XXXVIII
They were astir early in the morning and had their breakfast. The brig was still in sight, but some distance to the northeast, as Christopher reported after a look through one of the windows. And as they ate Anthony nodded toward the pistol, which still hung upon the wall.
"I have not had occasion to use it," said he. "But, with those gentlemen in the offing, there is no telling what might have come about in the long run."
Tom Horn looked from the weapon to Anthony.
"No man's life is safe if he places it between these villains and their will," he said.
"They are spending a deal of time loitering along the coast," said Christopher. "Of what service would it be to them to find the ruins of a ship piled upon a bar?"
"They would then know that ship's fate," said Tom Horn. "It would be shown to them that they need seek no further."
Christopher looked at the odd clerk with round eyes.
"This, then," said he, "is only a beginning of their search?"
"The prize is a rich one," said Tom Horn. "They'd hunt the seas of the world if they thought they might come upon it."
All that was readily portable of Anthony's effects was carried to the boat which had brought Christopher and Tom to the island; and by mid-morning they hoisted sail and headed for the mainland. Here the baggage was transferred to a wagon, and they were on their way through the barrens, on the first stretch of sand tracks toward the city. By hard traveling they accomplished the distance by the third morning, and Anthony went at once to his lodgings. It was a gorgeous, blowy July day; the sun was in Sassafras Street; the scent of the little gardens round about rose to him as he raised his windows; all the world seemed open before him, and he felt a mounting life in his body that would carry him through it. He was shaving by a window, with a mirror propped against a hat-box, when a knock came upon the door.
"Come in," said Anthony, and Mr. Sparhawk, neat, precise, and looking more like a wise old bird than ever, walked into the room.
"Why, this is a splendid surprise, indeed," said the little gentleman. "I had expected you, it's true, for there was reason to think you'd be attracted back to town; but such immediate action in the matter is quite heartening, and charming."
He shook Anthony's hand, and sat down, crossed his silk-stockinged legs, and his alert gaze ran over the young man from head to foot. The bronzed, rugged health that he saw, the long, powerful muscles under the close-fitting shirt, caused him to nod with approval; the brisk, sure movements and the snapping light of the eyes brought a smile to the little gentleman's face—a smile of assurance and content.
"You had the news of my return very quickly," said Anthony, as he proceeded with his shaving at the window.
"Christopher Dent came in upon me while I was still at breakfast," said Mr. Sparhawk. "A kindly, good soul! I appreciate Christopher very much. And after he left me he was off to Mademoiselle Lafargue with his tidings. He anticipated great excitement there, I know."
"You have heard this theory of Tom Horn's regarding the ship Rufus Stevens?" Anthony held the razor suspended as he asked this question, and his soap-covered face was turned toward Mr. Sparhawk.
The precise little gentleman put down his hat carefully; and then he answered:
"Mademoiselle Lafargue brought the matter to my attention some days ago. She attached much value to it."
"And you?" said Anthony.
"I have known Tom Horn a long time," said Mr. Sparhawk. "A very long time. He is a person of strange moods; many look on him as a man distraught, but I have never been convinced that he is so. For, do you see," and Mr. Sparhawk nodded, quite firmly, "though his manner is odd and his method of expression is not usual, there is much matter in his sayings. He has a mind that thinks; though, as I've said before, many do not credit it."
"Have any steps been taken in this matter?" asked Anthony.
Mr. Sparhawk put his head to one side in the way that gave him the bird-like look.
"No doubt you'll be calling at the Lafargues' before the day is out," said he. "And, if so, mademoiselle will tell you what has been done."
Anthony rasped at his beard with a not over-sharp razor.
"I had it in my mind to visit them early in the day," said he.
"Very good," said the old gentleman. "As she knows you've come back to town, no doubt she'll be at home."
Mr. Sparhawk then fell into talk of many things; most of them had to do with the clouded affairs of Rufus Stevens' Sons, and the plans and purposes of those reasonable creditors who had its destiny in charge.
"A deal is due you and Mr. Crousillat for your interest," said Anthony. "You have gone much out of your way to do a kindly thing."
"Why, as to that," said Mr. Sparhawk, "there are many who would do as we have done,—more especially as I have done,—had the same urge induced them forward."
Anthony, glancing over his shoulder, nodded soberly. And Mr. Sparhawk went on to tell all the steps that had been taken to bring some degree of order out of the ruin. It was a bleak, dispiriting catalogue; the track of events wound through gloomy places; there were voids which had been filled with promises; there were moneys paid out of which there was no accounting; there were debts due or owing which had never been written down; there were passages dull with stupidity, or foul with malpractice; and Anthony grew a little sick as he listened; for it was familiar ground; it had broken him before, and he felt it could break him again. He tried to shut his ears to the dull hammering of Mr. Sparhawk's facts. The clever parrying of that little gentleman, or of old Mr. Crousillat, in some close engagements of wits, or their sudden and skilful assault upon some detected plunderer, brought nothing but pain to Anthony's mind; for he could think only of his own struggles and defeats in that same place of gloom, of dismal suspicion, of maddening unreality. He felt as a trapped wolf might feel, brought back to the place of its disaster.
And he wanted no more of it! He fervently wanted no more of it. A struggle he did not mind; indeed, he welcomed it; but it must be a struggle with things seen, with men or events with which one might come in open contact. This ship, now—adrift, lost, crammed with a treasure of merchandise! She was a thing to make his nerves crackle and his blood leap. His mind could value the danger she was in, if the sea held her at all—danger at the hands of wandering or purposeful men, in the crush of winds and seas, in the heart of a vast silence, and a desolation almost impossible to penetrate. With a sound deck under him, a few resourceful hands to carry out his orders, and the far seas ahead! That would be a man's part. He'd rise to that. But to be like a mole, digging, digging in the dark! He'd have no more of it! He could stand no more of it!
Mr. Sparhawk stayed for an hour and talked. The things he said were needful things, though unpleasant; and Anthony, understanding this, tried to bear with them. But, when the little man finally took his leave, the young one drew a deep breath and at once began to change his dress, preparatory to his day's affairs.
Within an hour he was at the Lafargues' lodgings. Both mademoiselle and her father were awaiting him.
"It is generous of you to come back to the city so promptly," said Monsieur Lafargue eagerly.
"Are not my interests involved?" asked Anthony. "When a chance is shown me finally to accomplish a thing for which I once strove and failed, could I stand still and see it pass?"
"You think, then," said the girl, her eyes shining, "that there is a chance?"
"It is a strange thing," said Anthony. "A strange thing, indeed. But, then, why not? If we stopped because things were not usual, our hands would hang at our sides in all the important turnings of our lives."
"That a ship could live through a storm like that, seems impossible," said Monsieur Lafargue.
"Others did, and came into port," said mademoiselle.
"True." Monsieur Lafargue stroked his shaven chin. "True, indeed. But I cannot forget the Rufus Stevens was already a wreck when seen."
"Her masts were gone," said Anthony. "That is always grave; but it is not necessarily fatal. I have seen vessels so stricken which have lived boldly; I myself was once in a ship so circumstanced; she was battered and beaten by the sea for days; but she held together and sailed many a voyage afterwards."
"Christopher was greatly excited," said mademoiselle, "and he came to me with the story of what Tom Horn had said; he was perplexed and did not know what to believe. And I was in the same state of mind, even after I'd talked to the man himself and written the letter asking you to return. I wanted to believe and accept it all as an actual thing," she said, "for it seemed the only hope left. But it was not until I saw Mr. Sparhawk that my mind became settled."
Anthony looked at her questioningly; he recalled the attitude of that same little gentleman an hour before, the cock of his head, and the tolerant tone with which he spoke of Tom Horn and his theory.
"His disbelief fixed your mind in opposition, then?" said Anthony.
"Disbelief!" The girl laughed, her beautiful teeth flashing. "He was as credulous as a child. He walked the floor; he took great quantities of snuff; he at once began to plan how moneys might be had to equip a vessel to be sent searching the seas."
Anthony also laughed. The cunning of the dapper little fox! Not once had he shown even a trace of actual belief; and yet there he was, mad to set forward, and hoping, Anthony had no doubt, with the best of them!
"The money was easily had; those who had interests in the cargo were willing to chance something; the larger creditors were of a like mind; this was all spoken of secretly, and the sums gathered in the same way. And so there is a small vessel, all ready for sea, lying in Pegg Run; and you are to be her master if you care to undertake the task."
"There is no task in the world at this moment that I am so eager for," said Anthony. "And, thank God, it's one for which I feel fitted. It's not like the mousing, grubbing work I was compelled to do in the counting-room, trying to hold off the things that I see now were bound to come."
They talked of the prospects for an early beginning; of the storing of the vessel, which, so it seemed, was already under way, the chances for slipping out to sea with no one the wiser. And then they left the house and walked north on Water Street until they reached Pegg Run; and the girl pointed out to Anthony a trim little schooner, fit, and fresh with paint, her tall masts telling of a fine spread of sail, and her strong hull bending into the curving sweep of speed. The young man glowed at sight of the craft; she was so like the one he would have selected himself for the work ahead of him that it might well have been his will, acting through another, when she was fixed upon.
"You like her?" asked the girl.
"She's a fine, upstanding craft," said Anthony, "roomy, with plenty of space for a press of wind, and I have no doubt, sails well in most weathers. She'll ride like a duck; I know that buoyant look."
"I'm glad," said mademoiselle. "I tried to please you."
His eyes met hers, and he held them steadily.
"You have pleased me in more than that," said Anthony. "One by one I have been storing the instances away in my mind; some day I shall tell you what they are."
There was an open look in his eye that stopped the speech on her lips: a flush came into her face, and her own eyes were very bright as she turned her head, so that he might not see. The tackle from the schooner's foremast strained and whined through the blocks; some negroes, chanting monotonously, laid their weight against the capstan bars.
"In two days," said the girl, "she will be ready."
"In two days," said Anthony, "she will be gone."