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Show CLARK MCMEEKIN w.M..?w, Jlk THE STORY THUS FAR: Lark Shannon Shan-non is heartbroken when she learns that her horse, Madoc, is to be sold. Her father, fa-ther, Rector Shannon, had died recently, leaving the place in debt. Bethel North, near neighbor to the Shannons, held a note against Rector Shannon, and the sale of the horse, she said, would clear the note. David North, Bethel's son, and Lark's childhood sweetheart, arrives in England and asks Lark if she would like to go to America as his wife, but expresses ex-presses no love for her. Lark boards the ship Tempora, expecting David to join her, but just as they sail receives word that he had sailed the night before. On the way across a groom by the name of. Busby asks Lark to see a sick horse. CHAPTER V "I've ridden a lot," Lark admitted, admit-ted, "I used to race my own horse, Madoc, at the county fairs when I was a child." "You've good hands." Jarrod glanced at them knowingly. "And I understand you've friendlied our Lancer here. What's your unprejudiced unpreju-diced opinion about the mare?" He glanced anxiously at Penelope. "I think," Lark said with great convictiqn, "that she should be bled as soon as possible, if you hope to save her." "By the Great Horn Spoon, you're right," Jarrod said. "Lung fever it is, and no mistake, that's just what I've been trying to tell Busby." "Red Raskall, that's a good name for the old feller!" Jarrod chuckled. "Now run along, child. I don't want you around while this bleeding's done. It's a nasty business but as soon as Galphine comes we'll get it over with." Busby stepped forward eagerly and opened the wicket for Lark. "Best go take a lie-down, Miss," he said respectfully. "You're pale as a banshee. It's close and smelly down -here and the boat's beginning to roll a bit." After lunch Clelia, who had missed Lark at the meal, came down again to see about her. "My dear," she exclaimed, "you look really ill, you're positively green! I'm going to send the ship's doctor to take a look at you. Maybe he can give you some medicine that'll make you feel better. "She pulled the blanket up about Lark's shoulders and hurried quickly away. Soon both the doctor and Clink Swalters came down and were most sympathetic. The doctor gave Lark a draft, and Clink suggested a bowl of cinnamon gruel, but Lark shook her head quite firmly and shuddered at the very thought. - "If there's anything, anything at all, I can do to help, just send me word," Clink said with such sincerity sin-cerity that Lark was touched. For two days and a night the Tempora streaked ahead under full sail. By late afternoon of the third day land was in sight. Over the Virginia coastal islands and the peninsula pe-ninsula hung a curious saffron light. Fog was banked up behind it and fingered through the golden veil. A strange uneasiness became apparent ap-parent among those on board, and word went round that the glass had fallen astonishingly. The air was breathless and muggy. Toward evening eve-ning a southeast wind sprang up and sang in the shrouding. A spatter of rain soon turned into a downpour and sent the passengers below deck. A cold supper was served in the saloon sa-loon and after it the passengers gathered in worried and fearful little lit-tle groups. From hour to anxious hour the tension grew, as the lashed furniture broke loose and careened terrifyingly back and forth. Lark forced herself to remain calm as she heard, above the1 rising storm, the thin little song of the boatswain's pipe, giving its ordered commands. Across the room Minnie was down on her knees, praying loudly. In one hand she clutched her embroidered embroi-dered motto and in the other a bulky carpet bag. Her hysterical girls clustered clus-tered about her, weeping copiously. Only Clelia sat quietly reading her Bible. She smiled at Lark reassuringly. reassur-ingly. Why, they were already within sight of' land. Almost, one might say, they had one foot on the islands. That was what the passengers of the Tempora . kept repeating over and over to one another. Because Lark acknowledged to herself now the full extent of danger. dan-ger. The Tempora was sinking. It was a fact that could no longer be doubted. That weakened timber had not been able to hold against the mighty pushing pressure of the rams. However, for a moment, could any of them have thought it would. Lark wondered. She pressed on to the hold ladder. She peered down the opening and saw a great dark pool of water. Somebody had set a lantern on a packing case down there, and, for some miraculous reason, it had escaped es-caped the cascades of water that gushed through the torn planking of the hull. With clinging hands and cautious feet Lark climbed slowly down the ladder. Her feet found the uncertain safety of the floor at last. The water wa-ter swirled about her knees but, for the moment, rose no higher. To one side of her was the cubby where Busby's and the Moor's hammocks were slung. These were swaying now like precarious bird's nests in a wind-swept tree. Lancer was down now. his halter .led fast to the manger-board, as the men attempted to bandage his knees. He was hobbled, trussed up like a fowl in the market. Lark thought, I can't bear it, I can't! It was as if she, herself, was pinioned. Why didn't they cut him loose? They must do that. She tried to tell them so. She trie1 to speak, but she could not call out. There was an iron band around her throat. A 1 wave of black nausea passed over her, and she retched miserably. After a time her sight and her senses came back to her. She opened her eyes and peered beyond the horses into the further hold. There were men working there at the pumps. Her clearing vision picked out Clink Swalters' figure among them. The black oily water swirled about their waists and encroached faster than the feeble pumps could suck it up, much faster; terrifyingly, fantastically, fan-tastically, faster. Clink Swalters was working with the strength of ten men, cool and in command of the situation. Like an untiring piston, his arms bent and straightened, bent and straightened straight-ened again. The unerring and pre- She opened her eyes and peered beyond the horses. cise rhythm hypnotized Lark's unblinking un-blinking stare. It was only when Big Dan straightened up and said, "My blasted pump's broke. She don't push out no water at all," that the spell was broken. All hope was finally gone. They cut the horses loose now, so that they would have their one chance in a thousand, and not be drowned like kittens in a tight-tied sack. Lancer was free at last, Lancer that big Red Raskall, who, in this hour of his almost certain death, was strong and beautiful and wild, urgent and quick with the wish for life. The men tried to coax him towards to-wards the ramp but he shook them off, refusing its sharp incline, whirling whirl-ing dangerously in the narrow space. The gray Dawes'horse, Thunder Boy, took the ramp in a powerful scramble and plunged ahead into the raging sea. Lark heard a pierc-ing pierc-ing scream then, as the delicate mare, Penelope, shattered her knees in a crashing fall, heard the dull blow of the ax that, mercifully, ended her agony. Captain Walesby was very calm, a desperately calm and agonized man. "This way," he said, "slowly "slow-ly now. No pushing, please." He spoke to them as if they were children, chil-dren, small, stupid, deaf children. "Lark!" That was Clelia's shrill voice. Lark, here!" Lark edged over to stand beside Clelia in the line. They took hold of one another's hands and gripped tightly. That moment of companionship, compan-ionship, that human touch was a little beacon to light the great loneliness lone-liness that lay ahead. Busby pushed the two girls ahead of him into the readying life-boat that was swung now on a level with the deck. Clink Swalters thrust a heavy oar into Busby's hand and lifted him bodily into the boat. The Moroccan groom beside him dived into the open sea. There was not nearly enough room in the three boats for all, but Captain Cap-tain Walesby was giving the passengers passen-gers precedence over the crew, which stood waiting in sullen silence beside him. The boat the two girls were in swarmed with people. It was heavily heav-ily over-loaded. Lark thought, I'm going to die. It doesn't matter much. There isn't any use of my adding extra weight. She tried to get out. but the davits whined querulously as. he captain having given the signal, sig-nal, the rowboat swung free of the pulley and began its perilous descent. de-scent. After a long moment it settled like a wounded gull in a valley be- j j tween two mountainous waves. It j rested there for a moment. All life, all heart-beats were suspended j i as the wave held its pinnacle above . the frail craft for one awful frozen second before it plummeted like an avalanche on the tiny speck of the life-boat which was sucked under in its gargantuan gasp. Presently Lark found a thin thread of breath in her body. The walls of her chest were like iron bands, busting, one by one, as she gulped ravenously for air. After a while she reached out for help. But there was no help. The boat was gone. Clelia was gone. Everybody Ev-erybody was gone. The glare of the distress rockets flared and died. Lark's hope receded. re-ceded. For a time she battled against the raging anger of the sea. Then something washed against her. Something hard and slick and buoyant. buoy-ant. A spar. Her hands took hold of it. Realized it. Clutched it and held on for dear life. She woke to feel solid earth under un-der her body. The swing and sway of the sea no longer hammocked her. Her eyes opened, turned first towards the stretch of breaking waves on the shingled shore, and then swung towards the beach that lay under her, the clumps of marsh grass, the rocks beyond, the rising hillocks topped by trees. Trees, land, life! Lark closed her eyes again and let the blessedness of sleep wash out the pain of death. Slowly, inch by inch, she edged her frozen, aching body up the shelving slope. The sand was warmer warm-er here, warm as a bake-ovefi, delicious! de-licious! She managed to scrape out a shallow nest. She peeled her wet clothes off, garment by garment, and spread them to dry. She stretched, and let the hot, bright sun caress her back, her arms, the length and curve of her legs. She burrowed down deep into the sand. It was a sound that woke her, a sound when the sun stood high at noon; a most curious sound, not very far off from her. But she could see nothing. Nothing but the miles of waste sand and scrub with occasional fingers of tall marsh grass reaching down here and there like pointers to the sea. i j Now a shrill unearthly scream broke the silence, and Lark hung back for a moment, terrified and trembling. In an instant fresh courage cour-age came to her and she plunged forward, stumbling over the shells and driftwood which littered the beach. She topped the rise and peered beyond her. She could see what it was at last. A horse, a red horse stained almost al-most black by the sea, flecked and ringed with white ruffles where the sweat and salt had dried on him. Lancer, the Red Raskall, why it was. he! It surely was. He was caught in the quicksand and the tow of the outgoing tide! He was sunk above his fetlocks, above his knees, to his belly almost. His eyes were wild and terror-stricken, his head flung up in an agony of frustration as, with every convulsive movement, move-ment, hfe sank lower and lower. Lark tried the wet sand under her feet. It was firm and safe here. Step by anxious step she crept out to him, calling his name softly, holding hold-ing out - her hand lovingly, trying, slowly and cautiously, to creep near, enough to catch the dangling halter rope. Then it was that she remembered the spar on which she herself had floated to land. With the last strength in her body, she found it and managed man-aged to drag it to the horse, to force it in the small space left under his heaving, exhausting body, and to steady it, as, with almost human intelligence, he seemed to understand under-stand its possible help, and, after a moment of stillness, made a last tremendous thrust, feeling the momentary mo-mentary purchase under him, making mak-ing use of it and jerking himself free. With a rush and a scramble, he found a footing on the pebbly shelving shelv-ing shore and staggered toward safety, standing there, trembling and panting, with Lark's arm flung I around his neck, her sobbing face buried in his mane. He knew the sound of her voice, the passionate tenderness of the words she spoke to him. He turned his head and nuzzled her shoulder, whinnying softly, seeming to find comfort in her familiar presence. After a time, the horse raised his head and neighed challengingly. He had evidently heard some sound that was too far off, too high and keen for the girl's ears. There was a long moment of silence. Then there came an answer. She stood startled, listening with every strained nerve in her body. It came from the beach. Her eyes sharpened in that direction. Why they were ponies. Ponies! In another minute they had reached the shallow water and found a footing foot-ing in the sand, were coming up the slope, directly towards her. They didn't see her. They were coming towards Red Raskall, approaching him with joy and welcome. Their whinnying filled the air and made a confusion of shrill and eerie sound. Lark's fright melted from her at their approach. These were like friends greeting her, these tiny shaggy shag-gy beasts, scarcely any bigger than dogs. Tne largest were only waist high, the colts barely above her knees. Why she could pick one up in her arms and cuddle it like a new-born lamb! (TO BE CONTINUED) |