Part 47 (1/2)

”I wasn't expecting to hear from him,” Vane replied tersely.

Carroll read keen disappointment in his face, and was not surprised, although the absence of any message meant that it was safe for them to go on with their project and that should have afforded his companion satisfaction. The latter sat on deck, gazing somewhat moodily across the ruffled water toward the snow-clad heights of the mainland range. They towered, dimly white and majestic, above a scarcely-trodden wilderness, and Carroll, at least, was not pleasantly impressed by the spectacle.

Though not to be expected always, the cold snaps are now and then severe in those wilds. Indeed, at odd times a frost almost as rigorous as that of Alaska lays its icy grip upon the mountains and the usually damp forests at their feet.

”I wish I could have got a man to go with us, but between the coal development and the logging, everybody's busy,” he remarked.

”It doesn't matter,” Vane a.s.sured him. ”If we took a man along and came back unsuccessful, there'd be a risk of his giving the thing away.

Besides, he might make trouble in other respects. A hired packer would probably kick against what you and I may have to put up with.”

Carroll was far from pleased with this hint, but he let it pa.s.s.

”Do you mean that if you don't find the spruce this time, you'll go back again?”

”Yes, that's my intention. And now we may as well get the mainsail on her.”

They got off shortly afterward and stood out to northward with the wind still ahead of them. It was a lowering day, and a short, tumbling sea was running. When late in the afternoon Carroll fixed their position by the bearing of a peak on the island, he pointed out the small progress they had made. The sloop was then plunging close-hauled through the vicious slate-green combers, and thin showers of spray flew all over her.

”The luck's been dead against us ever since we began this search,” he commented.

”Do you believe in that kind of foolishness?” Vane inquired.

Carroll, sitting on the coaming, considered the question. It was not one of much importance, but the dingy sky and the dreary waste of sad-colored water had a depressing effect on him, and as it was a solace to talk, one topic would serve as well as another.

”I think I believe in a rhythmical recurrence of the contrary chance,” he answered. ”I mean that the uncertain and adverse possibility often turns up in succession for a time.”

”Then you couldn't call it uncertain.”

”You can't tell exactly when the break will come,” Carroll explained.

”But if I were a gambler or had other big risks, I think I'd allow for dangers in triplets.”

”Yes,” Vane responded; ”you could cite the three extra big head seas, and I've noticed that when one burned tree comes down in a brulee, it's quite often followed by two more, though there may be a number just ready to fall.”

He mused for a few moments, with the spray whistling about him. He had three things at stake: Evelyn's favor; his interest in the Clermont Mine; and the timber he expected to find. Two of them were undoubtedly threatened, and he wondered gloomily if he might be bereft of all. Then he drove the forebodings out of his mind.

”In the present case, anyway, our course is pretty simple,” he declared with a laugh. ”We have only to hold out and go on until the luck changes.”

Carroll knew that Vane was capable of doing as he had suggested and he was not encouraged by the prospect; but he went below to trim and bring up the lights, and soon afterward retired to get what rest he could. The locker cus.h.i.+ons on which he lay felt unpleasantly damp; his blankets, which were not much drier, smelt moldy; and there was a dismal splash and gurgle of water among the timbers of the plunging craft. Now and then a jet of it shot up between the joints of the flooring or spouted through the opening made for the lifting-gear in the centerboard trunk.

When he had several times failed to plug the opening with a rag, Carroll gave it up and shortly afterward fell into fitful slumber.

He was awakened, s.h.i.+vering, by hearing Vane calling him, and scrambling out into the well, he took the helm as his comrade left it.

”What's her course?” he inquired.

”If you can keep her hammering ahead close-hauled on the port tack, it's all I ask,” Vane laughed. ”You needn't call me unless the sea gets steeper.”

He crawled below; and it was a few minutes before Carroll, who was dazzled by the change from the dim lamplight, felt himself fit for his task. Fine spray whirled about him. It was pitch dark, but by degrees he made out the shadowy seas which came charging up, tipped with frothing white, upon the weather bow. By the way they broke on board it struck him that they were steep enough already, but Vane had seen them not long ago and there was nothing to be gained by expostulation if they caused him no anxiety. Several hours went by, and then Carroll noticed that the faint crimson blink which sometimes fell upon the seas to weather was no longer visible. It was evident that the port light had either gone out or been washed out, and it was his manifest duty to relight it. On the other hand, he could not do so unless Vane took the helm. He was wet and chilled through; any fresh effort was distasteful; he did not want to move; and he decided that they were most unlikely to meet a steamer, while it was certain that there would be no other yacht about. He left the lamp alone, and at length Vane came up.

”What's become of the port light?” he demanded.

”That's more than I can tell you. It was burning an hour ago.”