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Show mrf hjMl Edison Marshall f'-Jfl tyf&?K&'jl' V w.n.u. SE.re.vic.e CHAPTER I It was a lonely land by a lonely sea. but Eric loved them both. One was his father this great Alaskan country stretching one-ninth of the way around the world and the old gray ocean, wearing a billowing cloak of mist, was surely his mother. The Sea has had many husbands Phoenicia last night, Venice in the dawn. England and Holland Hol-land and the little Yankee land In mid-morning, Hnd to each she has borne a breed of giants but now she has taken a younger, holder lover In the North, and this wind-tanned youth on the Bradford cannery dock was a child of that mating. His full name was Eric Ericssen. It was typical of the new species it could as well have been Kris Nansen. or Nils Larsen, or Storker Storkersen. Like the other founders of the clan, his parents had come from Norway's windy coast first to dig for gold in Alaskan gravels, then more to their liking, to fish for halibut and salmon in the fiords of the Northwest But neither Eric nor his clansmen were Norwegians. Born on Alaskan soil, they were the product of a new environment en-vironment new ways, waters, men. and minds. As the son of a ship captain, of course he had had good schooling. At the close of his second year at the University of Alaska at Fairbanks, he had gone abroad to specialize in geography, ethnology, and economics in the forec'stle of a tramp steamer. Is'ow. still under thirty, he had papers entitling him to sail as master on any Fhip. of any tonnage, anywhere on the seven seas. As he sat on the dock at Squaw Harbor any 'old Alaskan could tell his breed. Both his ancient mother and his young father hnd put their mark upon him. He was tall and lean, lithp and loose-jointed, by the Alaskan pattern; pat-tern; and he walked like a sourdough rather than a sailor, with a sprinsr of his toes, lightly, swiftly, and tirelessly. He sat alone, ignoring the motley crowd on the dock. He had little In common with Siwash slimers or Filipino Fili-pino messhoys; even less with Snndo-mar's Snndo-mar's gang. There were ten of these men, all recently fired from the cannery can-nery force, and. like Eric himself, thev were idly watching a sleek yacht, stranger to these waters, glide into the harbor. In Eric's heart dwelt a strange love, deep and wide, for 'most all craft on all seas, but an amused half-smile flickered across his lips as he surveyed the stylish visitor. Obviously she was built for luxurious cruising, not to rough it in these half-charted northern north-ern waters. In venturing here she was surely living up to her name, the Intrepid. In-trepid. The elderly captain docked her handily, and the gang-plank was run out To Eric's amazement, the greater part of the crew immediately walked off. Not only the kit-bags in their hands hut the gray, 'grim look on their faces told plainly that they were done with the Intrepid for the rest of their seafaring lives. Eric spoke to the first officer, a stalwart Yankee type that he knew and respected. "Looks like she's go-lnj go-lnj to he short-handed the rest of her cruise." "There's six left, out of eighteen." the man answered angrily. "Our time's up, hut he won't hit for home. Now he can cool his heels here, or else run the whole ship himself as he's wanted to from the first. We're going to go om on the Catherine P." "Who do you mean by 'he'? The skipper?" "The old man's all right I mean Rorton, the millionaire who owns her. He's not a yachtsman, but he won't stay In the saloon. Always corning between his skipper and the crew. He has no respect for an officer, much less a sailor he treats 'em all like flunkies. Our fellows are Americans they won't put up with that. Besides, he expects the impossible. Ail his life he's got what he wanted, bought It with his checkbook, and he can't see 1 why we can't supply the weather and the tides he demands. Tell him hp can't go some place, and that's where he's going to start for." The officer swore, throallly and emphatically em-phatically and marched off. A burly, middle-aged man In smart yachting cap no doubt Ilorton himself now disembarked. With him was an athletic ath-letic man of thirty, with a lean, scholarly schol-arly face, thin lips, and Icy gray eyes Catching sight of Eric, Ilorton signaled sig-naled him up with an Imperious gesture. ges-ture. "What's your name?" Eric's sparkling blue eyes turned hard gray. "I am Mr. Ericsson." "Do you want a Job? I need some i men. to replace those proud devils who I Just walked off. What can you do on shipboard?" "Taking your questions one at a time" Eric's quU-U anger bad failed, and his lips twitched at the corners. "I might take a berth, provided 1 found a good one. I came as first officer offi-cer of the Redmond, lying here through the season, and I expect to go out with her next fall. I have master's papers pa-pers and I might tell you that I'm a proud devil, too." "I notice it" He turned to his young companion. "Roy. I think this chap will do for first officer." Then, to Eric: "Those men over there look good to me. Would they do for my crew ?' Eric followed his gaze to find Sando mar's gang watching with lighted eyes, but he could not say that they looked good to him. They were here solely through a mistake made by Bradford's absent partner, the hiring, as foreman, of a seemingly honest trawler known as Swede. This pale-eyed, pale-haired thug had taken advantage of a labor shortage to call in. from up and down the coasts, vultures of his own feather promising not only lucrative employment employ-ment but a chance for wholesale thievery of packed salmon cases. True the piracy had failed and the gang had been fired bag and baggage, but until the Catherine took them off Brad ford would not sleep soundly. A strange pack for a far place like Squaw Harbor! Swede was still its nominal leader, but its real chief was a former sea-otter poacher known as Sandomar, an enormous dusky-skinned Pole more gorilla than man. He had won his leadership in spite of what seemed a hopeless handicap, complete deafness. But always with him, like a jackal following a tiger, went an undersized ratty-eyed cockney who acted as his ears. This man. who seemed to have no name but "Garge," interpreted all he heard in a kind of shorthand sign language a swift flicker of his fingers half the time un noticed by his fellows. Sandomar was not a mute, and made his answers in a deep monotone. Besides these two and Swede, there was a short, plump, oily-skinned poor white nicknamed Cooky; two pelagic sealers known as Big Smith and Lit tie Smith ; DeValera, not a Latin bin a black Irishman; a renegade Aus tralian called Sydney Bill; and two nondescript Russians, saboteurs ami Reds, whose names never seemed twice the same. "l"ou don't want that gang." Erie told Horton. "They'd likely scuttle your ship and cut all your throats, before you get back." "Then how about taking some of Bradford's hands?" Before Eric could answer, two others of the yachting party came down the gangplank and joined the group. One was a thin little woman in black, nimble and hright-eyed for all her more than seventy years: Eric-suspected Eric-suspected that she was Horton's widowed wid-owed mother, the wife of the original mwA i "They'd Likely Scuttle Your Ship and Cut All Your Throats, Before You Get Back. founder of the fortune. The other, and Eric accepted it as sober fact, was probably graced beyond any soul that had ever set foot on these Isles. He would never forget his first glimpse of Nan Horton. On this raw coast, beside a savage sea. she was an alien and exotic spirit. Blond viking of the North, Eric was drawn to dusky women. Her dark, proud little face, with dull-rose cheeks, held a trace of arrogance no doubt she was willful and undisciplined as Horton himself, hut her pointed hazel eyes were warmly lighted within their heavy dark fringe of lashes, clear, kindly, and strangely steadfast ; ami her mouth was wistful. Eric returned to eartli to hear Hor ton repeating his question. In Impatient Impa-tient tones. "How about taking some of Bradford's hands. 1 sny?" Eric's expression quickly changed. "Bradford has none to spare." "What If 1 offer do'i'de ay? That would fetch 'cm," wouldn't It?" "I don't think so. Besides. It would be mighty poor sportsmanship for a yacht owner like you to make such an offer." Eric spoke slowly and quietly, and Nan Horton opened her clear, hazel eyes. Horton's rat-trap mouth grew hard. "I don't require any advice from you." "Y'ou asked for it, and I'm going to give it to you. Bradford's short-handed anyway; if he loses any more men. just at the start of the season, he can't handle his fish. If you try anything any-thing like this, you can expect trouble." i "And you'll deserve it, too. Felix." I It was the old woman's voice, clear as j a bird's. "Your sport is not as important im-portant as Mr. Bradford's work, or any man's. Of course you can't steal his men." "But that argument can be reduced to an absurdity," said the younger man called Roy. "If you start thinking think-ing of other people's interests instead of your own you'll soon find yourself in the sentimental soup. Don't you see that if we don't recruit our crew here, we'll have to loaf two weeks waiting for a fresh gang from Ketchikan?" Ketchi-kan?" "I don't agree with you. Roy." Ir was Nan's contralto voice, with a 'cello-like richness of tone, and both men turned to her In surprise. "Usually "Usual-ly I support you and Dad in 'the public he d d' attitude, but somehow this doesn't seem to me to be playing the game." "Nan. you're talking as though life-is life-is a cricket match, or a romance." toy spoke lightly, yet with a flash of his cold eyes. Eric knew that here was a strong man perhaps even stronger than the purse-proud millionaire, million-aire, Felix Horton who would likely win what he wanted from the world, whether It was wealth or power or Horton's daughter. "Go ahead, Felix, and take what men you need." "That's what I propose to do." He turned to Eric. "Who's that chap In the niackinaw?" "Johanessen. Bradford's dock foreman." fore-man." Johanessen was called up and questioned. ques-tioned. Would he ship on the Intrepid1 for twice his present pay? He shook his blond head. "I am werry sorry, but we Iss short-handed, short-handed, and I connot spare myself. You see, de feesh run pretty quick now. and we will all be dam' busy: I haf no time to go yachting" He marched stolidly away: a girlish giggle escaped Mother Horton's pale-cld pale-cld lips. Nan's gray eyes brightened' perceptibly, and even Roy smiled faintly and knowingly. "Just what we could expect from the simple Nordic," Roy said. But Horton's big jowls flushed. "I'll be hanged if I'm going to rot up here; for two weeks. We'll take these bully hoys there." He indicated Sandomar's gang. "They're a hard lot. hut we can handle them, and maybe they won't he so haughty as those sterling Americans that just walked off. And Ericssen here will ship as first officer " Eric's eyes were not now the tint ef deep water in the sunlight, hut of Bering sea shoals under winter clouds. "I don't want the job. I don't care to work for you. Yon asked for it. amt you've got it. I just saw you try to break up Bradford's force with the strength of your checkbook, and I'm not going to okay that, or help you make a cruise in our waters." He was looking into Horton's face, so he did not see the quick flash, possibly pos-sibly anger, perhaps some other emotion, emo-tion, in his daughter's eyes. But as he turned away, he heard Mother Horton voice unqualified approval. "I don't hlame him a hit. Felix. If your father was alive, he'd say the same." Eric turned to his snubbing block, but the matter was not yet closed. An entirely new light was thrown on it when the elderly captain sought Eric and recalled that they had mer before. Their eyes grew brilliant as they recalled a dive in Jibuti: a strange, hair-raising, snaky dance by a nautch-girl. the tint of old ivory; and a chair-smashing row with half a dozen Arabs. "I was a better man then than now." Captain Way mire said. "Five years makes a sight of difference. And maybe may-be that's why I hate to face this cruise alone." "You still have your chief engineer," engi-neer," Eric said. "Yes. but he can't help me handle that pack of wolves I've Just signed up." Then, man to man: "Ericssen. forget the hoss' high-handed ways, and help me out. And I'm not speaking Tor myself alone." Eric struggled In vain against rising curiosity. "Who are you speaking for?" "Horton's girl. She asked me to talk to you. I think she approved of your stand, but like me. she's uneasy about those thugs. She won't ndmit it, but I know she is. Anyway, she wants you on the ship. And Ericssen. I want you. too. As another master mariner. I ask you to try to strain a point and help me out." Eric's gaze wandered off to the deck of the yacht, on which stood a vivid figure. Curly dark hair blowing In the wind, dull-rose cheeks in the sunlight, sun-light, nnd for one brief second, steady, tranquil, hazel eyes challenging hi own. . . . Yes, this was a call he could hardly refuse. . . . And he was only twenty-eight, the possessor of two strong hands and a boy's heart fancy free. "I'd be under your orders, not Hoi-ton's?" Hoi-ton's?" "Yes. 1 won't let him Interfere." "When do you want to sail?" "Right now. Sandomar nod hM crowd have already gone aboiird." "Wait till I get my kit-tug. I ai going, too." (TO BE COXT1NI tU.l |