"Take him home."

"Good idea," grunted Rutley. "It becomes you decidedly well, Jack, after being a villain, to play the good Samaritan. Well, take this handkerchief and bind his wound," and he raised Sam's head while Jack bound up the wound.

"It will make old Harris feel under an obligation to me."

"And you can touch him for the loan of ten thousand, to square accounts," added Jack. And again Rutley laughed.

"Come, let's pack him on to the machine."

CHAPTER VII.

Shortly after the insult forced upon him by John Thorpe at the Harris reception, and finding it impossible to enjoy the spirit of the gay throng, Mr. Corway took his departure.

Disappointed in his endeavor to communicate with Hazel, who deemed it discreet to avoid his presence until after the affair had been cleared up--and actuated by the purest motives, he could not but feel that he was the mistaken victim of some foul play with which fate had strangely connected him.

He recalled the profound respect he had always entertained for and on every occasion he had shown Mrs. Thorpe. And as his thoughts of the affair deepened, his natural fire of resentment softened and died out as effectually as though he had been summoned to stand beside the deathbed of some very dear friend. And the more he thought of it, the more disagreeable and repugnant a quarrel with John Thorpe appeared to him; yet his honor as a gentleman grossly insulted, forbade any other way out of it.

Finally he decided to consult Mr. Harris on the best course to pursue, and for that purpose determined to visit Rosemont the next day.

It was well on in the afternoon that he left his hotel for the Jefferson street depot, and while walking along First street he noticed a closed "hack," drawn by a pair of black horses, rapidly proceeding in the same direction.

As it pa.s.sed him, he felt sure that he had caught a glimpse of Lord Beauchamp's profile, through the small, glazed lookout at the back of the vehicle.

It was late when Corway returned from Rosemont, and strangely coincident, as he stepped down off the car he saw that same "hack"

move off, and that same face inside, made plain by a chance gleam of light from a street lamp, that quivered athwart the cas.e.m.e.nt of the door. But except for a thought of "devilish queer, unless 'me lord'

was expecting some one," he attached no further importance to it, and dismissed it from his mind.

He proceeded up Jefferson street with head bent low, engrossed in deep meditation, for Mr. Harris was unable to give him any concrete advice on the matter, and he was recalling to memory every conceivable act he had committed, or words he had uttered that could have been possibly misconstrued by Mr. Thorpe to urge the latter to a frenzy and so violent an outburst, when he was abruptly halted by a peremptory order: "Hands up!"

Simultaneously two masked men stepped out from the shadow of a gloomy recess of a building between Second and Third streets, and one of them poked the muzzle of an ugly-looking revolver in his face.

At that moment Mr. Corway had his hands thrust deep in his light overcoat pockets, and the suddenness of the demand made at a time when his mind was in a perturbed, chaotic state, evidently was not clearly comprehended. At any rate, he failed to comply instantly, with the result that he received a heavy blow on the back of his head with some blunt instrument, which felled him like a log. His unquestioned personal courage, and his reputation of being a dead shot at twenty paces availed him nothing. He was not permitted time, short as was needed, to wrest his mind from its pre-occupied business to grasp a mode of defense, before he was struck down. He thought he had met with, what many others before him have met on the streets of Portland after dark, a "holdup."

When he recovered consciousness the smell of tar and whiskey was strong about him. To his dazed senses, for his brain had not completely cleared of a stunned sensation in his head, this smell was incomprehensible, and suddenly becoming startled, he cried out, half aloud: "For the love of G.o.d, where am I?" And then a recollection of the apparent "holdup" dawned on his mind.

He lay still for a moment trying to trace his actions following the blow he had received, but in vain; all was a blank. It was very dark where he was lying, and he fancied he heard the swish of waters. He put out his right hand and felt the wooden side of a berth. He put out his left hand and felt a wooden wall. Then he tried to sit up, but the pain in his head soon compelled him to desist.

He lay quiet again and distinctly heard a sound of straining, creaking timbers. He at once concluded he was on a ship. "Why! Wherefore! Good G.o.d, have I been shanghaied?" were the thoughts that leaped to his mind, and notwithstanding the pain in his head, he attempted to sit up, but his head b.u.mped violently against some boards just above him, and he fell back again, stunned. He had struck the wooden part of the upper berth. He, however, soon recovered and commenced to think lucidly again. He knew how prevalent the practice of forcibly taking men to fill an ocean ship's crew had become in Portland and other Coast cities by seamen's boarding house hirelings, and he felt satisfied that he was one of their victims.

He put his hand in his pocket for a match; there was none; and his clothes felt damp, then a fresh whiskey odor entered his nostrils.

"Have I been intoxicated?" The question startled him, but he could not remember taking any liquor. "No; I am sure of that, but why this odor; perhaps this berth has been occupied by some 'drunk'."

A feeling of disgust urged him to get out of it at once, and he threw his leg over the side of the berth and stood upright.

The pain in the back of his head throbbed so fiercely that he clapped his hand over it, which afforded only temporary relief. He then thought of his handkerchief, which he found in his pocket, and though smelling of whiskey, he bound it about his head.

Being now in full possession of his faculties, and feeling strong on his legs, he determined to investigate his quarters. "Oh, for a light!"

Again he felt in his pockets for a match and found none, but he discovered that his watch was gone, and a further search revealed that every cent of his money was gone.

At this time, in addition to occasional indistinct sounds of the swish of waters against the bow, he heard some tramping about overhead, as by barefooted men, acting seemingly under orders from a hoa.r.s.e voice farther away.

His first impulse was to shout to apprise them of his presence, but on second thought decided to remain silent for a time, or until he could determine their character.

So he proceeded to grope around, first extending his foot in different directions, and then his hands. He found three berths, one above the other, and then, fearful of b.u.mping his head against some projecting beam or other obstacle, put out his left hand as a feeler before him, and slowly worked along by the side of the berths.

Soon his foot struck something hard, unlike wood, for it appeared to give a little, and putting down his hand, felt it to be a coil of rope. It was in an open s.p.a.ce at the end of the berths. A little further his foot struck some wood, and feeling about with his hand, found it was a part.i.tion wall. On rounding the part.i.tion a very thin ray of light issued from a crevice in front, and then he discovered steps.

He crawled up to a door, opened it, and peered out on a pile of lumber. Above it masts towered up into the darkness, with sails hoisted, but unset and flapping lazily to and fro in the wake of the breeze.

It was near the dawn, light clouds almost transparent and partly obscuring the moon, drifted along in the sky, while here and there, through openings of deepest blue, glittered countless stars.

The air was fresh, too, a little raw and chill, but good to inhale after the dead rank odor from which he had just escaped.

An open s.p.a.ce in the lumber pile just in front of the forecastle door, and left to facilitate ingress and egress, gave him room to stretch.

The light that glimmered faintly through a c.h.i.n.k in the door was from a lantern that hung on the fore mast, a few feet above the deck-load of lumber.

By the aid of this light he looked over and along the surface of the lumber aft to where some men were dimly silhouetted against the aft sail, then swinging abeam, by a lantern on the p.o.o.p.

Without hesitation he mounted the lumber and was immediately accosted by a gruff voice from behind: "Where away now shipmate?"

"That's something I should like to know," replied Corway, turning around and facing the questioner.

Then he saw that the ship was being towed down the Columbia River, of which he was certain by its width, by a steamer, and the man who had addressed him was leaning on the boom that swung over the forecastle.

"You'll know soon enough when your 'watch' comes," said the man with a grunt that may have been meant for a laugh.

"I say, friend," went on Corway, pleadingly, "I am not a sailor, and as there must be some mistake about me being on this ship, may I ask what means were used to get me aboard?"

"Well, that's a rummie," said the fellow, leering at Corway, and after a moment of seeming reflection, he continued: "Well, I reckon it's not a mate's place to give out information, but bein' you've a sore top an' wearin' city clothes, I will say this much: you had stowed away such a bally lot of booze that you come to the ship like a gentleman, sir. Yes, sir. And nothing short of a hack with a pair of blacks to draw it, would do for you, sir."

"In a hack, you say!" exclaimed Corway, alertly.

"Yes, sir; in a hack, just as we cast off from the sawmill wharf at Portland."

"Strange! The hack I saw yesterday afternoon, and again at the depot last night, was drawn by black horses," muttered Corway to himself, and after a moment of deep reflection, went on: "Looks like a conspiracy to get me out of the way. I say, my good fellow, do you remember the time I was brought on board and how many were in the party?"

"That's none o' my business," replied the mate, turning away.

"Oh, come now," said Corway, pleadingly, for he believed this man could tell more about the affair than he cared to.