"Another day. Just now I am ill," he said. "When one has an a.s.sa.s.sin for a pilot, to command a ship is not amusing. I bear much, but some time I take Enrique Maria Contallan y Clavijo by the neck and throw him in the sea. In the meantime, I have saved the ship and we will take a drink."

Kit refused politely and did not smile. He liked Don Erminio and the captain was not a fool. Kit had known him calm and steady when things were awkward, and sometimes his pluck was rash. All the same, he was unstable; one could not foresee the line he would take. The Spanish character frankly puzzled Kit. It was marked by sharp contrasts, and one could use no rules. Macallister and Jefferson were not like that. Their qualities, so to speak, were constant. When the strain was heavy one knew they would be cool.

_Mossamedes_ steered for the eastern islands, and in the morning the parched rocks of Lanzarote melted in the glitter on the horizon. Then she headed for Africa and at sunset Don Erminio stopped the ship and used the lead. He got soundings on the coast-shelf, and Kit, pa.s.sing the chart-room, imagined the mate and captain argued about the ship's position, but when _Mossamedes_ went on again the compa.s.s indicated that Don Erminio had hauled out to avoid shoals. When the moon rose one saw nothing but sparkling water, the swell was long and measured, and the leadsman, making another cast, got no bottom. It looked as if they had left the hummocks on the coast-shelf astern, and _Mossamedes_ went full-speed.

About midnight Kit lounged and smoked on a locker in the engine-room. He was not sleepy, and since _Mossamedes_ sailed, had thought much about Olivia. On the whole, his thoughts were disturbing. When he was with Olivia he forgot his poverty; all he saw was her charm. She was beautiful, she was clever and now and then he got a hint of tenderness that gave him a strange thrill. The thrill moved and braced him; while it lasted all looked possible. Somehow he would mend his fortune and make his mark. Austin, who had held Kit's post, had done so and married Olivia's sister.

Afterwards, when Olivia was not about, Kit knew himself to be a fool. To begin with, he had not Austin's talents and must be satisfied to keep his proper level. Then supposing he did get rich? After all, he was not Olivia's sort. Kit was staunch and stopped there; he would not admit that sometimes he vaguely doubted if Olivia were the girl for him.

Instincts he had inherited from sober and frugal ancestors were strong.

Yet for the most part he resisted unconsciously. When one is young and carried away by an attractive girl one is not logical.

Lighting a fresh cigarette, he looked about. _Mossamedes_ rolled and light and shadow played about the machinery. In front, the bright cranks flashed and faded in a shallow pit, the crossheads slammed between their guides and the connecting-rods, shining like silver, swung out of the gloom. Above, the big cylinders throbbed and shook with the impulse that drove the ship ahead. Men like shadows moved about with oilcans and tallow-swabs, but now and then a moving beam touched a face beaded by sweat. Macallister occupied the top of a tool box and smoked a black pipe.

Kit liked the engine-room. The steady beat of the machine was soothing.

One got a sense of order, measured effort and strength that matched the strain. Force was not wasted but sternly controlled. In the engine-room Macallister was another man, quiet, keen, concentrated, and Kit understood the Scots' satisfaction when all ran well. They sprang from a stock that counted rule and effort to be worth more than beauty.

There was a crash, and Kit jumped from the locker. _Mossamedes_ stopped and the shock threw him against a column. He seized the iron and held on, conscious that he trembled. The jar was terrifying because it was not expected. A sea broke about the vessel, she shook and water rolled across the deck. A greaser shouted and Kit saw Macallister on the grated platform above. He had not seen him go, but his hand was on the throttle-wheel. He did not look disturbed, and signed a man to the control of the reversing-gear. If the link were pulled across, the engines would go astern. The telegraph, however, was silent and Macallister did not turn the wheel.

The ship lifted, lurched forward, as if a sea had borne her up, and went on. Macallister waited for a few moments and then went up to the door with Kit. The door on the starboard side looked out towards Africa, but nothing broke the furrowed plain of glittering sea.

"I'm thinking she b.u.mped a bit hummock," Macallister remarked. "She got a jolt, but the old boat was built by men who dinna scamp their job.

Where ye see yon house's name, ye ken the work is good."

"All the same, you have started the bilge pump," said Kit, for a sharp throbbing pierced the beat of machinery.

"Pepe will let her rin a few minutes. Although I dinna expect she'll draw much water, ye keep the rules," Macallister replied and turned to Miguel, who came along the alleyway. "What do you think about it, friend? The third voyage has not begun well."

Macallister's Castilian was uncouth, but Miguel understood. "It is not good, Don Pedro! A bad coast and a treacherous people, but one is not disturbed. Some of the saints were fishermen, and mine is king of all.

But I go to try the after well."

He went off, but Kit had noted that the line he carried was neatly coiled and the sounding-rod was wet. He thought it typical that the old quartermaster had tried the forward well a few moments after the ship struck. Moreover his talk about his saint somehow was not extravagant.

One felt that Miguel knew and trusted his great patron.

"A most queer fellow," Macallister remarked. "A believer in wax images and pented boards."

"Pented boards?" said Kit.

"Just that," Macallister rejoined. "Ye'll no ken the Scottish cla.s.sics.

When the great reformer was a galley slave they gave him the image to worship. 'A pented brod, mair fit for swimming than praying til,' says he and threw't overboard. Weel, for Miguel, the images are not pented things, and I've met weel-grounded Scots I wouldna trust like him. He kens his job and his word goes. I alloo it's much."

Kit went on deck. The sea sparkled in the moon and long regular combers rolled up from the north. One could not see land and nothing indicated shoals ahead. _Mossamedes_ dipped her bows to the knight-heads and showers of spray leaped about the rail. Then her stern went down and the rising forecastle cut the sky. For a time Kit forgot Olivia and mused about the engineer and Miguel.

Macallister's mood was sometimes freakish and his humour rude, but behind this was a stern, honest efficiency. The quartermaster was a mystic, but when the big white combers chased the cargo launch one could trust him with the steering oar. After all to know one's job was much.

CHAPTER X

SMOKE ON THE HORIZON

An angry swell rolled along the coast, dust blew across the flat-roofed town, and _Mossamedes_, with two anchors out, rode uneasily. She had unloaded some cargo and Kit, going ash.o.r.e in the evening, speculated about the rest. He did not think he was superst.i.tious, but the voyage had not begun well, and he wanted to get it over. There was something strange about the business in which he was engaged, and he resolved he would talk to Wolf when he returned.

Moreover, he did not like the dirty Moorish town. When it got dark the narrow streets were forbidding, but Yusuf declared he could not transact the ship's business until he closed his shop. In the Canaries and Morocco, rich merchants keep a shop. One could buy a shipload of their goods or a few pesetas' worth.

Yusuf's little room was very hot. The dust had blown in, and the floor was gritty. Flies hovered about the copper lamp which burned an aromatic oil. The agent gave Kit coffee and a cigarette. The tobacco was bitter but soothing and Kit imagined it was mixed with an Eastern drug. At Yusuf's he generally felt dull; perhaps it was the smell of the lamp, leather and spices. They began to talk, and presently Kit remarked: "If you send your boats to-morrow, we will hoist out the last of the cargo.

Have you got much stuff for us?"

"I have got nothing," said Yusuf, smiling. "Your cargo is on board."

"All the goods we carry are consigned to the Greek merchant here and you."

"That is so, but I will endorse the bill of lading, and file a statement for the Customs officers that the cases of machinery will be landed at another port."

"Ah!" said Kit who began to see a light. "Then we are to carry the cases along the coast? I was puzzled about this lot of cargo; but we got it from a Spanish ship at Las Palmas. The cases were put on board in daylight when two of the port captain's men were on deck.

"The plan was good," Yusuf remarked. "When one does things openly n.o.body is curious."

"All the same, the Moorish officers know machinery is not used in the Sahara."

"It is not the officers' business. They are friends of mine, and in this country a present carries some weight."

Kit knew Wolf and his agent were clever, but began to think they were cleverer than he liked. He felt he was being used, and, so to speak, kept in the dark. He did not know the others' plans, in which he was involved, but if the plans did not work, he thought he ran some risk.

Yusuf was subtle, and Kit's instinctive antagonism hardened. For all that, he was Wolf's servant and must carry out his agent's orders.

"I will endorse the bill of lading," the other resumed. "You will land the boxes at the spot you got the camels, and the owner will take his goods. Perhaps he will keep the doc.u.ment for a talisman. Some of these people have a strange respect for all that is written on paper."

"Very well," said Kit, who got up.

Yusuf went with him to the door, and Kit starting along the street, heard the heavy bolts shoot back. To know the business was over was something of a relief. Although Yusuf was inscrutable at his house one got a sense of fear and secrecy. In Morocco a Jew trader was perhaps forced to use caution, but Kit thought he would sooner deal with the wild Berbers who ruled the open desert. Yet he owned he had no firm grounds for doubting Wolf's agent. When he got on board _Mossamedes_ he went to the chart-room and found Don Erminio playing cards with the mate. The captain had won two pesetas and was jubilant.

"Juan is clever and cautious. I am not clever, but I am bold," he said.

Kit noted the bottle on the table. When Don Erminio drank a few gla.s.ses of _cana_ he philosophised. Kit narrated his interview with Yusuf, and the captain looked thoughtful.

"It is plain the boxes hold guns," he said. "The Moors do not carry guns to shoot the rabbit, and if we land the boxes somebody will get killed.

However, it is not important. The Moors are numerous and all are bad."

"I was not thinking about the Moors," Kit rejoined. "The business is strange. The guns were on board a Spanish ship and if the Moors use them to steal camels, the camels will no doubt be stolen on soil that is claimed by France. There may be trouble afterwards. Our employer knows this."

Don Erminio picked up the cards. Spanish cards are not marked like English cards, but Kit thought the one the captain indicated stood for the ace of clubs.

"_Bastones!_" Don Erminio remarked and shuffled the pack. "I put it at the bottom. You see it is there? Now take three away and you will find it at the top. A trick, but clever. Senor Wolf plays a game like this."

Kit carried out his instructions and laughed. "Wolf is, no doubt, clever, but this is _not_ the card."

Don Erminio frowned and swept the pack on to the floor. The swing-table tilted, but Juan stretched out his hand and seized the bottle.