The Captain of the Kansas Part 24

She stole a glance at Courtenay. He was so keenly engaged on the business in hand, so bent on achieving accuracy in his figures, that she chided herself for her morbid reverie. Then she wondered if he ever gave a thought to that promised wife of his, who must soon suffer the agony of knowing that the _Kansas_ was overdue.

Elsie was sufficiently well acquainted with s.h.i.+pping to realize the sensation that would be created by the first cablegram from Coronel anouncing the non-appearance of the steamer in the Straits. The Valparaiso newspapers would be full of surmises as to the vessel's fate. They would publish full details of the valuable cargo--and give a list of the pa.s.sengers and officers. Ah! Ventana would learn then, if he had not heard of it earlier, that she was on board. And he alone would understand the true reason of her flight from Chile. Her cheeks flushed, and she applied herself more closely to the chart she was copying. She had left a good deal unsaid in her brief statement that morning. How strange, how utterly unexpected it was, that Ventana's name should fall from Courtenay's lips--Courtenay, of all men living!

And what did Isobel mean, during that last dreadful scene ere she was carried away to the boat, by screaming in her frenzy that Ventana had taken "an ample vengeance." Vengeance for what? Had the half-breed dared to make the same proposal to the rich and highly placed Isobel Baring that he did not scruple to put before the needy governess?

Surely that was impossible. There were limits even to his audacity--

"Well, how is my chief hydrographer progressing?"

Courtenay's cheery voice banished the unwelcome specter of Ventana.

Elsie started.

"I do believe you were day-dreaming," said the captain with a surprised smile. "A penny for your thoughts?"

"I don't think you can pay me," she retorted, hoping to cover her confusion.

"Won't you accept Chilean currency?"

"Not on the high seas."

"But you are on dry land. Please make a dot on your map at 51 degrees 14 minutes 9 seconds South, and 74 degrees 59 minutes 3 seconds West.

That is the present position of the s.h.i.+p. Are you listening, Boyle?

According to the chart, the s.h.i.+p is high and dry, four miles inland."

"Huh!" grunted Boyle. "Reminds me of a skipper I once sailed with, bound from Rotterdam to Hull in ballast. There was a Scotch mist best part of the trip, an' the old man loaded with schnapps to keep out the damp. First time he got a squint of the sun he went as yaller as a Swede turnip. 'It's all up with us, boys,' he said. 'My missus is forty fathoms below. We've just sailed over York.' You see, he'd made a mistake of a few degrees."

"Boyle," said Courtenay, severely, "what has come to you? Are you actually making a joke?"

"I think I must have bin tongue-tied before, captain."

"Before what?"

"Before that lame duck in the fo'c'sle stuck his tobacco-cutter into my jaw. I can talk like a prize parrot now--can't I, Miss Maxwell?"

Elsie was laughing, but she remembered the subject on which Boyle had displayed his new-found power of speech; and human parrots are apt to say too much.

"Please don't tell any more funny little stories," she cried, "or I shall be putting dots in the wrong places."

"And causing us to waste time scandalously. Are you ready, Miss Maxwell? Let me pin this compa.s.s card on the table. Use the parallel ruler; regard each inch as a mile, and I'll do the rest by guesswork."

Courtenay took his binoculars, and went on to the bridge. He called out the apparent distance of each landmark he could distinguish, described it, and gave its true bearing. In the result, Elsie found she had prepared a clear and fairly accurate chart of the bay and its headlands, while the position of the distant range of mountains was marked with tolerable precision. But Courtenay was far from being satisfied.

"If I had a base line, or even a fresh set of points taken higher up the inlet, I could improve on my part of the survey," he said. "Yours is admirable, Miss Maxwell. Of course, I know you are an artist; but mapping is a thing apart. That is first-rate."

"Perhaps you may be able to secure fresh data when the _Kansas_ puts to sea again," said Christobal.

"If I am conning the wheel, I must leave the chart-making entirely to my a.s.sistant," replied the captain, lightly. "But I do mean to peep a little further into our estuary. Before the s.h.i.+p sails I may have another spare hour to devote to it."

"In what way?" asked Elsie.

"By utilizing the canoe. A mile or so higher up the channel I should be clear of the bluff which hides Otter Creek. I imagine it will be possible then to see the full extent of the bay. I must get you to sound Suarez as to the lie of the land."

"I hope you will do nothing of the sort," protested Elsie, earnestly.

"Why? Do you think the canoe unsafe?"

"No, no; not that. But those waiting Indians. They might see you."

"Oh, the Indians again! I shall run no risk of that sort. It would indeed be the irony of fate if the _Kansas_ slipped her cable and left the skipper behind."

"Huh! No fear! She'd follow you like Joey. I was tellin' Miss Maxwell what a lucky fellow you were. Besides, if you went, I 'd be in command, and you know what would happen then. By gad, if all else failed, the bloomin' tub would turn turtle in the Pool."

To emphasize his remarks, Boyle blew a big smoke ring, and shot several smaller rings through it.

Elsie felt Christobal's critical eye on her; she was shading the outlines of the map, and trusted that her head was bent sufficiently to hide the tell-tale color which leapt to her face. But Courtenay wished to hear more of this.

"I hope you do not credit everything my chief officer says about me,"

he said, glancing over her shoulder at the drawing. "Nor about himself," he added, as she was too busy to look up. "To my knowledge, he has refused the command of two s.h.i.+ps since we both joined the _Kansas_."

"Home orders!" cried Boyle, who was certainly beyond himself. Probably he missed his regular vocal exercise owing to lack of a crew. "My missus says to me, 'You just stick to Captain Courtenay, young feller-me-lad. He's one of the get-rich-quick sort. P'raps you 'll learn from him how to dodge Board of Trade inquiries.' You stand on what I told you, Miss Maxwell. You remember? Commodore! Huh!"

Something must be done to stem the long-pent flood of Mr. Boyle's gossip. Elsie turned on him desperately.

"How do you expect me to listen to you, and work at the same time?" she said.

"Sorry," he answered, composing himself to sleep.

Courtenay glanced at the chronometer.

"I must be off," he announced. "Tollemache may need some help with his bombs, and those Chileans require looking after."

Christobal, too, quitted the chart-room to visit his patients. He had said very little while he sat there, and Elsie did not know whether to laugh or cry at the tragic-comedy of her environment. She was only certain of one thing--she would like to box Boyle's ears. She was completely at a loss to account for his persistent efforts to drag in references to their prior conversation. She dared not catechize him.

That would be piling up more difficulties for the future. But what possessed him to blurt out such embarra.s.sing details in the presence of the two men whom she most wished to remain in ignorance of them?

She peeped at Boyle sideways. His eyes were closed, the cigar was between his teeth, and he had a broad grin on his face. She could not guess that the once taciturn chief officer of the _Kansas_ was saying to himself:

"My G.o.dfather, how Pills glared! There will be trouble on this s.h.i.+p about a woman before long, or I'm a Dutchman. An' didn't the skipper rise at the fly, too! Huh!"

He uttered the concluding monosyllable aloud.

"Did you speak?" inquired Elsie, severely.

"Eh? No, Miss Maxwell."

"Oh, I thought you wanted to say something."

"Not a word. Too much talking makes my back stiff."

"Your physical peculiarities are amazing, Mr. Boyle."