CHAPTER IV.
BULLY BANJO'S SCHOONER.
"Guess this will be your getting-off place."
One of the deck hands of the smoke-grimed, shabbily painted oldside-wheeler, plying between Victoria, B. C., and Seattle, pausedopposite Mr. Dacre and the Bungalow Boys. They stood on the lee side ofthe upper deck regarding the expanse of tumbling water between them andthe rocky, mountainous coast beyond. The sky was blue and clean-swept. Acrisp wind, salt with the breath of the Pacific, swept along Puget Soundfrom the open sea.
The surging waters of the Sound reflected, but, with a deeper hue, theblue of the sky. The mountainous hills beyond were blue, too,--apurplish-blue, with the dark, inky shadows of big pines and spruces.Here and there great patches of gray rock, gaunt and bare as a wolf'sback, cropped out. Behind all the snow-clad Olympians towered whitely.
Off to port of where the steamer was now crawling slowly along--a pallof black, soft coal smoke flung behind her--was a long point, rocky andpine-clad like the mountains behind it. On the end of it was a white,melancholy day-beacon. It looked like a skeleton against its darkbackground.
"There's Dead Man's Point," added the friendly deck hand.
"And Jefferson Station is in beyond it?" asked Mr. Dacre.
"That's right. Must look lonesome to you Easterners."
"It certainly does," agreed Mr. Dacre. "Boys," he went on, lookinganxiously landward, "I don't see a sign of a shore boat yet."
At this point of the conversation the captain pulled his whistle cord,and the ugly, old side-wheeler's siren emitted a sonorous blast.
Poking his head out of the pilot house window, he shouted down at Mr.Dacre and the boys:
"I'm a goin' ter lay off here for ten minutes. If no shore boat shows upby that time, on we go to Seattle."
"Very well," responded Mr. Dacre, hiding his vexation as best he could."We must--but," he broke off abruptly, as from round the point theresuddenly danced a small sloop. "I guess that's the boat now, captain!"he hailed up.
"Hope so, anyhow," ejaculated Tom, while the captain merely gave agrunt. He was annoyed at having to slow up his steamer. As the engineroom bell jingled, the clumsy old side wheels beat the water lessrapidly. Presently the old tub lay rolling in the trough of the seaalmost motionless. On came the boat under a press of canvas. She heeledover smartly. In her stern was an upright figure; the lower part of hisface was covered with a big, brown beard. As he saw the party, he waveda blue-shirted arm.
"That's Colton Chillingworth!" exclaimed Mr. Dacre. "I haven't seen himfor ten years, but I'd know that big outline of a man any place."
The deck hands were now all ready with the travelers' steamer trunks.The boys had their suit cases, gun bags, and fishing rods in theirhands.
"How on earth are we ever going to board that boat?" wondered Jack,rather apprehensively, as the tiny craft came dancing along like alight-footed terpsichorean going through the mazes of a quadrille.
"Jump!" was Mr. Dacre's response. "These steamers don't make landings.I'm glad Chillingworth was in time, or we might have been carried on toSeattle."
And now the boat was cleverly run in alongside. She came up under thelee of the heavily rolling steamer, her sails flapping with a loudreport as the wind died out of them.
"Hul-lo, Dacre!" came up a hearty hail from the big figure in the stern."Hullo there, boys! Ready to come aboard?"
"Aye, aye, Colton!" hailed back Mr. Dacre. "We'll be with you in aminute."
"If we don't tumble overboard first," muttered Jack to himself.
"Better take the lower deck, sir," suggested one of the deck hands.
Accordingly, our party traversed the faded splendors of the littlesteamer's saloon and emerged presently by her paddle box. Between theside of the vessel and the big curved box was a triangular platform.
"Stand out on this, sir, and you and the boys jump from it," suggestedthe deck hand.
"A whole lot easier to say than to do," was Tom's mental comment. Hesaid nothing aloud, however.
In the meantime their baggage had been lowered by a sling. A secondperson, who had just emerged from the cabin of the little boat, wasactive in stowing it in the cockpit. This personage was a Chinaman. Hewore no queue, however, but still clung to the loose blue blouse andtrousers of his country.
"Allee lightee. You come jumpee now," he hailed up, when the baggage wasstowed.
"Here goes, boys," cried Mr. Dacre, with a laugh. He made a clean springand landed on the edge of the deck of the plunging sloop. The Chinamancaught him on one side, while the lad's uncle braced himself on theother by grabbing a stay. Another instant and the boys could see him andMr. Chillingworth warmly shaking hands.
"Go ahead, Jack," urged Tom. But for once Jack did not seem anxious totake the lead. He hesitated and looked about him. But he only saw thegrinning faces of the deck hands.
"Come on!" shouted his uncle, extending his arms. "It's easy. We'llcatch you."
"Hum! If I had my diving suit here, I'd feel better," muttered the lad."But--here goes!"
Like a boy making a final determined plunge into a cold tub on a wintermorning, Jack leaped forward and outward. He landed right on the sloop'sdeck, falling in a sprawling heap. But the active Chinaman had him bythe arms and he was on his feet in a jiffy. Tom followed an instantlater.
Hardly had his foot touched the deck before the steamer gave a farewellblast and forged onward, leaving them alone in the tossing, tumblingwilderness of wind-driven waters. Somehow the waves looked a lot biggerfrom the cockpit of the sloop than they had from the deck of thesteamer.
They watched the big craft as with a dip and a splash of its wet plates,it gained speed again, several passengers gazing from its upper decks atthe adventurous party in the little sloop. Introductions were speedilygone through by Mr. Dacre. The boys made up their minds that they weregoing to like Colton Chillingworth very much. He was a big-framedsix-footer, tanned with wind and sun, and under his flannel shirt theycould see the great muscles play as he moved about.
"This is Song Fu, my factotum," said Mr. Chillingworth, nodding towardthe Chinaman, whose yellow face expanded into a broad grin as his masterturned toward him.
"How do you do, Song Fu?" poetically asked Tom, not knowing just whatelse to say.
"Me welly nicely, t'ank you," was the glib response.
By this time Mr. Chillingworth had set the helm and put the little sloopabout. She fairly flew through the water, throwing back clouds of sprayover the top of her tiny cabin. It was exhilarating, though, and theboys enjoyed every minute of it.
But as they sped along, it soon became apparent that the wind wasfreshening. The sea, too, was getting up. Great green waves toweredabout the boat as if they would overwhelm her. The combers raced alongastern, and every minute it seemed as if one of them must come climbingover, but none did.
"Got to take another reef," said Mr. Chillingworth presently. "Caneither of you boys handle a boat?"
"Well, what a question," exclaimed Mr. Dacre. "If you had seen themmanaging the _Omoo_ in that gale off Hatteras, you'd have thought theycould handle a boat, and well, too."
"That being the case, Tom here can take the tiller, while I help Fu takein sail."
Mr. Chillingworth resigned the tiller to Tom, who promptly brought thesloop up into the wind, allowing her sails to shiver. This permitted Mr.Chillingworth and the Chinaman to get at the reef points and tie themdown. This done, the owner of the boat came back to the cockpit and shewas put on her course once more.
"You handled her like a veteran," said Mr. Chillingworth to Tom, wholooked pleased at such praise coming from a man whom he had already madeup his mind was a very capable citizen.
The rancher went on to explain something of his circumstances. He andhis wife had come out there some years before. They were doing theirbest to wrest a living from the rough country. But it was a struggle.Mr. Chillingworth admitted that, although he had big hopes of thecountry ult
imately becoming a new Eldorado.
"Just at present, though, it's a little rough," he admitted.
"Oh, we don't mind roughing it," responded Tom. "We're used to that."
"So I should imagine from the newspaper accounts I read of yourprowess," said Mr. Chillingworth dryly.
"Oh, they wrote a lot of stuff that didn't happen at all," put in Jack.
"Not to mention the pictures," laughed Mr. Dacre.
"Well," said Mr. Chillingworth, "if there were some enterprisingreporter out here now, he would find plenty to write about."
"How's that?" inquired Mr. Dacre.
"Why, you may have heard of Chinese smugglers--that is to say, men whorun Chinamen into the country without the formality of their obtainingpapers?"
Mr. Dacre nodded.
"Something of the sort," he said.
"Well, they have been pretty active here recently. Some of the ranchershave had trouble with them."
"But surely they have notified the authorities?" exclaimed Tom.
"That's just it," said Mr. Chillingworth. "They are all afraid of therascals. Scared of having their buildings burned down, or their horseshamstrung, or something unpleasant like that."
"Well, if you are the same old Colton Chillingworth," smiled Mr. Dacre,"I'm sure you do not belong in that category."
A look came over Colton Chillingworth's face that the boys had notnoticed on that rugged countenance before. Under his brown beard, hislips set firmly, and his eyes narrowed. Colton Chillingworth, with thatexpression on his features, looked like a bad man to have trouble with.But to Mr. Dacre's astonishment, and the no less surprise of the boys,his reply was somewhat hesitant.
"Well, you see, Dacre," he said uncertainly, "a married man has othersthan himself to look out for. By the way, my wife doesn't know anythingabout the troubles. Please don't mention them to her, will you?"
"Certainly not," was the rejoinder. "But----"
A sudden cry from the Chinaman cut his words short. The Mongolian raiseda hand, and with a long, yellow finger pointed off to the west. Theboys, following with their eyes the direction in which he pointed, atfirst could descry nothing, but presently, as the sloop rose on the topof a wave, they could make out, in the blue distance, the sudden flashof a white sail on the Sound.
"It's the schooner, Fu?" asked Mr. Chillingworth eagerly.
The Celestial nodded. No change of expression had come over hismask-like features, but the boys vaguely felt that behind theimpenetrable face lay a troubled mind.
Mr. Dacre looked his questions.
"What is there about the schooner particularly interesting?" he asked,at length.
"Oh, nothing much," said Mr. Chillingworth, with what seemed rather aforced laugh. "Except that she is Bully Banjo's craft."
"Bully Banjo?" echoed Mr. Dacre, in a puzzled tone.
"Yes. Or Simon Lake's, to give the rascal his real name. Lake is the manwho is at the present time the real ruler of the ranchers in thisdistrict," said Mr. Chillingworth bitterly. "Dacre," he went on, "I'mafraid that I have invited you into a troubled region. I'll give you myword, though, that when I wrote to you things were quiet enough."
"My dear fellow," was the rejoinder, "don't apologize. I myself relish alittle excitement, and here are two boys who live on it."
"If that is the case," replied the other, with a wan smile, "they are onthe verge of plenty--or I'm very much mistaken."