, but sailors, as a rule, had no friends at all; they were soon forgotten—then he would go to work.

In the meantime he would place the seaman where the mosquitoes would not trouble him, after first relieving him of any unnecessary valuables he might have upon his despicable person.

Into a filthy den he carried the now insensible Smart, casting him into a foul bunk, which had been used by a smoker of the drug common to the Chinese coolie, and carefully covering him, so that no one would notice the form even should the retreat be discovered. Then he set about with his helpers to straighten up the shop.

PART II

During the period of time Smart spent in serious argument with the august Lee, Bahama Bill fretted and fumed about the deck of the wrecking-sloop, Sea-Horse. Sam and Heldron both came in for a dressing, and both narrowly escaped getting a morning bath, for the big black mate was in a passion at the delay. The steamer from Key West came to the dock, and a form—the unmistakable form of "Fightin' Jule"—stepped ashore, and moved with no uncertain stride in the direction of the Sea-Horse.

Bahama Bill grunted forth anathemas, and sprang into the small boat to gain the wharf before his spouse could intercept him. He felt there might be something doing. When he arrived at the landing he looked up, and gazed right into the eyes of his partner.

"Huccum yo' toe git heah, Jule?" asked Bahama Bill.

"I come wid de boat, shuah, nigger. How yo' think I come—swim? I come toe see just what yo' doin'; why yo' don't come home. I knows yo', Bill, yo' been runnin' wid some trashy nigger gal up heah——"

"It ain't so, Jule——"

"Don't yo' contradict me, nigger. I knows you. You ain't sent me all dat money fer nothin'; yo' ain't done it fo' no reason 'cept toe try toe make me think yo' keers fo' me. Don't yo' make me mad."

"But, Jule, I got ter git toe sea right away. I ain't done nothin' but gib up de dough fast as I makes it. Got a cargo ob ca'tridges now abo'd, an' got toe git dem No'th right away. I jest come heah toe see you an' git de partner I got in de deal. I sho' nuff glad toe see yo', Jule."

"Don' yo' gib me none o' yo' foolishness, Bill. I knows yo'. I tells yo' I knows yo', an' I'll set right heah tel yo' gits de partner an' gits ready toe go abo'd dat sloop—I wants to see de kind o' partner yo' has. Don' talk toe me. Ef I wasn't a lady, I'd knock yo' blame' haid off. Gwan!"

Bahama Bill was much disturbed, and he went up the street in no pleasant frame of mind. His wife he knew would stay right in sight of the sloop until the sloop sailed, and the indications were she'd want to go along with him. It was very disturbing to a man of the mate's temperament. He went along as a man much occupied with his thoughts, and looked neither to the right nor left until he reached the main street. Here he met a sailor from a yacht lying in the harbour, and he asked him if he had seen anything of Smart.

"Yo' knows a yacht feller when yo' see him, I reckon; have yo' seen dat Cap'n Smart?" he said.

"I saw your captain going toward the laundry about an hour ago," said the sailor.

Bahama Bill went into a saloon and took a drink. Where could Smart have gone, except on a drunk, after going to the laundry. He eyed the barkeeper sourly, and asked him if he had seen his sailor partner.

"Sure," said the man of drinks, handing out a square-faced bottle and a glass. "He stopped over across the way to the Chink's—heard something of a fracas going on over in that direction—shouldn't wonder if he beat up the heathen, only that Wah Lee is a corker; a sure winner for a yaller skin."

"What yo' mean?" asked Bill.

"I means that the Chink is a scrapper—kin do 'em up; carries a Gatling gun in his sleeve. He's only here for a few months in the winter. Belongs to the Hip Sing Tong, or some secret society in New York. He's something like Fat Duck, or Bill Puck, or some sech Chink I reads of in th' papers what does up whole theatres full o' them yaller bellies."

"Gimme another drink," said Bahama Bill, meditatively gazing into his empty glass. "It ain't likely Cap'n Smart stayed wid no Chinks, but I goes over dere an' takes a peek, jest fer luck, sah. I shuah ain't got nothing agin' no Chink, but I reckon I makes de yaller boy tell what he knows." And as he finished the gin, he put the glass down carefully and strode forth.

He walked to the door of the laundry, and looked in where the men were now hard at work again ironing, their outfit temporarily repaired, and business going ahead as usual.

Bill looked at the place for a moment, and his trained eye saw marks of combat still upon the walls and shelves, which showed in spite of the new arrangements made.

"Seen a friend ob mine, a sailor man?" asked the mate, peering into the door.

"No see no ones—heap workee, velly busy," replied Wah Lee.

Bahama Bill entered and stuck forth his big, ugly head right close to the Chinaman's.

"You tell me where Cap'n Smart went after cleaning yo' place up, yo' heah?" he said menacingly.

The memory of the fracas was heavy upon Wah Lee. He backed away and drew his big, blue-barrelled gun.

"You getee 'way velly quick—see?" he said fiercely.

Bahama Bill reached over like lightning and grasped a Chinaman by the slack of his pigtail, jerking him in front of himself, and seizing him with his left hand, to keep him in place. An iron lay handy, and instantly it was sailing straight for the head of the belligerent Lee.

It caught him full in the neck, propelled with the power of the giant mate's arm, and the Chinaman spun clear across the room, landing limp and insensible.

The big gun failed to explode, and went clattering upon the floor. Instantly Bill sprang for it, and seized its barrel just as a powerful heathen grabbed it by the stock. The mate wrenched it free with a quick jerk, and struck the fellow twice upon the top of his shaved head. Then the whole crowd piled upon him, swarmed up against him, grasping, clinging, gripping for his throat, while a hatchetman made a pass with his weapon, which reached the black man's skull.

Bahama Bill was tough and hard, his head was thick of bone, and, although the hatchet struck him hard enough to kill an ordinary man, the blade glanced off, and cut only a big gash in his scalp. The stars danced before his eyes, and he staggered for an instant, and in that instant the whole gang closed upon him. Then the realization of his predicament dawned upon him, and he let forth a mighty yell, tore loose from the strangling holds upon his neck, and then smashed right into the crowd with the fury of a wounded tiger, the blood from his head pouring over him.

There was a wild mixture of huge black arms, flying forms of pajamaed Chinamen going through the air, and with yell after yell he grabbed and smashed the first that came in his path, tearing up the whole place with the struggle.

He seized an ironing-board and swung it about his head, yelling hoarsely. Then he struck right and left with it, knocking Chinese, gear, and clothes indiscriminately about the room, until there was not the slightest movement to denote life anywhere but in his own mighty frame.

Upon the floor the forms lay about—smashed, stunned, insensible. Then his fury abating, he stopped for a moment to gaze through the haze of blood and dust of conflict. He grinned hideously at the sight, his wound making him grotesquely horrible. Then he was suddenly taken with an idea.

He grasped the cue of a Chink and drew it across the room to that of another, making them fast with a bend. Then he dragged the rest, the whole six, and fastened them to Wah Lee's cue. It made a pile of Chinese aggregating about a thousand pounds in dead weight; and he scanned the mass to contemplate. As he stopped, he was aware of a sound in the partition. He listened for a moment, and thought he heard his name called in a low voice—a voice which sounded far away and indistinct. He roared out a reply, and listened again. Yes, it was the voice of Captain Smart.

The captain was begging him to hurry and get him out of somewhere, and the mate roared out in reply:

"Where is yo'? Where is yo'? How I get thar?" And he ran along the partition, trying to discover a door or other opening. Nothing showed, and, losing patience, he caught up an iron and began smashing the planks. In a few minutes he had broken through into a dark recess, into which he crawled without delay. Something smote him heavily upon the head, and he fell sprawling, lying helpless and half-insensible, while a shrill voice cried out in defiance.

Bahama Bill lay dazed and dizzy for a long time; probably ten minutes. Then he was aware of Smart's voice cursing furiously and calling for help. The huge mate slowly gathered himself, managed to rise to his knees, and, as he did so, the light which now shone through the gap in the partition showed him a slight girl standing over him with an axe. She had evidently struck him as he came through the bulkhead, and only her youth and frailness had prevented the blow from finishing him. He now saw she was about to repeat the operation, and he quickly snatched the weapon from her, and drew her to him.

"What fo' yo' hit me?" he asked, angrily.

"You velly bad mans—go away!" screamed the child.

Bill searched the surrounding gloom with a quick, comprehensive glance, and noticed a form lying in a bunk covered with a cloth. He made his way to it, and uncovered the prostrate form of Smart, securely bound, but not securely gagged. The sailor could only use his tongue, but he did use that member to its fullest extent, while he told quickly of the way he had run up against Wah Lee. Then the sight of Bahama Bill's head caught his gaze, and he made a wry face. The giant mate was like a black fury with his marks of combat upon him.

"This child is a wife of that rascal," said Smart, explaining the little girl's presence in such a place. "She's about twelve years old, and his property—his slave, I suppose you would call it. He keeps her in here, where no one can ever see her, and she thought you were some fellow going to harm her when she struck you with the axe. I tried to tell you as you came through, but couldn't make you hear—that's better, now cut loose my feet." And the mate passed his knife through the cords, setting him free.

"I sho' feel some ashamed toe think yo' dun up by dese Chinks," said Bill, as Smart rose from the filthy bunk. "Yo' ain't much hurt?"

"Not hurt at all—not like you," said Smart impatiently.

"Dat clip was jest accident—shuah, shuah. Dey ain't hurt me none toe speak of—only a little blood. But dat kid gal cum near killin' me wid dat axe. I ain't quite through yet. Come along into the room where dey lays."

They took the child with them, and crawled through the bulkhead. One of the wounded men upon the floor had recovered his senses, and was busily at work trying to loosen his cue as Bahama Bill stepped up. A jolt with his foot stopped operations for the time, and Smart stood contemplating the victory.

"What'll we do about it?" asked the yachtsman.

"Do? I jest reckon we'll take de whole bunch abo'd de ship. We'll need some extra hands toe make de passage quick. We got toe git a move on, fo' we got the git dat stuff up toe catch de steamer at Jacksonville. Dere's a cyart right in dat co'ner, sah. Help me pile 'em in."

Smart, still furious from the treatment he had received, lent a willing hand, and in a few minutes they had the whole bunch of Celestials dumped in the cart and made secure.

"What'll we do wif dat little gal?" asked Bill, eying the child. "She ain't all Chink, by de looks; reckon she's a half-breed."

"We'll have to take her with us," said Smart, and so they started out of the shop, pushing the cart with the Chinese before them; and they attracted no attention for some minutes, for the affrays had been little noticed, as there had been no gun-fire.

"Hold on, let's get the clothes," said Smart, running back into the doorway and grabbing what bundles he could reach handily, and which had still been left intact from the whirlwind passage of the giant mate. He tossed them into the cart, and they went rapidly down to the dock.

Some small boys and one or two loafers followed, wishing to see the fun, but no one molested them or inquired their purpose. They reached the water-side without mishap. Fighting Jule was sitting there waiting for her lord to show up, and she was in anything but a sweet humour. The sight of the little Chinese girl made her alter her purpose to assault her huge partner, and she inquired briskly into details.

"Yo' take de kid an' keep her till we git de crew abo'd," said Bill, with the first approach at gentleness in his voice.