The Protector

“It’s uncommonly awkward,” Vane answered dubiously.

Carroll laughed. “It strikes me your guests will have to stay where they are, whether they like it or not; but there’s one consolation – if this wind is from the north-west, which is most likely, it will be a fast run to Victoria. And now I’ll try to get some sleep.”

He disappeared down a scuttle forward, leaving Vane somewhat disturbed in mind. He had merely contemplated taking his guests for a few hours’ run, but to have them on board for, perhaps, several days was a very different thing. Besides, he was far from sure that they would understand the necessity for the latter, in which case the situation might become difficult. In the meanwhile, the sloop drove on, until at last towards morning the beach fell back on each hand and she met the long swell tumbling in from the Pacific. The wind was from the north-west and blowing moderately hard; there was no light yet in the sky above the black heights to the east of him, and the swell grew higher and steeper, breaking white here and there. The sloop plunged over it wildly, hurling the spray aloft, and it cost him a determined effort to haul his sheets in as the wind drew ahead. Shortly afterwards, the beach faded altogether on one hand, and he saw that the sea was piled up into foaming ridges. It seemed most improbable that the steamer would run in to land her Indian passengers, and he drove the sloop on with showers of stinging brine beating into her wet canvas and whirling about him.

By and by he noticed that a stream of smoke was pouring from the short funnel of the stove, and soon afterwards the cabin slide opened. Miss Blake crept out and stood up in the well, gazing forward while she clutched the coaming.

Day was now breaking, and Vane could see that her thin dress was blown flat against her. There was something graceful in her pose, and it struck him that she had a very pretty slender figure.

“Where’s the steamer?” she asked.

It was a question Vane had dreaded; but he answered it honestly: “I can’t tell you. It’s very likely that she has gone straight on to Victoria.”

He read suspicion in her suddenly hardening face.

“You expected this when you asked us to come on board!” she cried.

“No,” said Vane, whose face grew hot. “On my honour, I did nothing of the kind. There was only a moderate breeze when we left, and when it freshened enough to make it unlikely that the steamer would run in, I was as vexed as you seem to be. As it happened, I couldn’t go back. I must get on to Victoria as soon as possible.”

She looked at him searchingly.

“Then what are we to do?” she asked.

There was distress in the cry, but Vane answered it in his most matter-of-fact tone: “So far as I can see, you can only reconcile yourself to staying on board. We’ll have a fresh fair wind for Victoria once we’re round the next head, and with luck we ought to get there late to-night.”

“You’re sure you’ll be there, then?”

“I’m sorry I can’t even promise that: it depends upon the weather,” he replied. “But you mustn’t stand up in the spray. You’re getting wet through.”

She still clung to the coaming, but he fancied that her misgivings were vanishing; and he spoke again: “How are Mrs. Marvin and the little girl? I see you have lighted the stove.”

The girl sat down, shivering, in the partial shelter of the coaming, and at last a gleam of amusement which he thought was partly compassionate shone in her eyes.

“I’m afraid they’re – far from well. That was why I lighted the fire; I wanted to make them some tea. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Vane smiled. “Everything’s at your service. Go and get your breakfast, and put on a coat you’ll find below if you come out again.”

She disappeared, and Vane felt relieved. Though the explanation had proved less difficult than he had anticipated, he was glad that it was over. Half an hour later she appeared again, carrying a loaded tray, and he wondered at the ease of her movements, for the sloop was plunging viciously.

“I’ve brought you some breakfast. You have been up all night,” she said.

Vane laughed. “As I can only take one hand from the helm, you will have to cut up the bread and canned stuff for me. Draw that box out and sit down beneath the coaming if you mean to stay.”

She did as he told her. The well was some four feet long, and the bottom of it about half that distance below the level of the deck. As the result of this, she sat close to his feet, while he balanced himself on the coaming, gripping the tiller. He noticed that she had brought an oilskin jacket with her.

“Hadn’t you better put this on first? There’s a good deal of spray,” she said.

Vane struggled into the jacket with some difficulty, and she smiled as she handed him up a slice of bread and canned meat. “I suppose,” she said, “you can only manage one piece at once?”

“Thank you. That’s about as much as you could expect one to be capable of, even allowing for the bushman’s appetite. I’m surprised to see you looking so fresh.”

“Oh!” said the girl, “I used to go out with the mackerel boats at home; we lived at the ferry. It was a mile across the lough, and with the wind westerly the sea worked in.”

“The lough?” said Vane. “I told Carroll you were from the Green Isle.”

It struck him that this was, perhaps, imprudent, since it implied that they had been discussing her; but, on the other hand, he thought the candour of the statement was in his favour. Then he added: “Have you been long out here?”

Her face grew wistful. “Four years,” she answered. “I came out with Larry – he’s my brother. He was a forester at home, and he took small contracts for clearing land. Then he married – and I left him.”

Vane made a sign of comprehension. “I see. Where’s Larry now?”

“He went to Oregon. There was no answer to my last letter; I’ve lost sight of him.”

“And you go about with Mrs. Marvin? Is her husband alive?”

Sudden anger flared up in the girl’s blue eyes, though, he knew it was not directed against him.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a pity he is. Men of his kind always seem to live.”

It occurred to Vane, that Miss Blake, who had evidently a spice of temper, could be a staunch partisan; and he also noticed that now he had inspired her with some degree of trust in himself, her conversation was marked by an ingenious candour. For all that, she changed the subject.

“Another piece, or some tea?” she asked.

“Tea first,” said Vane, and they both laughed when she afterwards handed him a double slice of bread.

“These sandwiches strike me as unusually nice,” he informed her. “It’s exceptionally good tea, too.”

The blue eyes gleamed with amusement, “You have been in the cold all night – but I was once in a restaurant.” She watched the effect of this statement on him. “You know I really can’t sing – I was never taught, anyway, though there were some of the settlements where we did rather well.”

Vane hummed a few bars of a song. “I don’t suppose you realise what one ballad of yours has done. I’d almost forgotten the Old Country, but the night I heard you I felt I must go back and see it again. What’s more, Carroll and I are going shortly; it’s your doing.”

This was a matter of fact, but Kitty Blake had produced a deeper effect on him, although he was not aware of it yet.

“It’s a shame to keep you handing me things to eat,” he added disconnectedly. “Still, I’d like another piece.”

She smiled, delighted, as she passed the food to him. “You can’t help yourself and steer the boat. Besides – after the restaurant – I don’t mind waiting on you.”

Vane made no comment, but he watched her with satisfaction while he ate, and as one result of it the sloop plunged heavily into the frothing sea. There was no sign of the others, and they were alone on the waste of tumbling water in the early dawn. The girl was pretty, and there was a pleasing daintiness about her.

She belonged to the people – there was no doubt of that; but then Vane had a strong faith in the people, native-born and adopted, of the Pacific slope. It was from them he had received the greatest kindnesses he could remember. They were cheerful optimists; indomitable grapplers with forest and flood, who did almost incredible things with axe and saw and giant-powder. They lived in lonely ranch houses, tents, and rudely flung up shacks; driving the new roads along the rangeside, risking life and limb in wild-cat adits. They were quick to laughter and reckless in hospitality.

Then with an effort he brushed the hazy thoughts away. Kitty Blake was merely a guest of his; in another day he would land her in Victoria, and that would be the end of it. He was assuring himself of this when Carroll crawled up through the scuttle forward and came aft to join them. In spite of his prudent reflections, Vane was by no means certain that he was pleased to see him.

CHAPTER III – AN AFTERNOON ASHORE

Half the day had slipped by, when the breeze freshened further and the sun broke through. The sloop was then rolling wildly as she drove along with the peak of her mainsail lowered before a big following sea. Vane looked thoughtful as he gripped the helm, because a head ran out from the beach he was following three or four miles way, and he would have to haul the boat up to windward to get round it. This would bring the combers upon her quarter, or, worse still, abeam. Kitty Blake was below; Mrs. Marvin had made no appearance yet, and he spoke to Carroll, who was standing in the well.

“The sea’s breaking more sharply, and we’d get uncommonly wet before we hammered round yonder head,” he said. “There’s an inlet on this side of it where we ought to find good shelter.”

“The trouble is that if you stay there long you’ll be too late for the directors’ meeting,” Carroll answered.

“They can’t have the meeting without me, and, if it’s necessary, they can wait,” Vane pointed out. “I’ve had to. Many an hour I’ve spent cooling my heels in offices before the head of the concern could find time to attend to me. No doubt it was part of the game, and done to impress me with a due sense of my unimportance.”

“It’s possible,” Carroll agreed, smiling.

Kitty Blake made her appearance in the cabin entrance just then, and Vane smiled at her.

“We’re going to give you a rest,” he announced. “There’s an inlet close ahead where we should find smooth water, and we’ll put you all ashore until the wind drops.”

There was no suspicion in the girl’s face now, and she gave him a grateful glance before she disappeared below with the consoling news.

Soon afterwards, Vane luffed into a tiny bay, where the sloop rode upright in the sunshine, with loose canvas flapping softly in a faint breeze while the cable rattled down.

They got the canoe over, and when he had landed Mrs. Marvin and her little girl, both of whom looked very woebegone and the worse for the voyage, into her, Vane glanced round.

“Isn’t Miss Blake coming?” he asked.

Mrs. Marvin, who was suggestively pallid, smiled. “She’s changing her dress.” She glanced at her own crumpled attire and added: “I’m past thinking of such things as that.”

They waited some minutes, and then Vane called to Kitty, who appeared in the entrance to the cabin, “Won’t you look in the locker, and bring anything you think would be nice? We’ll make a fire and have supper on the beach; if it isn’t first-rate, you’ll be responsible.”

A few minutes later they paddled ashore, and Vane landed them on a strip of shingle with a wall of rock behind it, to which dark firs clung in the rifts and crannies. The sunshine streamed into the hollow, the wind was cut off, and not far away a crystal stream came splashing down a ravine.

Vane, who had brought an axe, made a fire of resinous wood, and Carroll and Kitty prepared a bountiful supper. After it was finished Carroll carried the plates away to the stream, towards which Mrs. Marvin and the little girl followed him, and Vane and Kitty were left beside the fire. She sat on a log of driftwood, and he lay on the warm shingle with his pipe in his hand. The clear green water splashed and tinkled upon the pebbles close at his feet, and a faint, elfin sighing fell from the firs above them. It was very old music, the song of the primeval wilderness, and though he had heard it often, it had a strange, unsettling effect upon him as he languidly watched his companion. There was no doubt that she was pleasant to look upon; but although he failed to recognise this clearly, it was to a large extent an impersonal interest he took in her. She was not so much an attractive young woman with qualities that pleased him, as a type of something that had so far not come into his life; something which he vaguely felt that he had missed. One could have fancied that by some deep-sunk intuition she surmised this fact, and felt the security of it.

“So you believe you can get an engagement if you reach Vancouver in time,” he said at length. Kitty assented, and he asked, “How long will it last?”

“I can’t tell. Perhaps a few weeks. It depends upon how the boys are pleased with the show.”

“It must be a hard life,” Vane broke out. “You must make very little – scarcely enough, I suppose, to carry you on from one engagement to another. After all, weren’t you as well off at the restaurant? Didn’t they treat you properly?”

She coloured a little at the question. “Oh, yes; at least, I have no fault to find with the man who kept it, or his wife.”

Vane made a hasty sign of comprehension. He supposed that the difficulty had arisen from the conduct of one or more of the regular customers. He felt he would very much like to meet the man whose undesired attentions had driven his companion from her occupation.

“Did you never try to learn keeping accounts or typewriting?” he asked.

“I tried it once, but the mill shut down.”

“I’ve an idea that I could find you a post,” Vane made the suggestion casually, though he was troubled by an inward diffidence.

He saw a tinge of warmer colour creep into the girl’s cheeks.

“No,” she said decidedly. “It wouldn’t do.”

The man knitted his brows, though he fancied that she was right. “Well,” he replied, “I don’t want to be officious – but how can I help?”

“You can’t help at all.”

Vane, who saw that she meant it, lay smoking in silence for a minute or two. Then Carroll came up with Mrs. Marvin and the child, and he felt strongly stirred when the little girl walked up to him shyly with a basket filled with shells. He drew her down beside him, with an arm about her waist, while he examined her treasures, and then glancing up met Kitty’s eyes and felt his face grow hot with an emotion he failed to analyse. The child was delicate; life had scanty pleasure to offer her, but now she was happy.

“They’re so pretty, and there are lots of them,” she said. “Can’t we stay here longer and gather some more?”

“Yes,” said Vane, conscious that Carroll, who had heard the question, was watching him. “You shall stay and get as many as you want. I’m afraid you don’t like the sloop.”

“No,” replied the child gravely, “I don’t like it when it jumps. After I woke up it jumped all the time.”

“Never mind,” said Vane. “The boat will keep still to-night, and I don’t think there’ll be any waves to roll her about to-morrow. We’ll bring you ashore first thing in the morning.”

He talked to her for a few minutes, and then strolled along the beach with Carroll.

“Why did you promise that child to stay here?” Carroll asked.

“Because I felt like doing so.”

“I needn’t remind you that you’ve an appointment with Horsfield about the smelter, and there’s a meeting of the board next day. If we started now and caught the first steamer across, you wouldn’t have much time to spare.”

“That’s correct. I shall have to wire from Victoria that I’ve been detained.”

Carroll laughed expressively. “Do you mean to keep your directors waiting to please a child?”

“I suppose that’s one reason. Anyway, I don’t propose to hustle the little girl and her mother on board the steamer helpless with sea sickness,” He paused and a gleam of humour crept into his eyes. “As I told you, I’ve no objection to letting the directors wait my pleasure.”

“But they set the concern on its feet.”

“Just so,” said Vane coolly. “On the other hand, they got excellent value for their services – and I found the mine. What’s more, during the preliminary negotiations most of them treated me very casually.”

“Well?” said Carroll.

“There’s going to be a difference now, I’ve a board of directors; one way or another, I’ve had to pay for the privilege pretty dearly; but I don’t intend that they should run the Clermont mine.”

Carroll glanced at him with open amusement. There had been a marked change in Vane since he had floated the company, but it was one that did not astonish his comrade. Carroll had long suspected him of latent capabilities, which had suddenly sprung to life.

“You ought to see Horsfield before you meet the board,” he pointed out.

“I’m not sure,” Vane answered. “In fact, I’m uncertain whether I’ll give Horsfield the contract, even if we decide about the smelter. I don’t want a man with too firm a hold up against me.”

“But if he put his money in with the idea of getting certain pickings?”

“He didn’t explain his intentions, and I made no promises,” Vane answered dryly. “He’ll get his dividends; that’ll satisfy him.”

They rejoined the others, and when the white mists crept lower down from the heights above and the chill of the dew was in the air, Vane launched the canoe.

“It’s getting late, and there’s a long run in front of us to-morrow,” he informed his passengers. “The sloop will lie as still as if moored in a pond, and you’ll have her all to yourselves. Carroll and I are going to camp ashore.”

He paddled them off to the boat, and coming back with some blankets cut a few armfuls of spruce twigs in a ravine and spread them out beside the fire. Then sitting down just clear of the scented smoke, he lighted his pipe and asked an abrupt question: “What do you think of Kitty Blake?”

“Well,” said Carroll cautiously, “I must confess that I’ve taken some interest in the girl; partly because you were obviously doing so. In a general way, what I noticed rather surprised me. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“You smart folks are as often wrong as the rest of us. I suppose you looked for cold-blooded assurance, tempered by what one might call experienced coquetry?”

“Something of the kind,” Carroll agreed. “As you say, I was wrong. There are only two ways of explaining Miss Blake, and the first’s the one that would strike most people. That is, she’s acting a part, possibly with an object; holding her natural self in check, and doing it cleverly.”

Vane laughed scornfully. “I wouldn’t have entertained that idea for five minutes.”

“Then,” said Carroll, “there’s the other explanation. It’s simply that the girl’s life hasn’t affected her. Somehow she has kept fresh and wholesome.”

“There’s no doubt of it,” said Vane shortly.

“You offered to help her in some way?”

“I did; I don’t know how you guessed it. I said I’d find her a situation. She wouldn’t hear of it.”

“She was wise,” said Carroll. “Vancouver isn’t a very big place yet, and the girl has more sense than you have. What did you say?”

“Nothing. You interrupted us. But I’m going to sleep.”

He rolled himself up in his blanket and lay down among the soft spruce twigs, but Carroll sat still in the darkness and smoked his pipe out. Then he glanced at his comrade, who lay still, breathing evenly.

“No doubt you’ll be considered fortunate,” he said, apostrophizing him half aloud. “You’ve had power and responsibility thrust upon you. What will you make of them?”

Then he, too, lay down, and only the soft splash of the tiny ripples broke the silence while the fire sank lower.

They sailed next morning and eventually arrived in Victoria after the boat which crossed the Strait had gone, but the breeze was fair from the westwards, and after dispatching a telegram Vane put to sea again. The sloop made a quick passage, and for most of the time her passengers lounged in the sunshine on her gently-slanted deck. It was evening when they ran through the Narrows into Vancouver’s land-locked harbour.

Half an hour later, Vane landed his passengers, and it was not until he had left them they discovered that he had thrust a roll of paper currency into the little girl’s hand. Then he and Carroll set off for the C.P.R. hotel.

CHAPTER IV – A CHANGE OF ENVIRONMENT

On the evening after his arrival in Vancouver, Vane, who took Carroll with him, paid a visit to one of his directors and, in accordance with the invitation, reached the latter’s dwelling some little time before the arrival of other guests, whose acquaintance it was considered advisable that he should make.

Vane and his companion were ushered into a small room with an uncovered floor and simple, hardwood furniture. It was obviously a working room, for, as a rule, the work of the Western business man goes on continuously except when he is asleep; but a somewhat portly lady with a good-humoured face reclined in a rocking-chair. A gaunt, elderly man of rugged appearance rose from his seat at a writing-table as his guests entered.

“So ye have come at last,” he said. “I had you shown in here, because this room is mine, and I can smoke when I like. The rest of the house is Mrs. Nairn’s, and it seems that her friends do not appreciate the smell of my cigars. I’m not sure that I can blame them.”

Mrs. Nairn smiled placidly. “Alec,” she explained, “leaves them lying everywhere, and I do not like the stubs on the stairs. But sit ye down and he will give ye one.”

Vane felt at home with both of them. He had met people of their kind before, and, allowing for certain idiosyncrasies, considered them the salt of the Dominion. Nairn had done good service to his adopted country, developing her new industries, with some profit to himself, for he was of Scottish extraction; but while close at a bargain he could be generous afterwards. When his guests were seated he laid two cigar boxes on the table.

“Those,” he said, pointing to one of them, “are mine. I think ye had better try the others; they’re for visitors.”

Vane, who had already noticed the aroma of the cigar that was smouldering on a tray, decided that he was right, and dipped his hand into the second box, which he passed to Carroll.

“Now,” said Nairn, “we can talk comfortably, and Clara will listen. Afterwards it’s possible she will favour me with her opinion.”

Mrs. Nairn smiled at them encouragingly, and her husband proceeded: “One or two of my colleagues were no pleased at ye for putting off the meeting.”

“The sloop was small, and it was blowing rather hard,” Vane explained.

“Maybe,” said Nairn. “For all that, the tone of your message was not altogether conciliatory. It informed us that ye would arrange for the postponed meeting at your earliest convenience. Ye didna mention ours.”

“I pointed that out to him, and he said it didn’t matter,” Carroll broke in, laughing.

Nairn spread out his hands in expostulation, but there was dry appreciation in his eyes. “Young blood must have its way.” Then he paused. “Ye will not have said anything to Horsfield yet about the smelter?”

“No. So far, I’m not sure it would pay us to put up the plant, and the other man’s terms were lower.”

“Maybe,” Nairn answered, and he made the word very expressive. “Ye have had the handling of the thing; but henceforward it will be necessary to get the sanction of the board. However, ye will meet Horsfield to-night. We expect him and his sister.”

Vane thought he had been favoured with a hint, but he also fancied that his host was not inimical and was merely reserving his judgment. The latter changed the subject.

“So ye’re going to England for a holiday,” he remarked. “Ye’ll have friends who’ll be glad to see ye?”

“I’ve one sister and no other near relatives, but I expect to spend some time with folks you know. The Chisholms are old family friends and, as you will remember, it was through them I first approached you.” Then obeying one of the impulses which occasionally swayed him he turned to Mrs. Nairn. “I’m grateful to them for sending me the letter of introduction to your husband. He didn’t treat me as the others did when I first went round this city with a few mineral specimens.”