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Show unfa";-- 4aT aLwV-3 : ,1 niilt iDuDEN AwitS WILLIAMS I I , Jf, ' I I W. M- -. Strvictl CHAPTER XVI Continued. -17 Peter said, angrily resenting her r?fusal to accept his word: "Don't talk like a fool. I tell you he's dead!" Why should Pe'er be angry because she could not believe this impossible impossi-ble thing? She forced herself to listen to what Peter said when he now began to relate what had happened, telling George, while the others listened. Peter said they came out at last on an open hillside grown with berry ber-ry bushes. They saw the pond on the saddle of the ridge and a great flock of geese in the pond. "I would have to crawl to get near enough to shoot," Peter said, explaining to them as they listened without speech, Isaiah and Hiram in the door with Corkran behind them, George and Mary at the table. ta-ble. Tommy Hanline had come to stand behind Peter, tears streaking his cheeks. Peter went on with his story of his brother's death. "I'd have to crawl," he said, "on my hands and knees. Richard and Gee stayed where tliey wereK so's not to scare the birds. I crawled within shot range and waited till they lined up good, and shot. Some were dead, and some of them flapping flap-ping on the water. The others flew away. "I stood up and yelled, and Gee came running. We chased the wounded geese In the shallow water, wa-ter, and caught some, till we had "Then I asked Gee where Richard was. He said Richard had gone down to the beach. I went along the top of the cliff looking for him, and finally I saw him. There was a point of rocks running out Into the water, and he was sneaking toward the point as If he was trying to cut something off from the water. I thought it might be seals, but I couldn't see them. "I saw him start to run, and then I saw them coming toward the water, wa-ter, galloping on their flippers the way they do; but they were sea lions, bigger than seals, some of them ten or twelve feet long. Dick got in the way of them and he hit at one with his club. It snapped at him. I was too far away to see Just what happened, but they have long tusks, teeth like a dog's, only longer. long-er. It must have sunk the tusks into his hand; and it just galloped on, dragging Richard with it, into the water." "I think one of the tusks stuck In his wrist somehow; maybe wedged between the bones, or hooked into the tendons. He was jerked off his feet, couldn't do anything. It dragged him into the water, and they went under together. The place was boiling with them, dozens of them, like a school of mackerel. They churned it into foam like milk. Even from up where I was, I couldn't see down into it. "I stayed there, running up and down the beach, shouting and yelling yell-ing like a crazy man, but I never saw him again." CHAPTER XVII "He can't be." Mary realized she had spoken aloud, for their eyes turned to her. "Richard can't, be dead, Peter." He stood up angrily. "I tell you he is." "We can go back and find hinr Pleasel" Peter's face darkened, but he spoke without heat, understanding-ly. understanding-ly. "I'm sorry, Mary. I know how you always felt about Richard. But 1 feel worse than anyone. He was my brother, wasn't he?" He looked around at them all; he cried, as if their eyes accused him: "Blast it. I couldn't do anything! I tell you he's dead!" No one spoke. He came to his feet, strongly. "I want to get away from here. This easterly's what we need to get out of the Bay. We might not get another for weeks. We're leaving!" No one denied him. Peter said, his tone placating: "Corkran, come on deck. I want a word with you." Without waiting for an assent, he turned abruptly into the after cabin. Corkran went through the steerago to ascend the companion ladder there. George put oft Richard's coat that Tommy had given him and went to his bunk to lie under blankets there. She followed him, her legs stiff and j wooden with the penetrating damp 1 and chill. Standing by the bunk she I could see through the small window above it a headland a mile away. She watched the headland fall slowly slow-ly behind; and she felt the heavier seas outside the Bay begin to lift the Venturer. She stood there long, not moving, her eyes fixed on that bluff which was gray through rain; till presently they changed course, brought the wind more abeam, and the headland disappeared. When Mary came into the main isbin that night, Peter sat in Richard's Rich-ard's place at the head of the table. ta-ble. He told her that Corkran had been appointed second mate. The mates had not yet come below. She went to speak to George and found him stronger than he had been, bent on coming to be at table with them. She sat on Peter's right as she had been on Richard's right during these weeks of the oyage. Willie Lecper had roasted one of the geese shot that afternoon, had cooked it so thoroughly the meat fell off the boni s at a touch. Peter served her and George, and as Mat Forbes joined them he served his own plate and then Mat's. When Corkran appeared, ap-peared, a little uncertainly, Peter heaped his plate; and he asked in an agreeable tone: "Do you know navigation, Mr. Corkran?" "No, sir." "Mr. Forbes can give you a start. Better work on it." Peter smiled grimly. "The Venturer's had hard luck with her officers this voyagp. Something might happen to me." "Yes, sir," Corkran assented in a toneless voice. Peter looked at him thoughtfully, but he said nothing. There was little speech during that meal. "Dick was always a hero to me," Peter said, half to himself. "I didn't think anything could happen to him. He seemed so strong and sure, and luck was always with him. I almost went crazy, running up and down that beach today." He rose, shaking his head. George and Mary followed him into the common room, and George lay down on the long bench there. It was still broad day in these high latitudes, but the small window gave scant light. Peter lighted the whale oil lamps. "I don't like the dark," he said. "I'm dreading tonight. Probably won't sleep." He decided, after a moment: "I'll go on deck and have a look at her." George lay quietly. Mary stood looking out of the small square win- iMf: "But don't you see, George, this means Richard isn't dead!" dow at the boil of water under the stern. The desk was at her left, the log book lying on the end of it. After a while, she looked down at the book; and presently she lifted it and turned the pages to the latest entry. She read it, her eyes glancing glanc-ing along the lines. "Hoakes Bay. Day began with southwest wind and rain. Repairs finished this morning. Captain Richard Rich-ard Corr and Mate Peter Corr went to shoot geese on shore while the water casks were being filled. Captain Cap-tain Corr descended to the south beach and tried to club a sea lion. The animal bit at him 'and its tusks fastened in his arm and it dragged him into the sea. He was lost. Wind came southeasterly in the afternoon, giving us a fair chance to make out of the Bay. Will stop at Stanley to set up new topmast and topgallant. Rain squalls tonight. Corkran was promoted to be second mate." Mary read and nodded slowly. As she conned the words, she seemed to hear, far away, a faintly familiar sound, not easily identified. She . tried to hear 'more plainly. Peter had written this. The capitals were ornate, involved in sweeping curves, and there were blotches where the pen had pressed too hard, and the letters staggered erraiicauy up aim down. Peter had written this. It was very different from the preceding preced-ing entries in Richard's small, nent, careful hand. Richard's hand was compact and firm, Peter's large and sprawling. Peter had written this. What was it she seemed to hear? Something heard long ago. Or seen long ago. Peter had written this! Peter! Her eyes widened in a sudden startled attention. Once years ago Richard had written writ-ten her i note, two or three lines, brief, curt, cruel. "Wait till you grow up. Don't be a silly little fool." But Richard had written that note the way Peter had written this entry en-try in the log, in a sprawling hand, the words straggling up and down, the capitals ornate. Suddenly she knew in a complete and overpowering revelation that it had been Peter, not Richard, who wrote that cruel note long ago. The log book snapped shut with a sound so loud that George sat up. staring at her. asking quickly: "What is it, Mary?" She asked in a sharp whisper: "George, what made you think Richard Rich-ard and I loved each other that day?" "Don't be unhappy about that. It s all right." "No," she insisted. 'Tell me." ! She demanded acutely: "George, did Peter give you a letter he said I'd written to Richard?" He looked at her steadily, said at last: "Why he didn't give it to me, no. I wanted to go on deck, and it was cold, and Peter gave me Richard's Rich-ard's big sea coat to wear over my own. After we got on deck, I put my hands in the pockets, and felt a piece of paper, and before I thought, I looked at it It was your letter to Richard, Mary." She spoke quickly. "It began: 'Dear Richard, Having been captivated capti-vated by the charms of your person per-son . . .'?" For answer, he fumbled in his pocket, produced a crumpled paper, gave it to her. She smoothed it out, read it swiftly with racing eyes that nevertheless lingered over the familiar, fa-miliar, not-to-be-forgotten words. She smiled as she read. Once these words had seemed to her so impassioned and tender and beautiful beauti-ful that they made her senses swim; and once she had treasured this scrap of paper in her bosom happily. happi-ly. But now even in the tension of this moment she was amused; and she looked up at George in a deep mirth. "You really thought I'd written this to Richard?" "What could I think?" "I mean, since we came aboard here?" "I'm afraid I did," he admitted. "My dear, can you imagine any girl really writing a letter like that; so many long words, so stilted stilt-ed and silly and everything?" He said, half-smlline at his own confession: "I've never had a love letter, Mary. I don't know much about them. Didn't you write it?" "Yes, but years ago. My handwriting hand-writing doesn't even look like that nowl" "I've never seen your handwriting, handwrit-ing, you know. We've not been separated, sep-arated, so we've never written letters let-ters to each other." "And it's signed 'Mary Doncas-ter, Doncas-ter, " she insisted. "Not Mary Mc-Ausland." Mc-Ausland." "I thought you had forgotten you were my wife." He spoke so humbly that for a moment she caught him close in tenderness; ten-derness; but then she spoke in swift explanation, and soberly now. "Listen, "Lis-ten, George. I copied this letter out of a 'Complete Letter Writer' when I was in school in New Bedford. Bed-ford. It was supposed to be from a man to a girl, and I thought it was perfectly beautiful." "I see," he assented. "But Mary, Richard kept it all these years. So perhaps he loved you too!" She shook her head. "No, he didn't keep it! He never saw it. I know that now. Peter stole it from me In school. He told me he was going to give it to Richard. I begged him not to." Her cheek colored, and she said honestly: "Next day he brought me what he said was Richard's Rich-ard's answer; but I know now that Peter wrote the answer himself, because be-cause it's the same handwriting in the log; and he must have kept my letter all this time . . ." Her voice checked as though some thought struck her; then she went on: "And he put it in Richard's coat, to fool you, to make you mad!" He said grimly, remembering that storm of emotion which had racked him so: "I was crazy, Mary. I'll spend the rest of my life making up to you for the way I acted that day." She told him. warmly comforting: "I didn't mind really, George." Her eyes twinkled almost mischievously. mischievous-ly. "You know, you've never told me you love me. It's only when you get terribly jealous that I can see you do." Then she cried, tense again, leaning close to him so that they could not be overheard: "But don't you see, George, this means Richard isn't dead! If he is, Peter killed him; but I know he isn't!" He asked gropingly: "How does it mean Richard's not dead?" "Why, don't you see?" she insisted. in-sisted. "Peter's a coward and a sneak and a thief, or he wouldn't hmra J(H n Vl 1 tlnfVl m ClHw 1 il t ter! George, we've got to make him go back to Hoakes Bay and find Richard." After some consideration George agreed with Mary to seek aid from the crew in forcing Peter to return re-turn to search for Richard. Mary sat beside George and in a whisper explained that when Peter was surely sure-ly asleep, they could creep across to wake the mates and enlist their aid. For if help were to be found against Peter it must come from those next in authority aboard. Mat Forbes and Corkran were sound asleep when George in darkness dark-ness opened their door and felt his way to Mat's bunk and whispered whis-pered in the mate's ear, warning him to silence. Mary pressed the door shut without a sound; and George lighted the candle, and Cork-ran Cork-ran woke at the sudden flare. Except Ex-cept for their boots, he and Mat were both fully clad, sleeping in their clothes against the pitiless and searching cold. Mat and Corkran, when the lamp was lighted, looked at their visitors in a sleepy wonder, waiting to hear what this visitation meant; and .Viary tried to explain. She found that there was terribly little she could say. She had no evidence beyond be-yond her own certainty that Richard was alive, and that Peter knew it, and that they must return to Hoakei Bay. (TO BE COTMED |