The Protector

“I wonder how the wind is outside,” Vane said.

Carroll looked round and saw the white mists stream athwart the pines on a promontory they were skirting. “That’s more than I can tell. In these troughs among the hills it either blows straight up or directly down, and I dare say we’ll find it different when we reach the sound. One thing’s certain – there’s some weight in it now.”

Vane nodded agreement, though an idea that troubled him crept into his mind. “I understand the steamboat skipper will run in to land some Siwash he’s bringing down. It will be awkward in the dark if the wind’s onshore.”

Carroll made no comment, and they drove on, until as they swept round the point the sloop, slanting sharply, dipped her lee rail in the froth.

“We’ll have to tie down a reef,” he said.

Vane told him to take the tiller and scrambling forward, rapped upon the cabin side, which he flung back. Mrs. Marvin lay upon the leeward locker with a blanket across her and the little girl at her feet; Miss Blake sat on the weather one with a book in her hand.

“We’re going to take some sail off the boat,” he said. “You needn’t be disturbed by the noise.”

“When do you expect to meet the steamer?” Miss Blake inquired.

“Not for two or three hours, anyway,” Vane answered, with a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Then, as he fancied the girl had noticed it, he closed the slide.

“Down helm!” he said to Carroll, and there was a banging and thrashing of canvas as the sloop came up into the wind. They held her there, with the jib aback, while they hauled the canoe on board, which was not an easy task, and then with difficulty hove down a reef in the mainsail. It was heavy work, because there was nobody at the helm, and the craft falling off once or twice as they leaned out upon the boom with toes on her depressed lee rail, threatened to hurl them into the frothing water. Neither of them were trained sailors, but on that coast with its inlets and sounds and rivers the wanderer learns to handle sail and paddle and canoe-pole.

They finished their task, and when Vane seized the helm Carroll sat down under the shelter of the coaming, out of the flying spray.

“We’ll probably have some trouble putting your friends on board the steamer, even if she runs in,” he remarked. “What are you going to do if there’s no sign of her?”

“It’s a question I’ve been shirking for the last half-hour,” Vane confessed.

“I‘d like to point out that it would be very slow work beating back up this inlet, and if we did so there isn’t a stage across the island for several days. No doubt you remember you have to see that contractor on Thursday, and there’s the directors’ meeting.”

“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.