He sent off a man to the camels and then touched Macallister.

"If you will stop with me, you shall take care of my guns and you may get rich," he said, and turned to Kit. "If you can bring me the goods I want, I will trade with you." Then he indicated the interpreter. "If this fellow comes back, we will shoot him."

He got up, signed that the audience was over, and went into his tent.

Simon's eyes twinkled.

"Perhaps he thinks I know too much, and I know something. All the same, I will not come back. In Morocco one runs risks and I have not got paid.

At Cairo the tourists are curious about the East and some are generous.

They know Simon at the big hotel. I will return."

Kit went off to the shade of the ruined hut. Perhaps it was strange, but he trusted the haughty Berber and he had not altogether trusted Simon.

On the whole, he thought the fellow's plan was good. If the tourists at Cairo were like some at Las Palmas, Simon would be a useful guide about the town at night. Kit, himself, would sooner be a robber like the dark-skinned chief. Then Macallister sat down opposite and began to clean his pipe.

"If I kent where to steal a handy bit steamboat, yon headman and me would make a bonnie pair o' pirates, but I've no' much use for camels,"

he remarked. "Weel. I alloo ye took a very proper line wi' him."

"I didn't see the line I ought to take. I was frank."

Macallister's eyes twinkled. "Just that! I'm no saying ye were plausible, but the headman's no' a fool; he saw ye were a simple weel-meaning body. Onyway, it's done with. We'll get off when Miguel comes."

Three days afterwards Miguel and Juan arrived, riding in a frame hung across a camel. The quartermaster got down awkwardly and stretched his arms and legs.

"But I am sore! It is like beating to windward in a plunging boat," he said and went up to Kit. "We were anxious, senor, the Moors are bad. But I did not bother very much. I knew you would come back for us, and my saint would guard you."

The blood came to Kit's skin. He said nothing, but gave Miguel his hand.

CHAPTER V

THE RETURN TO THE BEACH

It was getting cooler, and long shadows marked the curves of the wady.

On the other side, oblique sunbeams touched the bank. The wind had dropped, and as the dew began to fall the hot soil smelt like a brick-kiln. In the distance the surf throbbed, and Kit thought its measured beat soothing. He had had enough of the parched wilderness.

He was languid, for he had borne some strain, and when Miguel and the mate arrived a reaction had begun. The Berbers gave the party a little food and water before they broke camp and vanished in the desert, and Kit started for the coast. Travelling as fast as possible, he had used his short supplies with stern economy, and now, when he thought the sh.o.r.e was three or four miles off, he was hungry and tired.

To some extent, dejection accounted for his fatigue. He had got the men for whom he went, but the thrill he felt at first was gone. Wolf had run away, his wages were not paid, and since he had left his ship without leave, he expected Don Ramon would dismiss him when he got back.

Moreover, he had perhaps involved the company in trouble with Captain Revillon and the Spanish officers. In fact, it looked as if he were ruined and disgraced.

He was not going to think about Olivia. She had refused him, but he had really known she would refuse. It was done with; he would be sent back to Liverpool and would not see her again. There was one comfort; Betty would stop. She was getting well and making progress; Jefferson trusted her, and her pay was good. At Liverpool he would not see Betty, but, like Olivia, she did not want him. In fact, n.o.body had much use for him.

He had been easily cheated and had muddled all he undertook. Still, he had got Betty a good post and this was much.

After a time he imagined he ought to see the bay from the top of the bank, and telling Macallister where he was going, he went up the slope.

The climb was laborious, and at the top he stopped for breath and shaded his eyes from the level rays. The sun was near the Atlantic and in its track the water was red; the broken ground about him shone like copper.

Outside the crimson reflections, the sea was wrinkled and marked by thin white lines where the long rollers broke. The strong light hurt his dazzled eyes, and with a vague sense of disturbance he turned his head.

When he looked again he could see the end of the point and the anchorage, but _Cayman_ was gone.

Kit felt slack and sat down in the sand. He could not see all the bay, but a vessel could only anchor at one spot and _Cayman_ was not there.

Kit had got a very bad jolt. The food and water would hardly last for another day, the coast was an arid desert, and he did not think he could reach the camp the Berbers had left. He did not know if he hoped _Cayman_ had been blown ash.o.r.e, but if she were wrecked, the crew might have saved some stores. A mile or two farther on one ought to see the beach from the top of ground that now broke his view, and he was anxious to get there, but went down slowly. He must be cool and not alarm the others yet.

At the bottom he joined Macallister, who had waited and gave him a keen glance.

"Weel?" said the engineer.

"_Cayman_'s not riding in the pool," Kit replied.

Macallister was quiet for a moment or two. Then he said. "We have half a gallon o' smelling water, and there are eight o' us! As a rule, I ha'

no' much use for water, but I mind when we broke the condensing plant on a coolie pilgrim boat. Ye could not fill your tanks at every coaling station then. I got some water from the hot well; tasting o' copper and grease. We fed the boilers from the sea and drove her, with funnel flaming and tubes caked wi' salt. Iron burns, ye ken, unless it's clean, and I thought the softening furnaces would blow down. She was crowded fore an' aft wi' sweating, gasping coolies, and we let her gang. When we made port I swallowed maist a gallon o' lemonade, claret and ice. Man, I hear the ice tinkling against the pail!"

"To talk about it makes one thirsty and we mustn't be thirsty yet," Kit remarked, frowning. "Say nothing to the others. We'll push on for the ridge."

To push on was some relief from suspense. The rest of the party had not stopped and there was n.o.body but Macallister to note Kit's keen impatience. He wanted to reach the high ground that commanded the beach, because it was possible _Cayman_ had broken her cable and driven ash.o.r.e.

Kit felt he must know, and the shadows got longer fast. Perhaps it would be dark before he got to the ridge. His burned skin was wet by sweat, and his breath was short, but he stubbornly laboured on.

At length he climbed a sloping bank, and from a high spot searched the bay. The sun had gone, and the red on the sky and water was fading, but behind the point _Cayman_'s mast cut the glow. Kit's heart beat. The ketch was not at her anchorage, but she was not on the beach. He shaded his eyes and looked again.

The mast was slightly inclined; in the glimmering reflections he could hardly distinguish the boat's hull. The tide was ebbing and he thought her keel touched bottom, but there was some water under her bilge.

Although the risk of hunger and thirst was gone, Kit was disturbed. When he studied the water-line on the beach, it looked as if _Cayman_ would presently fall over on her side. On a flat, open coast, the tides do not rise much, but there was a difference of some feet in the level, and at low ebb the boat would be nearly dry.

Kit wondered whether she was damaged, because one of two things had happened. When it blew fresh _Cayman_ had broken her cable and driven ash.o.r.e; or the captain had slipped the anchor and tried to get to sea.

That he had not done so was plain, but since she had not broken up, Kit imagined she lay in a hollow, sheltered to some extent by higher sands outside. To get to sea she must wait for the big tides at the new moon, and then perhaps one must land all heavy gear and ballast and put the stuff on board again when she reached the anchorage. The job would be awkward and long.

Pulling himself together, Kit went down to the wady and told the others the ketch had grounded. The tired men saw all this implied and while the light faded made the best speed they could. When they reached the beach it was dark, but the captain had kept good watch and soon after they arrived a boat came sh.o.r.ewards on a smooth-topped roller. Running into the water, they pushed her off and Kit presently climbed on board the ketch. _Cayman_'s deck was sharply slanted; sometimes she lifted her lower side and one felt her bilge work in the sand. Some distance out to sea the rollers crashed upon the shoals, but the waves that broke about the ketch were small. Kit dined on salt fish, potatoes and sour red wine. In the morning he would talk to the captain; now he was very tired and must sleep.

He got up soon after daybreak and joined the captain on a plank hung over the side. A man with a mallet caulked an open seam and indicated three or four b.u.t.t joints that were freshly tarred. When Kit had looked about, the captain sat down on the plank and made a cigarette.

"It blew, senor, but it blew!" he said. "When the anchor dragged we hoisted jib and mizzen, but she would not beat out. Then while we hoisted the reefed mainsail she struck. A comber threw her up the sand; we lowered all sail and let her drive, until we knew by the smoother water she had crossed the shoal. Then two anchors brought her up."

Kit nodded. "What are you going to do about it?"

"When we have caulked some seams she will not leak much, and if it does not blow again, she will lie here until the tides get high. In the meantime, we will heave out the ballast and land it on the beach. Then perhaps at the new moon we can kedge her across to the pool."

"The job will be long," said Kit. "My men must rest to-day. In the morning we will get to work."

They began at sunrise next day, but the work was hard. _Cayman_ had been built for speed and when sail was set would not stand up without a large quant.i.ty of ballast. The ballast was iron kentledge, moulded to fit her frames, and when the floors were up the men, crouching in the dark, pulled the heavy blocks out of the bilge-water. Except for an hour or two at low tide _Cayman_ did not lie quiet; when the water lifted her she rolled. The blocks were sent up in a sling and lowered into the boat, which did not carry much and must be rowed for half a mile across angry waves. Near the beach an anchor was dropped, and when she swung head to sea her crew jumped over and carried the iron through the surf.

Sometimes they were forced to wait, and sometimes to haul off the boat.

All hands were needed, and after a day or two Kit's muscles ached and his bruised hands bled. When his limbs were cramped by crawling among the timbers in the hold, he went off in the boat, and clasping a fifty-six-pound lump of iron laboured up the hammered beach. Sometimes a roller, frothing round his waist, urged him on, and sometimes he stopped and braced himself against the backwash. The bottom was not firm; gravel and sand rolled up and down and buried his sinking feet. Moreover, he knew the iron he laboriously carried up must all be carried back.

When the ballast was out the captain hesitated. On the Moorish coast sheltered ports are not numerous, and for the most part _Cayman_ landed and shipped cargo from anchorages behind the sands and reefs. In consequence, her main anchor and cable were very large and heavy, but the captain thought the vessel must be further lightened in order to float across the shoals. Now the iron was landed, she rolled violently, and one hot afternoon, Kit, holding on by a runner, leaned against the bulwarks. Macallister and Miguel occupied the hatch coaming, the captain the grating by the tiller.

"If we do not land the anchor, she may strike when we kedge her across the sand," he said. "If she gets across and it blows hard we will need the big anchor and all the chain to hold her. We must run one of two risks."

"If she strikes on the high sand she will stop for good," Miguel remarked. "In two or three tides the surf would break her up."