XXVIII
The problem of the Wanderer’s whereabouts was one which offered no clue for its solution. One thing I felt certain: the yacht had not gone to sea. Whatever Riordan’s wishes in that matter might be—and I knew such a move would have pleased him as revenge upon Betty and me—Pierce and Wilson would never have permitted it.
True, Wilson was crippled, but if I had gaged the man’s character rightly it would have required more than a wounded leg to prevent his intervention in so colossal a piece of treachery. As for Pierce, with his terrible neckties and soul of gold, he would have died rather than allow Miss Baldwin to be treated in such fashion. More, he would be too clever to die; he would at least have escaped to join us.
The yacht must be somewhere in the fiord. Riordan would not have moved her without Brack’s orders. These orders probably had been given at noon, and Riordan had waited until George and I were out of sight before obeying them. With the yacht hidden we would be at Brack’s mercy in that wilderness, the only shelter and food being at the mine. The pistol in my shirt grated against my ribs as I dug viciously at the water.
Had Captain Brack been present when we reached the mine I am quite certain that we would have clashed.
The light was still burning in the cabin as we reached the mine-clearing, and with the pistol in my hand I walked straight up to the cabin door, leaving Betty to guide George, who now was staggering and groaning constantly. Brack was not there. In his place Dr. Olson was sitting, refreshing himself from the remnants of a meal and a bottle of whisky.
The sight of me brought a sudden end to his meal, for he promptly threw up his hands, crying:
“Don’t shoot, Pitt! Great Scott! What’s the matter?”
“Where’s Brack?” I demanded.
“Put that gun away!” he stammered. “Man, you’ve got murder in your face.”
I lowered the weapon and the doctor dropped his hands with a sigh of relief.
“Whew! I’m glad you aren’t after me. You certainly can look fierce, Pitt. What’s up?”
“Brack?” I repeated, but before he could reply Chanler lurched wildly past me into the room. His eyes fell on the doctor’s bottle and he rushed for it like a madman. The professional instinct rose in Olson at the sight of him and he whisked the bottle out of reach. In the end Olson resorted to a hypodermic injection, and presently George was dozing on a bunk in the corner.
“Whew! Close call,” said the doctor looking down at his patient. “You got him here just about in time.”
“Where is Brack?” I demanded. “And where’s the yacht?”
“The yacht?” repeated Olson staring stupidly. “Our yacht? Isn’t it——”
“No,” I interrupted, “it isn’t where it ought to be. It’s gone. Do you know where it is?”
He shook his head.
“How should I know? I just got back here with my patients about fifteen minutes ago. The captain went up with the men then——”
“Patients?” said Betty. “Are some of the men ill, doctor?”
Olson grew confused.
“Well, well, yes. That is, they had a little—a little accident up in the hills. Two of them got hurt.”
“Oh! Badly? Can I do anything?”
“Oh, no. No, no,” he replied quickly. “No, you couldn’t do anything for them, Miss Baldwin. It wouldn’t do any good for you to see them. I’ve got them all fixed up in the other cabin. They’re all right, I assure you.”
“And the captain?” I reminded him.
“Why, when I got down here with those two men the captain was sitting here eating and drinking. He went up into the hills afterwards.”
“And he didn’t say anything about the yacht?”
“Not a thing.”
I informed him of the evening’s happenings, and of the Wanderer’s disappearance. At that he gasped, and a look of comprehension came slowly into his eyes.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, so that’s it, eh?”
“What’s it?” I demanded.
He glanced at Betty, dropped his eyes to the floor, and looked at me significantly.
“Nothing at all,” he said. “Aren’t you starving, Pitt? You look it. As a physician I suggest you get some nourishment into your system at once, before you begin to suffer.”
The unexpected quickness of wit on his part took me slightly aback, but I responded promptly.
“I’m fairly famished,” I agreed, grasping at the remnants of food on the table. “You’re right, doctor; I must eat at once.”
It worked excellently. Betty, instantly solicitous, flew about to prepare a meal for me, and under the pretense of gathering fire-wood Dr. Olson beckoned me outside.
“Those men—my patients—were shot,” he said swiftly. “And two others, Madigan and a seaman, were killed.”
A day before such news would have shocked me inexpressibly. Now it seemed only a normal result of the circumstances which Brack had woven about us all.
“And Slade and Harris? Did they get away?” I asked eagerly.
“I don’t know anything about anybody by those names,” he replied. “All I know is what Brack told me: that our men were attacked by a couple of outlaws while hunting in the hills, with the results that I’ve told you. These outlaws shot our men.”
“And did those other fellows—the outlaws—get away?”
“For the present, yes. But Brack’s men are guarding the only pass by which they can get out of this valley, so they can’t get away. The captain says he’ll get them if he has to hunt all Summer. He’s managed to get roaring drunk.”
“And he said something about Miss Baldwin, too, didn’t he? What was it?”
“Well, he was drunk, you know. It makes him look and act and talk like a devil.”
“Go on.”
“He said, ‘I expect we’ll have company here tonight, doctor.’ Said you and Chanler had come and taken Miss Baldwin back to the yacht. ‘But I’ve a feeling they’ll come back here,’ he says. ‘She can’t resist me. Yes,’ he said, ‘they’ll be back, and this time they’ll stay.’ Then he took out a big knife and cut himself in the hand. ‘The blood of kings, doctor,’ he said. ‘I’m king of Kalmut Valley, and I’ll make cripples of Pitt and Chanler, and have them for my jesters, and—’ Well, he was drunk, you know.”
“Say it,” I commanded. “What else did he say?”
“‘And I’ll tie ’em up,’ he said, ‘and let ’em watch me make Miss Baldwin my queen.’ I told him he’d better let me tie up his hand, and he hit me across the face with it and went off into the hills. That’s all.”
“No,” I said, “there’s more to this.”
I told him why Brack was after Slade and Harris. He was skeptical at first; men didn’t dare do such things nowadays; Brack’s wild talk had been only the raving of too much whisky. In the end, however, he was convinced.
“Then this scientific expedition was only the captain’s way of getting an outfit for robbery on a big, piratical scale! By George! The man’s big, isn’t he? A regular pirate’s raid in this year of our Lord! And yet it’s all simple and easy up here when you think of it, isn’t it?”
“Devilishly so. But it became more serious than mere robbery when Miss Baldwin came on board. Now, are you going to help us, doctor, or——”
“Of course. I’m civilized, I hope. But what can we do, Pitt? The captain’s got the men, and he’s too strong——”
“Dinner, gentlemen!” came Betty’s fresh young voice. “Honesty impels me to warn you, Mr. Pitt, that I’m a horrible example as a cook, but such as ’tis, ’tis ready.”
I was in no frame of mind to be a judge of Betty’s cooking. I ate ravenously, because I was hungry, but my thoughts were not upon the food. Dr. Olson’s picture of Brack in his cups was of a piece with the impression I had gathered of him early that morning. He had thrown off the mask and his true nature, raw, rank, savagery, was in full sway.
“When do you expect the captain back, doctor?” I asked casually.
“I don’t know. He probably will be back tonight, though. He warned me not to drink up all the whisky as he’d want some when he got back.”
I turned to Betty.
“Captain Brack is intoxicated, Miss Baldwin,” I said. “The doctor and I do not think it would be pleasant for you to be here when he returns.”
“No,” said the doctor, “you mustn’t be here then, Miss Baldwin.”
Betty’s wide-open eyes grew wider, but there was no alarm in the quiet gray depths of them.
“I understand,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “I will do whatever you suggest, Mr. Pitt.”
There lay the trouble. I had nothing to suggest, nor had the doctor. Flight suggested itself first of all, but in that wilderness, with only a light Peterboro canoe and a rough sea as means of escape, the success of such a move seemed improbable. To bring our fate to a crisis by remaining there openly, defying Brack and appealing to the men for help, would have been suicidal. Had we been on the yacht strengthened by Pierce and Wilson, such action might have had a basis of reason.
Really thoughts of Pierce and Wilson kept me from losing hope at that moment. Though by now I had more confidence in myself than I had thought possible, I did not feel that I was capable of finding a solution to the problem confronting us. But there were Pierce, the shrewd, and Wilson, the brave, still to reckon with. What were they thinking at that moment of our failure to return to the yacht? What would Pierce’s sharp mind be doing but seeking a way to assist us, or, at least Miss Baldwin, to safety?
And then I looked at Betty, quietly serious, but not alarmed, and my spirits rose at the sight of her. It was no strength of mine that raised my courage then; it was the strength I drew from the courage of Betty. Once more, as in the canoe, I felt a desire to cry out:
“Bravo, Betty! Bravo, brave girl! We’ll beat him yet.”
It was well that I did not cry out. For in that instant, from out on the back trail, came a maddened bellow, scarcely human in tone, yet recognizable as coming from no one else than Captain Brack.