Billy Topsail & Company - Norman Duncan (best love novels of all time TXT) 📗

and he was silent for a long time.

"'This man,' said the girl, touching McLeod on the shoulder, 'has dealt fairly by you. He has kept his faith with you. He said that he would provide you with food through the hard seasons. Has he not done so?'

"'He has kept faith with us,' said the chief. 'Therefore he is a good man.'

"'He is a good man because he has kept faith with you,' the girl said, eagerly. 'Would you, then, have him break faith with some other? He has said to the white man, "I will not give you up." Would you have him break the word he has passed? For if he breaks it once, will he not break it again? If he should yield up the white man, what security would you have that he would provide for you through the next hard season?'

"'He keeps his word,' said Buffalo Horn. 'He is a good man.'

"He made a sign to Red Feather to release McLeod. Then he gathered his braves about him, and stalking solemnly at their head, led them out of the shop, over the courtyard and through the gate. We were left alone.

"'Leave the gate open, Tobias,' said McLeod. 'Come, boy,' to me, 'let us get to work on the quarterly statement again. This interruption came at an awkward time. We'll have to make up for it.'"

That was the end of David's story.


CHAPTER XIV


_In Which Jimmie Grimm and Master Bagg Are Overtaken by
the Black Fog in the Open Sea and Lose the Way Home While
a Gale is Brewing_


Jimmie Grimm and Bagg, returning from Birds' Nest Islands, were caught by the black fog in the open sea. It had been lowering all day. Dull clouds had hung in the sky since early morning and had kept the waters of the sea sombre. There was no wind--not the faintest breath or sigh. The harbour water was still; and the open--beyond the tickle rocks--was without a ripple or hint of ground swell. A thick, gray mist crept out from the hills, late in the afternoon, and presently obscured the shore. Jimmie and Bagg were then off Mad Mull. Two miles of flat sea and windless space lay between the punt and the harbour.

"Goin' t' be thick as mud," Jimmie grumbled.

"Wisht we was more inshore," said Bagg, anxiously.

At dusk the fog was so thick that every landmark had been blotted from sight.

"Is _you_ able t' see Mad Mull?" Jimmie demanded.

"I is _not_," said Bagg.

Mad Mull was lost in the fog. It was the last landmark. The tickle rocks, through which a passage leads to the harbour, had long ago vanished.

"Wisht we was home," said Bagg.

"Don't you go an' get scared, Bagg," Jimmie laughed. "Never you fear. _I'll_ take _you_ home."

It was hot, dark and damp--a breathless evening. There was a menace in the still air and heat. A roll of thunder sounded from the northeast.

"I 'low 'twill blow afore long," said Jimmie.

"'Urry up," said Bagg.

Jimmie put a little more strength into the rowing. The punt moved faster, but not fast enough to please Bagg, who was terrified by the fog, the thunder and the still, black water.

"Never you fear," Jimmie grumbled; "you'll get home afore the wind comes."

Bagg wasn't so sure of that.

"An' it _will_ come," Jimmie reflected. "I can fair feel it on the way."

Jimmie pulled doggedly. Occasionally a rumble of thunder came out of the northeast to enliven his strokes. There was no wind, however, as yet, except, perhaps, an adverse stirring of the air--the first hint of a gale. On and on crept the punt. There was no lessening of the heat. Jimmie and Bagg fairly gasped. They fancied it had never been so hot before. But Jimmie did not weaken at the oars; he was stout-hearted and used to labour, and the punt did not lag. On they went through the mist without a mark to guide them. Roundabout was a wall of darkening fog. It hid the whole world.

"Must be gettin' close inshore," said Jimmie, at last, while he rested on his oars, quite bewildered.

"What you stoppin' for?" Bagg demanded.

"Seems t' me," said Jimmie, scratching his head in a puzzled way, "that we ought t' be in the tickle by this time."

It was evident, however, that they were not in the tickle.[4] There was no sign of the rocks on either hand. Jimmie gazed about him in every direction for a moment. He saw nothing except a circle of black water about the boat. Beyond was the black wall of fog.

"Wonderful queer," thought he, as he dipped his oars in the water again; "but I 'low we ought t' be in the harbour."

There was a louder clap of thunder.

"We'll have that wind afore long," mused Jimmie.

"You 'aven't gone an' lost your way, 'ave you?" Bagg inquired in a frightened voice.

"Wonderful queer," Jimmie replied. "We _ought_ t' be in the harbour by this time. I 'low maybe I been pullin' too far t' the nor'east."

"No, you 'aven't," said Bagg; "you been pullin' too far t' the sou'east."

"I 'low not," mused Jimmie.

"'Ave, too," Bagg sniffed.

Jimmie was not quite sure, after all. He wavered. Something seemed to be wrong. It didn't _feel_ right. Some homing instinct told him that the tickle rocks did not lie in the direction in which the bow of the punt pointed. In fact, the whole thing was queer--very queer! But he had not pulled too far to the southeast; he was sure of that. Perhaps, too far to the northeast. He determined to change his course.

"Now, Bagg," said he, confidently, "I'll take you into harbour."

A clap of thunder--sounding near at hand--urged the boy on.

"Wisht you would," Bagg whimpered.

Jimmie turned the boat's head. He wondered if he had turned far enough. Then he fancied he had turned too far. Why, of course, thought he, he had turned too far! He swerved again towards the original direction. This, however, did not feel just right. Again he changed the course of the boat. He wondered if the harbour lay ahead. Or was it the open sea? Was he pulling straight out from shore? Would the big wind catch the little punt out of harbour?

"How's she headin' now?" he asked Bagg.

"You turned too far," said Bagg.

"Not far enough," said Jimmie.

Jimmie rowed doggedly on the course of his choosing for half an hour or more without developing anything to give him a clue to their whereabouts. Night added to the obscurity. They might have been on a shoreless waste of water for all that they were able to see. The mist made the night impenetrable. Jimmie could but dimly distinguish Bagg's form, although he sat not more than five feet from him; soon he could not see him at all. At last he lifted his oars and looked over the bow.

"I don't know where we is," he said.

"No more do I," Bagg sobbed.

"I 'low we're lost," Jimmie admitted.

Just then the first gust of wind rippled the water around the boat and went whistling into the mist.

-----


[4] A "tickle" is a narrow passage of water between two
islands. It is also (as here used) a narrow passage leading into
harbour.



CHAPTER XV


_In Which it Appears to Jimmie Grimm and Master Bagg That
Sixty Seconds Sometimes Make More Than a Minute_


Ruddy Cove is deep--vastly deep--except in one part. That is in Burnt Cove within the harbour. There at low tide it is shallow. Rocks protrude from the water--dripping and covered with a slimy seaweed. And Burnt Cove lies near the tickle to the sea. You pass between the tickle rocks, bear sharply to the right and are presently in the cove. It is a big expanse, snugly sheltered; and it shallows so slowly that there are many acres of quiet water in which the little fellows of Ruddy Cove learn to swim.

Ezekiel Rideout's cottage was by Burnt Cove; and Bagg wished most heartily that he were there.

* * * * *


But Bagg was at sea. And the punt was a small one. It was not Jimmie Grimm's fishing punt; it was a shallow little rodney, which Jimmie's father used for going about in when the ice and seals were off the coast. It was so small and light that it could be carried over the pans of ice from one lane of open water to another. And being small and light it was cranky. It was no rough weather boat; nor was it a boat to move very much about in, as both boys were quite well aware.

Bagg heard Jimmie's oars rattle in the row-locks and the blades strike the water. The boat moved forward. Jimmie began to row with all his strength--almost angrily. It was plain that he was losing his temper. And not only did he lose his temper; he had grown tired before he regained it.

"Here, Bagg," said he; "you have a go at it."

"I'll 'ave a try," Bagg agreed.

Jimmie let the oars swing to the side and Bagg made ready to steady the little boat. Bagg heard him rise. The boat rocked a little.

"Steady!" Bagg gasped.

"Steady, yourself!" Jimmie retorted. "Think I don't know how t' get around in a rodney?"

It was now so dark, what with night and fog, that Bagg could not see Jimmie. But presently he understood that Jimmie was on his feet waiting for him to rise in his turn. They were to exchange places. Bagg got to his feet, and, with all the caution he could command, advanced a step, stretching out his hands as he did so. But Bagg had not been born on the coast and was not yet master of himself in a boat. He swayed to the left--fairly lurched.

"Have a care!" Jimmie scolded.

Have you never, in deep darkness, suddenly felt a loss of power to keep your equilibrium? You open your eyes to their widest. Nothing is to be seen. You have no longer a sense of perpendicularity. You sway this way and that, groping for something to keep you from falling. And that is just what happened to Bagg. He was at best shaky on his legs in a boat; and now, in darkness and fear, his whole mind was fixed on finding something to grasp with his hands.

"Is you ready?" asked Jimmie.

"Uh-huh!" Bagg gasped.

"Come on," said Jimmie; "but mind what you're about."

Bagg made a step forward. Again the boat rocked; again the darkness confused him, and he had to stop to regain his balance. In the pause it struck him with unpleasant force that he could not swim. He was sure, moreover, that the boat would sink if she filled. He wished he had not thought of that. A third half-crawling advance brought him within reach of Jimmie. He caught Jimmie's outstretched hand