Part 8 (2/2)

He came splas.h.i.+ng through the water, though he did not look at her, and in a moment or two she felt his arms about her. She wondered vaguely whether he had often carried any one else, for it was, at least, evident that he knew exactly what he meant to do, and she recognized the strength the sea had given him, as he stepped down easily into the creek, holding her high above the water, with the loose folds of her skirt wrapped about her. Anthea was reasonably substantial, as she was, of course, aware; but, though he twice floundered a little in the depths of a pool, he set her down safe on the other side and stood before her with flushed forehead, which was, as she promptly realized, in one respect a mistake. He said nothing, and did not, indeed, look at her; but as he drew in a deep breath from the physical effort she glanced at him, and saw something in his face that suggested restraint. That spoiled everything.

”It is getting late,” she said quietly. ”Doesn't the path go on again?”

They turned away, Jimmy walking first, for which she was thankful, because the moment or two when they had stood silent had been more than enough. There was nothing for which she could blame the man. His demeanor had been everything that one could have expected; but she had seen the momentary light in his eyes and the tightening of his lips, and knew that their relations could never be exactly what they had been.

Something had come about, for the fact that he had found it necessary to put a restraint upon himself had made a change. Perhaps he felt that silence was inadvisable, and once more she appreciated the good sense that prompted him to talk, much as a seaman would have done, of the straightness of the shadowy redwoods they pa.s.sed and their value as masts, though this was naturally not a subject that greatly interested her.

When they reached the beach they found that Valentine had left them the Siwash canoe; and the rest, with the exception of Nellie Austerly, were sitting in the _Sorata_'s c.o.c.kpit when Jimmy paddled alongside. Miss Merril furnished a suitable explanation of their delay, but she overlooked the fact that Valentine was acquainted with the bush about that Inlet.

”You must have struck the creek,” he said. ”I should have remembered to tell you about it.”

He looked at Jimmy, but the latter wisely decided to leave it to Miss Merril, and turned his attention to the canoe. He felt that she was competent to handle the matter.

”I was almost waist-deep when I last went through,” said Valentine, who did not display his usual perspicacity. ”How did you get across?”

Anthea dismissed the subject with perfect composure. ”Then there could not have been anything like so much water. Jimmy helped me over.”

Jimmy went forward, and disappeared through the scuttle into the forecastle, and some little while later Valentine came down and looked at him with a dry smile.

”I don't yet understand how Miss Merril got across that creek,” he said.

”I fancied she told you;” and Jimmy felt his face grow warm.

Valentine laughed. ”Perhaps she did, but it seems to me that she wasn't remarkably explicit.”

Jimmy said nothing, and presently climbed into his berth, where he lay for a while trying to recall every incident of the journey he and Anthea Merril had made through the shadowy bush, until it occurred to him that he was only preparing trouble for himself by doing so, and he went to sleep.

It was raining when he awoke, and it rained for most of three days as hard as it often does on that coast, until the crystal depths of the Inlet grew turbid, and it flowed seaward between its dripping walls of mountains like a river. At last one afternoon the clouds were rolled away, and when fierce, glaring suns.h.i.+ne beat down Austerly decided that he would go ash.o.r.e to fish. The men went with him, Valentine to pull the dory into the swollen river, Jimmy and Louis in the Siwash canoe to gather bark for fuel. When they approached the beach where they usually landed, Jimmy glanced thoughtfully at the great torn-up pines that went sliding by.

”If one of those logs drove across her it might start a plank,” he said.

”Besides, there's every sign of a vicious breeze, and I think I'll go off by and by and swing her in behind the next point. She would lie snugger there out of the stream.”

Valentine looked up at the hard blue sky across which ragged cloud-wisps were driving, and nodded. ”It generally does blow quite fresh after rain like what we have had,” he said. ”You could break the anchor out yourself. I want Louis to get a good load of bark.”

Jimmy went ash.o.r.e with Louis, who carried a big axe, but by and by he left the latter busy, and wandered back to the beach. He did not like the angry glare of sunlight and the way the wind fell in whirling gusts down the steep hillside. As it happened, another big log drove by while he stood among the boulders, and remembering that the two girls were alone in the yacht, he launched the canoe, and sat still, just dipping the paddle, while the stream swept him down to the _Sorata_. When he boarded her she was swinging uneasily in a swirl of muddy current, and Anthea, who sat in the c.o.c.kpit, appeared pleased to see him.

”One would almost fancy it was going to blow very hard,” she said.

Jimmy laughed. ”I believe it is; but we should be snug against anything in the little cove yonder with a rope or two ash.o.r.e. I wonder whether you could sheer her for me while I break out the anchor?”

The girl went to the tiller, and while Jimmy, standing forward, plied the little winch, the cable slowly rattled in. Then he broke out the anchor, and the boat slid astern until a cove, where dark fir branches stretched out over the still, deep water, opened up. Dropping the anchor, he turned to the girl.

”Starboard!” he said.

Anthea shoved over her tiller; but the _Sorata_ did not swing into the cove as Jimmy had expected her to do, for a blast that set the pines roaring fell from the hillside and drove her out from the sh.o.r.e. Jimmy let more chain run, and stood still looking about him, when he felt the anchor grip. The sunlight had faded, obscured by ragged clouds, the tall pines swayed above him, and the _Sorata_ had swung well out athwart the stream.

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