The Indian Drum Part 30

"Thank you; I will. My name's Conrad--Alan Conrad."

He saw no recognition of the name in Burr's reception of it; but he had not expected that. None of those on Benjamin Corvet's list had had any knowledge of Alan Conrad or had heard the name before.

Alan was silent, watching the old man; Burr, silent too, seemed listening to the conversation which came to them from the tables near by, where men were talking of cargoes, and of s.h.i.+ps and of men who worked and sailed upon them.

"How long have you been on the lakes?" Alan inquired.

"All my life." The question awakened reminiscence in the old man. "My father had a farm. I didn't like farming. The schooners--they were almost all schooners in those days--came in to load with lumber. When I was nine years old, I ran away and got on board a schooner. I've been at it, sail or steam, ever since."

"Do you remember the _Miwaka_?"

"The _Miwaka_?"

Old Burr turned abruptly and studied Alan with a slow scrutiny which seemed to look him through and through; yet while his eyes remained fixed on Alan suddenly they grew blank. He was not thinking now of Alan, but had turned his thoughts within himself.

"I remember her--yes. She was lost in '95," he said. "In '95," he repeated.

"You lost a nephew with her, didn't you?"

"A nephew--no. That is a mistake. I lost a brother."

"Where were you living then?"

"In Emmet County, Michigan."

"When did you move to Point Corbay, Ontario?"

"I never lived at Point Corbay."

"Did any of your family live there?"

"No." Old Burr looked away from Alan, and the queer cloudiness of his eyes became more evident.

"Why, do you ask all this?" he said irritably. "What have they been telling you about me? I told you about myself; our farm was in Emmet County, but we had a liking for the lake. One of my brothers was lost in '95 with the _Miwaka_ and another in '99 with the _Susan Hart_."

"Did you know Benjamin Corvet?" Alan asked.

Old Burr stared at him uncertainly. "I know who he is, of course."

"You never met him?"

"No."

"Did you receive a communication from him some time this year?"

"From him? From Benjamin Corvet? No." Old Burr's uneasiness seemed to increase. "What sort of communication?"

"A request to send some things to Miss Constance Sherrill at Harbor Point."

"I never heard of Miss Constance Sherrill. To send what things?"

"Several things--among them a watch which had belonged to Captain Stafford of the _Miwaka_."

Old Burr got up suddenly and stood gazing down at Alan. "A watch of Captain Stafford's?--no," he said agitatedly. "No!"

He moved away and left the place; and Alan sprang up and followed him.

He was not, it seemed probable to Alan now, the James Burr of Corvet's list; at least Alan could not see how he could be that one. Among the names of the crew of the _Miwaka_ Alan had found that of a Frank Burr, and his inquiries had informed him that this man was a nephew of the James Burr who had lived near Port Corbay and had "disappeared" with all his family. Old Burr had not lived at Port Corbay--at least, he claimed not to have lived there; he gave another address and a.s.signed to himself quite different connections. For every member of the crew of the _Miwaka_ there had been a corresponding, but different name upon Corvet's list--the name of a close relative. If old Burr was not related to the Burr on Corvet's list, what connection could he have with the _Miwaka_, and why should Alan's questions have agitated him so? Alan would not lose sight of old Burr until he had learned the reason for that.

He followed, as the old man crossed the bridge and turned to his left among the buildings on the river front. Burr's figure, vague in the dusk, crossed the railroad yards and made its way to where a huge black bulk, which Alan recognized as the ferry, loomed at the waterside. He disappeared aboard it. Alan, following him, gazed about.

A long, broad, black boat the ferry was, almost four hundred feet to the tall, bluff bow. Seen from the stem, the s.h.i.+p seemed only an unusually rugged and powerful steam freighter; viewed from the beam, the vessel appeared slightly short for its freeboard; only when observed from the stern did its distinguis.h.i.+ng peculiarity become plain; for a few feet only above the water line, the stern was all cut away, and the long, low cavern of the deck gleamed with rails upon which the electric lights glinted. Save for the supports of the superstructure and where the funnels and ventilator pipes pa.s.sed up from below, that whole strata of the s.h.i.+p was a vast car shed; its tracks, running to the edge of the stern, touched tracks on the dock.

A freight engine was backing loaded cars from a train of sixteen cars upon the rails on the starboard side; another train of sixteen big box cars waited to go aboard on the tracks to the port of the center stanchions. When the two trains were aboard, the great vessel--"No.

25," in big white stencil upon her black sides were her distinguis.h.i.+ng marks--would thrust out into the ice and gale for the Michigan sh.o.r.e nearly eighty miles away.

Alan thrilled a little at his inspection of the ferry. He had not seen close at hand before one of these great craft which, throughout the winter, brave ice and storm after all--or nearly all--other lake boats are tied up. He had not meant to apply there when he questioned old Burr about a berth on the ferry; he had used that merely as a means of getting into conversation with the old man. But now he meant to apply; for it would enable him to find out more about old Burr.

He went forward between the tracks upon the deck to the companionway, and ascended and found the skipper and presented his credentials. No berth on the ferry was vacant yet but one soon would be, and Alan was accepted in lieu of the man who was about to leave; his wages would not begin until the other man left, but in the meantime he could remain aboard the ferry if he wished. Alan elected to remain aboard. The skipper called a man to a.s.sign quarters to Alan, and Alan, going with the man, questioned him about Burr.

All that was known definitely about old Burr on the ferry, it appeared, was that he had joined the vessel in the early spring. Before that--they did not know; he might be an old lakeman who, after spending years ash.o.r.e, had returned to the lakes for a livelihood. He had represented himself as experienced and trained upon the lakes, and he had been able to demonstrate his fitness; in spite of his age he was one of the most capable of the crew.

The next morning, Alan approached old Burr in the crew's quarters and tried to draw him into conversation again about himself; but Burr only stared at him with his intent and oddly introspective eyes and would not talk upon this subject. A week pa.s.sed; Alan, established as a lookout now on No. 25 and carrying on his duties, saw Burr daily and almost every hour; his watch coincided with Burr's watch at the wheel--they went on duty and were relieved together. Yet better acquaintance did not make the old man more communicative; a score of times Alan attempted to get him to tell more about himself, but he evaded Alan's questions and, if Alan persisted, he avoided him. Then, on an evening bitter cold with the coming of winter, clear and filled with stars, Alan, just relieved from watch, stood by the pilothouse as Burr also was relieved. The old man paused beside him, looking to the west.

"Have you ever been in Sturgeon's Bay?" he asked.

"In Wisconsin? No."

"There is a small house there--and a child; born," he seemed figuring the date, "Feb. 12, 1914."

"A relative of yours?"

"Yes."

"One of your brothers' children or grandchildren?"

"I had no brothers," old Burr said quietly.

Alan stared at him, amazed. "But you told me about your brothers and about their being lost in wrecks on the lake; and about your home in Emmet County!"

"I never lived in Emmet County," old Burr replied. "Some one else must have told you that about me. I come from Canada--of French-Canadian descent. My family were of the Hudson Bay people. I was a guide and hunter until recently. Only a few years ago I came onto the lakes, but my cousin came here before I did. It is his child."

Old Burr moved away and Alan turned to the mate.

"What do you make of old Burr?" he asked.

"He's a romancer. We get 'em that way once in a while--old liars!

He'll give you twenty different accounts of himself--twenty different lives. None of them is true. I don't know who he is or where he came from, but it's sure he isn't any of the things he says he is."