"I don't know if I'm much use and perhaps I'm not," Betty resumed.

"However, if a boat does not sail, I'm going back to Liverpool." She paused and added with a hint of strain: "I don't want to go."

"Thank you," said Jefferson. "Well, I allow we want you to stop. There's another thing. I understand my partner kind of promised a boat would go.

Sometimes he's rash, but I feel I've got to see him out."

For a moment Betty turned her head, but when she looked up again she was calm and businesslike.

"I am sorry I disturbed you," she said. "If you think I took a line your clerk ought not to take, I will give up my post. However, you are occupied with Mr. Austin, and we can talk about this again----"

She hesitated and the blood came to her skin. "I ought to have known you would not refuse; I really did know, but speed's important," she added, and went off.

"I reckon I ought not to have kept her in suspense," Jefferson remarked.

"Miss Jordan's modest, but she has grit, and grit like hers is fine.

Muriel is fond of her, and I think she is happy with us. At Liverpool her luck was pretty bad, but if she couldn't bluff me, she was going back. Well, if Kit Musgrave----"

He stopped and Austin, understanding his embarra.s.sment, smiled. Olivia was his relation, but he agreed that if Kit, for her sake, let Betty go, he was a fool. Austin thought he saw what Betty's staunchness cost. The girl was proud, but when she imagined Kit was in danger she conquered her pride. She knew Jefferson knew something about Kit's infatuation, and that her demand for help indicated that she loved him; but she did not count this important. Austin thought that after all Betty's sense of values was just.

For a few minutes he and Jefferson resumed their talk, and then started for the port. They found the _Lucia_'s captain on board, and before long all was ready for her departure in the morning.

In the meantime, Kit and _Cayman_'s crew were strenuously occupied.

After they had landed the ballast, cable and all heavy stores, they took careful soundings in the boat and marked the best line to the pool by bearings from the sh.o.r.e. Then, when the moon was new and high water at about twelve o'clock one hot morning they launched the boat. For about two hours there would be water enough to float _Cayman_ across the highest sands, but if she did not reach the pool before the tide ebbed much she would strike and stop for good. Since the ballast was landed, sail could not be used and she must, if possible, be towed by the boat.

Kit, however, doubted. There was some wind and towing would be hard. He thought they would soon be forced to kedge; to carry out a small anchor and heave the vessel forward by the rope. Perhaps the worst was the sun was nearly overhead.

The windla.s.s clanked until the cable ran nearly straight up and down, and Kit jumped into the boat. It was not his business, but flesh and blood could not long bear the strain and all must work by turns. For a minute or two they waited, and he looked about. The light on the sea was dazzling, and one saw nothing but glittering lines of foam that marked the turmoil on the sands. To tow _Cayman_ across the belt of broken water looked impossible, but they must try, since kedging is slow and time was short. Moreover, the shoals beyond the pool to some extent broke the sea.

The _patron_ signalled, they got out the oars, and the boat went ahead.

She did not go far. The tightening rope jerked her back, under _Cayman_'s bowsprit, and, when they pulled ahead again, fouled the oars.

Then the boat sheered off at an angle and they struggled savagely to get her in line. _Cayman_ floated high above water, exposing her side to the wind, and the steep swell rolled her about. Her progress was not even; she advanced by awkward leaps, running up on the boat and a few moments afterwards dragging her back. When her bows swung up Kit saw her copper sparkle with reflections of green and gold, but one did not see it long.

The bows went down, the boat ran back, and the plunging bowsprit was over his head. He heard the others' laboured breath and set his mouth and rowed.

_Cayman_ was moving, but her progress was horribly slow. The men's bodies were tense with effort and the muscles on their arms swelled in knots. Their legs were braced like iron, and the sweat glistened on their brown skin. Kit could not see properly, and was conscious of a salt taste in his mouth. In the desert his lips had cracked and he thought they bled. Perhaps he had torn them when he clenched his teeth.

The others rowed stubbornly, but he knew they could not keep it up.

They did not keep it up. The tightening rope fouled the steering oar, the boat was drawn back, and when she struck _Cayman_'s bow a man fell off his thwart.

His oar went in the water and when it was recovered the _patron_ signed them to come on board. Miguel and two or three more jumped down and Kit leaned slackly against the bulwarks. There was no shade, the hold and cabin were unthinkably hot, but he saw the short, thin shadow the mainmast threw across the deck had moved. This meant the sun had pa.s.sed its highest point and the tide was ebbing. He could not judge the progress they had made. Astern, all was dazzling white and yellow. Foam and sand melted in a blaze of colour. The _patron_ stood on the steering gratings and his brows were knit. He said nothing, but Kit thought he knew they could not tow her across.

After a time the _patron_ signalled, a small anchor plunged, the boat came alongside, and Kit helped a fresh crew to put the kedge anchor on board. To carry it ahead was easier than towing, but when they got back they must break out the other anchor and then heave _Cayman_ up to the kedge. To heave by hand was fastest, and for a few minutes the row of men, singing hoa.r.s.ely, strained and swung. Then the singing stopped, their bodies got upright and went no farther back. The veins stood out on their brown foreheads, but the rope would not come in. They hung on, tense and rigid, unwilling to own that they were beaten.

Perhaps the wind had freshed, for _Cayman_'s plunges were sharper.

Without her ballast, she rolled and jumped ridiculously like a cork, and now and then her heavy masts lengthened the swing, until it looked as if she were rolling over. There was not much sea, but on the sands its movement was horizontal; it rolled across the bottom, and for the ketch to advance she must overcome its backward impulse.

The men took the rope to the windla.s.s and laboriously hove the levers up and down. Sometimes the drum would not turn; and then the sharp clink of the pawls indicated that the rope came in. When she was over the kedge all were exhausted, but the anchor must be dropped to hold the ground they had won while the boat took the kedge another cable's length ahead.

When the mast was for a moment upright Kit looked at the shadow and saw it had moved across another plank. He doubted if they could get across the sand, although the men were doing all men could do. The strange thing was, they held out in the scorching heat. But if they did get across, their labour would not be finished, and Kit owned he shrank from reloading the ballast. When they landed the iron, the sea carried the boat ash.o.r.e; when they brought it off she must be driven against the rollers. Moreover, the work must be done with speed, because the anchorage was unsafe. _Cayman_ had driven ash.o.r.e and, if it blew hard, might drive ash.o.r.e again. She could not, without her ballast, beat for open sea.

Somebody shouted and Kit saw an object on the horizon. It was like a sail, but he was dull and his satisfaction was not keen. The other boat would not arrive for some time, and if they did not reach the pool before her, the ebbing tide would strand them on the bank. Although help was perhaps coming, it might come too late. They must concentrate on getting across, and trying to brace himself, he jumped into the boat.

The wind freshened and progress was slower, but the heat did not get less. Kit's head swam, his arms were cramped, and the backward swing with the oar badly hurt his side. To heave at the windla.s.s levers was worse, and he did not bother about the sail. Time was going and he thought he felt _Cayman_'s keel touch bottom. Perhaps the sand was uneven and she had crossed a hummock. He laboured mechanically, seeing nothing but the lever he pulled up and down. All the same, he knew the kedge warp came in, because the pawls clinked; if they stopped, the men were beaten, and _Cayman_ would soon strike. Kit did not know the depth of water the _patron_ got, but the sea was smoother, and this indicated that the tide had sunk behind the shoals. In fact, Kit thought he saw shining sand in the foam. All must brace up for a last effort.

The rope came in faster, as if the resistance slackened, and when the kedge was carried out the men left the windla.s.s and walked aft along the deck with the rope. Somebody said there was good water under the keel, the long pole the captain used for sounding hardly touched bottom, and then did not touch.

"_Basta!_" he shouted; they made the rope fast, and Kit sat down on deck.

A two-masted vessel came up the channel. The sweep of her slanted green hull, outlined by curling foam, and her high, shining canvas were beautiful, but Kit hardly glanced at her. He was exhausted, and leaning against the bulwarks, he shut his eyes.

Soon afterwards, Jefferson jumped on board and stopped by Kit. Kit's skin was burned, and crusted by salt and sand where the spray had dried.

His lips were cracked, and his torn hands bled. Getting an anchor out of a plunging boat is awkward work.

"Hallo!" said Jefferson. "You look as if you had got up against it hard."

Kit opened his eyes and smiled. "I think we have had enough."

Jefferson nodded. "We'll put you on board _Lucia_; they have rigged an awning under the mainboom. We've got some ice and Pepe knows how to mix a long, cool drink." He turned to the _patron_. "If there is much sea next high water, you cannot ride to the kedge. I see you have landed the best anchor."

The _patron_ said he had done so and Jefferson ordered his boat to the bow.

"Let your men rest; the _Lucia_'s are fresh. But what about Miguel and Juan, the mate?"

"They are in the forecastle, getting up another warp."

Jefferson gave Kit a smile. "You brought them back! We'll talk about it again. I must get the anchor while there's water across the sand, and will put you on board _Lucia_ before I start."

Kit went on board and got into a hammock under the awning. He thought Jefferson's getting to work typical; Jefferson's habit was to work and talk afterwards. Now he had arrived Kit was not going to bother. His job was finished, and things went smoothly when Jefferson took control. Pepe brought him a cool drink, and soon after he drained the gla.s.s he went to sleep.

CHAPTER VIII

"CAYMAN'S" RETURN

Don Arturo and his party occupied a corner of the gla.s.s-roofed _patio_ at the Metropole. For the most part, the tourists had gone when Las Palmas got hot, and the big hotel was nearly empty, but the cook and manager had given the party's ten o'clock breakfast careful thought. The company's cold stores were searched and the finest fruit in the island was ordered. Don Arturo's hospitality was famous at Las Palmas, London and Liverpool, and people talk about the feasts he gave. Pioneers of colonial industry, imperialist politicians, and leaders of commerce met at the table.

His guests at the Metropole were a high civil officer, Don Ramon, Austin and the _Commandante de Marina_. The coffee, and cigars carefully sealed in gla.s.s, were brought from the Caribbean coast in the company's steamers, and grown for the presidents of South American republics; the wine was made for the rulers of central Europe. As a rule Don Arturo's hospitality was extravagant. Perhaps he found it paid, for he himself was a plain business man and had known poverty. Yet, although a merchant, he was something of a prince; when famous shipbuilders and financiers crowded his waiting-room, he would stop to weigh a ship's cook's complaint. His humblest servant might appeal direct to him. He gave all audience, and his knowledge and justice were rather like Haroun a Raschid's.

Now he looked thoughtful and gave Austin a quiet glance. "To some extent, Wolf was your antagonist, but I don't see why you took a part in my purser's African adventure."

"At the beginning I don't know that I did take a part," Austin said with a smile. "Mr. Musgrave demanded my boat, and since I was not at home, my wife indulged him. When I sent off the other vessel, my object was mainly to get my money back."

"You imagine Musgrave's resolve to go was, so to speak, spontaneous?"

"I don't think he was _prompted_. Losing his men--in a sense, they were your men--weighed on him. All the same, if he brings them back, I imagine his going was lucky."

"It is lucky," the civil officer agreed. "The men are Spaniards and we cannot leave them in the hands of the Moors, but to rescue them might be difficult. Expeditions to Africa are not popular just now, and to send a gunboat would embarra.s.s the government."

The Commandante nodded. "One must reckon on the opposition newspapers, and the Catalan radicals are very keen. Fresh trouble about Morocco would start an outcry. If one could send a small party to negotiate, it would be easier, but this might be dangerous; the Moors are disturbed and threatening. To land an armed force would mean fighting and the force must be strong. Besides, the Moors are cunning. It is possible they have retired across our border."