Partners of the Out-Trail Part 50

"I might urge that I risked getting badly hurt when I lifted the car off Jim, and that I did not move his punt."

"You consented to its being moved," d.i.c.k broke in.

Bernard stopped him and Mordaunt resumed: "It is plain that you have judged me. d.i.c.k brings no proof of his statements; but we will let this go. There is obviously no use in my denying his tale. Suppose I admit that it's correct?"

"Jim is the injured party. He must choose our line."

"There is only one line," Jim replied. "This thing cannot be talked about. Lance knows we know I cannot punish him in any lawful way; but if he stops at Dryholm, I'll use the backwoods plan. Well, I give him a week to go."

Bernard nodded and looked at his watch. "A week is too long! If you pack quickly, Lance, you can get the express to town. Anyhow, you will leave Dryholm as soon as the car is ready. But I must be just, and since you might have made your mark in a useful profession had I not allowed you to think you would inherit part of my estate, I will tell my lawyers to pay you a sum quarterly. If you come back to c.u.mberland, the payments will stop."

Mordaunt made a sign of agreement, and glanced at d.i.c.k.

"You have won, but I doubt if you have much ground for satisfaction,"

he said and went out.

d.i.c.k was vaguely puzzled, but when the door shut the others were conscious of keen relief. They waited until Mordaunt's steps died away and then Bernard got up.

"What has happened to-night is done with; I think you understand," he said, and turned to Mrs. Halliday. "We will join our friends, and if they wonder why we have been absent so long, we will leave you to satisfy their curiosity."

They found the others in the drawing-room, but although Mrs. Halliday began to talk and Bernard was now and then ironically humorous, d.i.c.k was quiet and Jim rather stern. All were ready to go when Mrs.

Halliday got up, but Bernard kept Carrie a moment when the Langrigg car throbbed at the steps.

"This house is big and empty, my dear," he said. "If Jim is not very much occupied, you will bring him now and then."

Carrie wondered when the car rolled off. Bernard had pressed her hand and his voice was gentle. She blushed, for his imagining she could persuade Jim was significant, but it was puzzling. He knew Jim was going to marry Evelyn.

Presently Jim stopped the car, and getting down beckoned Jake.

"You can drive home, Carrie," he said. "There's something we must look after but we won't be long."

Carrie started the car and when it rolled away Jake looked at his comrade. Jim wore thin shoes and a light coat over his dinner jacket; the road was wet and the low ground dotted by s.h.i.+ning pools. It was some time after high-water and a gentle breeze blew across the marsh.

A half-moon shone between slowly-drifting clouds.

"I suppose you mean to see Shanks," Jake remarked. "On the whole, it might be wiser to send him notice to quit. You can't put the police on his track."

"I'm going to see him. If I hadn't been able to swim well, Carrie would have been drowned."

"For that matter, we would all have been drowned," Jake said dryly.

"It's a curious argument for leaving Shanks alone. I suspected we took some chances when we blew up the dabbin."

"You blew up the dabbin," Jake rejoined.

"Anyhow, Carrie had nothing to do with the thing, and she ran the worst risk when we were on the sands. It was hard to hold myself when I thought about it. I was forced to let Mordaunt go, but my grounds for sparing him don't apply to Shanks."

"You haven't even a stick and the fellow has a gun."

"I've got my hands," said Jim. "If I can get hold of Tom Shanks, I won't need a gun. But I've no use for talking. Come along!"

They made for a ridge of high ground that dropped to the marsh, and presently stopped outside the Bank-end Cottage. All was dark and n.o.body moved when Jim beat on the door.

"Shanks is sleeping pretty sound if that doesn't waken him," he said.

"Bring the net-beam. We'll break in."

Jake picked up a thick wooden bar, and when the door gave way they plunged into the kitchen and Jim struck a match. The house was horribly dirty, and old clothes, empty cartridges, bra.s.s snares, and fis.h.i.+ng lines lay about, as if Shanks had hurriedly sorted his belongings and left those he did not want. They found n.o.body when they went upstairs.

"Lance has been here before us," Jim remarked. "The curious thing is, Shanks had two big duck-guns and has moved some truck although he couldn't get a cart."

"He had his shooting punt and the tide hasn't left the creek yet," said Jake, and they ran across the marsh.

When they stopped at a muddy pool the punt had gone, but there were fresh footmarks on the bank; and Jim set off again.

"The creek winds and he must shove her across the mud in places," he said. "My punt's on the sands. If we are quick, we might head him off."

They stumbled among reeds and rushes, and fell into pools, and were wet when they reached a hollow at the edge of the sands. The bank was steep, but the tide had not left the channel, and Jim, plunging in, pulled up the punt's anchor. Then he stood on deck, using the pole, while Jake paddled. The tide was running out and they drove the punt furiously past belts of mud and sandy shoals, but the bank was high and they could not see across. Shanks, however, was not in front; Jim imagined he had come down another gutter that joined the channel farther on. They must try to get there first.

"Keep it up!" he shouted, as he bent over the pole. "In five minutes we'll be round the bend and can see the bay."

Jake braced himself for an effort and the water foamed about the punt's low bow. Floating weed and sc.u.m sped past; the bank was dropping to the level of the flats and its wet slope sparkled in the moonlight.

Jake saw the sandy point that marked the bend and resolved to hold out until they reached the spot.

They shot round the bend, and Jim threw down his pole. In front lay a broad expanse of sand, broken by belts of s.h.i.+ning water. A flock of oyster-catchers, screaming noisily, circled about the foreground; but this was all.

"Shove her in!" Jim shouted. "I reckon Shanks hasn't made the meeting of the channels. We'll strike across the flat."

The sand was soft and they labored hard. When they were halt-way across, a low, dark object rose above the edge of the bank. It was roughly triangular and moving fast.

"Shanks's punt!" said Jake. "He has set the little black lugsail and the wind's fair. You can't head him off."

"I'm going to try," said Jim, who was now some yards in front; and they pushed on.

They were exhausted when they stopped beside a belt of sparkling water, and Jim cried out hoa.r.s.ely and clenched his fist. The channel was wider than he had thought, and near the other bank a punt was running down with the tide. One could hardly see her low, gray hull, but the tanned lugsail cut sharply against the bank, and its slant and the splash of foam at the bows indicated speed. Shooting punts are not built to carry canvas, but they sail fast in smooth water when the wind is fair.

"We're too late; I don't know if I'm sorry," Jake remarked with labored breath. "My notion is, Shanks has pulled out for good, and n.o.body is going to miss him much. Wind's off the land, water's smooth, and the tide will run west for three or four hours. He'll be a long way down the coast before it turns. In the meantime, we're some distance from Langrigg and it looks as if you had lost your shoe."

"So I have!" said Jim. "Guess it came off when I was plowing through the mud. Well, let's get home. Shanks has gone and he'll find trouble waiting if he comes back."

They set off. Both were wet and dirty, and when they reached Langrigg Jim's foot was sore.

CHAPTER XVIII

JIM'S RELEASE

On the morning after his pursuit of Shanks, Jim was conscious of a flat reaction. d.i.c.k's story and the excitement of the chase had helped him to forget his troubles, but now he was cool they returned. He had promised to marry Evelyn and found out, too late, that he loved another. There was no use in railing at his folly, although this was great, and it was futile to wonder how he had so grossly misunderstood his feelings. Evelyn was all he thought her, but romantic admiration and respect for her fine qualities were not love. The important thing was that she held his promise and he must make it good.