Part 33 (1/2)

Bissonnette paused on an out-pull, and threw back his head with a soundless laugh, then played the concertina into contortions.

”That Lafarge! H'm! He is very polite; but pshaw, it is no use that, in whisky-running! To beat a great man, a man must be great. Tarboe Noir can lead M'sieu' Lafarge all like that!”

It seemed as if he were pulling the nose of the concertina. Tarboe began tracing a kind of maze with his fingers on the deck, his eyes rolling outward like an endless puzzle. But presently he turned sharp on Joan.

”How many times have you met him?” he asked. ”Oh, six or seven--eight or nine, perhaps.”

Her father stared. ”Eight or nine? By the holy! Is it like that? Where have you seen him?”

”Twice at our home, as you know; two or three times at dances at the Belle Chatelaine, and the rest when we were at Quebec in May. He is amusing, M'sieu' Lafarge.”

”Yes, two of a kind,” remarked Tarboe drily; and then he told his schemes to Joan, letting Bissonnette hang up the ”The Demoiselle with the Scarlet Hose,” and begin ”The Coming of the Gay Cavalier.” She entered into his plans with spirit, and together they speculated what bay it might be, of the many on the coast of Labrador.

They spent two days longer waiting, and then at dawn a merchantman came sauntering up to anchor. She signalled to the Ninety-Nine. In five minutes Tarboe was climbing up the side of the Free-and-Easy, and presently was in Gobal's cabin, with a gla.s.s of wine in his hand.

”What kept you, Gobal?” he asked. ”You're ten days late, at least.”

”Storm and sickness--broken mainmast and smallpox.” Gobal was not cheerful.

Tarboe caught at something. ”You've got our man?” Gobal drank off his wine slowly. ”Yes,” he said. ”Well?--Why don't you fetch him?”

”You can see him below.”

”The man has legs, let him walk here. h.e.l.lo, my Gobal, what's the matter? If he's here bring him up. We've no time to lose.”

”Tarboe, the fool got smallpox, and died three hours ago--the tenth man since we started. We're going to give him to the fishes. They're putting him in his linen now.”

Tarboe's face hardened. Disaster did not dismay him, it either made him ugly or humourous, and one phase was as dangerous as the other.

”D'ye mean to say,” he groaned, ”that the game is up? Is it all finished? Sweat o' my soul, my skin crawls like hot gla.s.s! Is it the end, eh? The beast, to die!”

Gobal's eyes glistened. He had sent up the mercury, he would now bring it down.

”Not such a beast as you think. Alive pirate, a convict, as comrade in adventure, is not sugar in the teeth. This one was no better than the worst. Well, he died. That was awkward. But he gave me the chart of the bay before he died--and that was d.a.m.n square.”

Tarboe held out his hand eagerly, the big fingers bending claw-like.

”Give it me, Gobal,” he said.

”Wait. There's no hurry. Come along, there's the bell: they're going to drop him.”

He coolly motioned, and pa.s.sed out from the cabin to the s.h.i.+p's side.

Tarboe kept his tongue from blasphemy, and his hand from the captain's shoulder, for he knew only too well that Gobal held the game in his hands. They leaned over and saw two sailors with something on a plank.

”We therefore commit his body to the deep, in the knowledge of the Judgment Day--let her go!” grunted Gobal; and a long straight canvas bundle shot with a swis.h.i.+ng sound beneath the water. ”It was rough on him too,” he continued. ”He waited twenty years to have his chance again. d.a.m.n me, if I didn't feel as if I'd hit him in the eye, somehow, when he begged me to keep him alive long enough to have a look at the rhino. But it wasn't no use. He had to go, and I told him so.

”Then he did the fine thing: he give me the chart. But he made me swear on a book of the Ma.s.s that if we got the gold we'd send one-half his share to a woman in Paris, and the rest to his brother, a priest at Nancy. I'll keep my word--but yes! Eh, Tarboe?”

”You can keep your word for me! What, you think, Gobal, there is no honour in Black Tarboe, and you've known me ten years! Haven't I always kept my word like a clock?”

Gobal stretched out his hand. ”Like the sun-sure. That's enough. We'll stand by my oath. You shall see the chart.”

Going again inside the cabin, Gobal took out a map grimed with ceaseless fingering, and showed it to Tarboe, putting his finger on the spot where the treasure lay.