The Boy Ranchers of Puget Sound

  CHAPTER VI

  AT THE HELM

  Mr. Oliver did not come back until nightfall. He said nothing about hisvisit to the settlement and several days passed before the boys heardanything further of the matter. In the meanwhile they went on with thedrain they were cutting across a swampy strip of clearing, and oneafternoon they stood in the bottom of the four-foot trench. Harry wasthen busy with a grubhoe, cutting through the roots and breaking up thewet soil, which his companion flung out with a long-handled shovel. Itwas unpleasantly hot, and the flies were troublesome. Frank's hands weretoo muddy to brush them away and they crawled about his face and intohis ears. He had already decided that draining was about the lastoccupation he would have chosen for a scorching afternoon, had thechoice been open to him.

  He stood, stripped to shirt and trousers, in about a foot of water, andbecause he had not learned the trick of pitching out the soil, part ofevery shovelful fell back upon him. His shirt was spattered all over,and patches of sticky mire glued it to his skin. There was no doubt thatranching was considerably less romantic than he had supposed it to be,and logging and ditching struck him as particularly uninteresting andsomewhat barbarous work, but he was beginning to realize that all theagricultural prosperity of his country was founded on toil of a verysimilar kind. The wheat and the fruit trees would not grow until manwith patient labor had prepared the soil for them, and, what was moresignificant, Mr. Oliver had made it plain that their yield varied indirect proportion with the work bestowed on them. Nature's alchemy, itseemed, could transmute the effort of straining muscle into goldensheaves, glowing-tinted apples, and velvet-skinned peaches and prunes.

  It was clear to Frank that if he meant to become a rancher he must makeup his mind to face a good many unpleasant tasks, and he swung up themire shovelful by shovelful, though his back and limbs were aching andhe had to work in a horribly cramped position. He was young, and thoughthere were times when the work seemed almost too much for him, it wasconsoling to feel when he laid down his tools at night that he wasgrowing harder and tougher with every day's toil, for his muscles werenow beginning to obey instead of mastering him. He could go on forseveral hours after they commenced to ache, without its costing him anygreat effort.

  By and by, however, there was an interruption, and Frank was by no meanssorry when Mr. Oliver came up with a stranger and called them out of thetrench.

  "This is Mr. Barclay whose business is connected with the collection ofthe United States revenue," he said. "I believe he would like a littletalk with you."

  He walked away and left them with the stranger, who sat down on a logand took out a cigar. He was a little man and rather stout, dressedcarelessly in store clothes, with a big soft hat and a white shirt whichbulged up above the opening in his half-buttoned vest. It occurred toFrank that he looked like a country doctor. From out rather bushyeyebrows shone a pair of whimsical, twinkling eyes. When he had lightedhis cigar he indicated the trench with a large, plump hand.

  "Been making all that hole yourselves?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir," replied Harry.

  "Interesting work?"

  "That depends on how you look at it," said Harry flippantly. "Would youlike to try?"

  Mr. Barclay waved his hand. "It isn't necessary. Did something of thesame kind years ago--only, if I remember, it was rather wetter."

  "Where was that?" Harry inquired with an air of languid politeness, atwhich Frank felt inclined to chuckle.

  "Place called Forks Butte Creek. It was a twenty-foot trench."

  Harry seemed astonished and his manner suddenly changed.

  "You were with the boys at Forks Butte when they swung the creek?"

  "Sure," assented Mr. Barclay with a laugh. "I didn't expect you'd haveheard of it. You certainly weren't ranching then."

  "I've heard of it lots of times," declared Harry, turning excitedly toFrank. "It was one of the biggest things ever done by a few men thisside of the Cascades. The old-timers talk about it yet. A miningrow--there were about a dozen of them working some alluvial claims on adisputed location. I don't know the whole of it, but the thing turnedupon the frontage, and they stood off a swarm of jumpers while theyshifted the creek."

  "Something like that," said Mr. Barclay. "In those days they interpretedthe mining laws with a certain amount of sentiment, which--and in somerespects it's a pity--they don't do now." He paused and flicked the ashfrom his cigar. "I understand you have been seeing a mysteriousschooner."

  His tone was sufficiently ironical to put Harry on his mettle, and hefurnished a full and particular account of the vessel. When he hadfinished Mr. Barclay glanced at him with amusement in his eyes.

  "You have an idea there might be smugglers on board of her?" hesuggested.

  "It's more than an idea. I'm sure."

  "I wonder if you could tell me why?"

  It was rather difficult to answer, but Harry made the attempt,furnishing his questioner with half a dozen reasons which did not seemto have much effect on him.

  "Well," he persisted, "you're convinced she had opium and Chinamen onboard her?"

  "Aren't you?"

  Mr. Barclay looked up with a smile. "At the present moment I can't forman opinion. After all, it's possible."

  He rose, and as he was strolling away toward the house Harry's facecontracted into an indignant frown.

  "That man must have been cooking, or something of the kind, at ForksButte," he broke out contemptuously. "Anyway, it was the last time heever did anything worth talking about. Did you ever run up against sucha stuffed image?"

  Frank was far from certain that this description was altogetherapplicable to the stranger, but Harry seemed so much annoyed that he didnot express his opinion, and they got down into the trench again. Whenthey went back to the ranch an hour later they heard that Mr. Oliver andMr. Barclay had gone to a neighboring ranch and intended to make ajourney into the bush if they could borrow horses. When the boys wereeating breakfast the next morning Miss Oliver turned to Harry.

  "We have run out of pork, and the flour is almost gone," she said. "Imeant to ask your father to bring some when he went up to thesettlement, but I forgot it, and Jake must bring in those steersto-day."

  "We'll go," broke in Harry quickly. "There's a nice sailing breeze."

  His aunt looked doubtful. "You have never been so far with the sloopunless Jake was with you; and isn't there a nasty tide-rip somewhere?Still, I don't know what I shall do unless I get the flour."

  She yielded when Harry insisted; and shortly afterward the boys paddledoff to the sloop and made the canoe fast astern. They set the big gaffmainsail and Harry sculled her out of the cove before he hoisted thejib. Then he made Frank take the helm.

  "It's a head wind until we're round the point yonder, but you'll have tolearn to sail her sometime," he said. "The first thing to remember isthat she'll only lie up at an angle to the wind and if you make it toosmall she won't go through the water. You want to feel a slight strainon the tiller."

  He hauled the sheets in until the boom hung just over the boat'squarter, and while Frank grasped the tiller she slid out into openwater. Bright sunshine smote the little tumbling green ridges that hadhere and there crests of snowy foam, and she bounded over them with aspray cloud flying at her bows. She seemed to be making an excellentpace, but Harry shook his head.

  "No," he objected, "you're letting her fall off. That is, the angleyou're sailing her at is too big. She'll go faster that way, but shewon't go so far to windward. Don't pull so much on your tiller andshe'll come up closer."

  Frank tried it, but the boat sailed more slowly, and presently hermainsail flapped.

  "Now you're too close," warned Harry. "You're trying to head her rightinto the wind. Pull your helm up again."

  Frank did so, and when the boat gathered speed he ventured a question.

  "If you keep her too close to the wind she won't sail, and if you lether fall off she's not going where you want. How do you find out theexact angle she ought to make?"


  Harry laughed. "It depends on the boat, the cut of her sails, and howsmart you are at the helm. One man would shove her to windward a pointcloser than another could and keep her sailing faster, too. It's athing that takes time to learn, and there are men you couldn't teach tosail a boat at all."

  Frank found that it became easier by degrees, though his companion didnot appear altogether satisfied. The sloop had dipped her lee rail justlevel with the water now, and she rushed along, bounding with a lurchand splash over the small froth-tipped seas. He began to understand howone arrived at the proper angle by the slant at which the wind struckhis face as well as by watching the direction of the seas which camecharging down to meet her in regular formation. Then Harry said that asthey had stretched out far enough to clear the point they would go aboutupon the other tack.

  "Shove your helm down--that's to lee--not too hard!" he ordered, and asFrank obeyed him there was a sharp banging of sail cloth and the boat,swinging around, swayed upright.

  In another moment the wind was on her opposite side, and she was headingoff at an angle to her previous course, while Harry with one foot bracedagainst the lee coaming struggled to flatten in the sheet on the jib.The big mainboom had swung over of its own accord amidst a great clatterof blocks. By and by when the point slid away to lee of them Harry toldFrank to pull his helm up, and then he pointed to a confused mass ofgray rocks and trees rising above the glistening water several milesaway.

  "Now," he said, "she'll go there straight, and all you have to do is tokeep her bowsprit on yonder head. It's a fair wind, and when you've gotthat you want to slack out the sheets until the sails are as faroutboard as they'll go and still keep full. If your sheets are tootight, you'll know it by the weight on the tiller."

  He let a couple of ropes run out through the clattering blocks, and thesloop, slanting over a little farther, seemed to leap forward. Thesparkling green ridges which came tumbling up on one side of her swungher aloft with the foam boiling along the edge of her lee deck, andthen surged away in turn and let her drop while another came rolling up.Instead of being a mere thing of wood and canvas she seemed to becomeanimate, charged with vitality. The springy way she rushed along wasstrangely exhilarating. Frank became fascinated watching her bows go upand the snowy, straining sail sweep across the dazzling blue at everylurch, while he became conscious of a sense of control and mastery as hegripped the tiller. He felt that he could do what he wanted with thiswonderful rushing thing.

  For she was certainly wonderful. There was no doubt of that, becauseamong all of man's works and inventions there is none that more nearlyapproaches the simplicity of perfection and adaptability to its purposethan the modern sailboat. It has taken centuries to evolve her, eachbuilder adding a little to the work of those who went before, andbalancing in her making, often without knowing it, the great naturalforces one against another, until at last science justified what mandid, so that with this frail creation one may brave the untrammeledwinds of heaven and the onslaught of the seas.

  By and by the headland they had been nearing thrust them off theircourse, and outside it lay a nest of islets, with a strong streamrunning up between. As it ran to windward it broke up the regular,breeze-driven waves into short, foaming combers with hollowed breastsand tumbling tops which flung up wisps of spray. Frank glanced at thistumult with some anxiety, and it was a relief to him when his companionoffered to take the tiller.

  "You had better let me have her," Harry said. "She wants handling in ajump like that. I'd heave a reef down to reduce the sail, only that itwould take us some time to tie it in and there'll be smoother water oncewe're past the islands. As we'll have to beat through, you can get thesheets in."

  Frank found this no easy task, for he had no idea that the sails couldpull so hard, and Harry had to help him with one hand. Then the latter'sface became intent as they plunged into the turmoil. The seas looked bigand angry now. In fact, as usually happens, they looked a good dealbigger than they really were, but they were breaking in a threateningmanner and came on to meet the sloop in white-topped phalanxes. She wentover some with a disconcerting plunge and swoop, but she rammed a few ofthe rest, driving her jib and bows in and flinging the brine all overher when she swung them up. Her deck was sluicing, and every now andthen a green and white cascade came frothing over the coaming into thewell. Frank, however, noticed that, instead of letting the boat meet thecombers, his companion occasionally pulled his tiller up, so that,swinging round a little, she brought the ridge of frothing water fartheron her side as she plunged over it.

  "I thought you had to face a nasty sea head-on," he said.

  "Did you?" Harry responded. "Then watch that smaller one."

  A slope of water came tumbling on some yards ahead, and as the boy easedhis helm down an inch or two the bows came up to meet the sea. Theystruck it full in its hollowed breast, and the next moment there was ashock and half the deck was lost in a rush of foam.

  "Like me to plug another?" laughed Harry.

  Frank begged him not to do it. The result of the experiment was ratheralarming, and Harry let her fall off a little to dodge the onslaught ofthe succeeding combers, until at last they grew smaller as the streamspread itself out in open water. Then he gave Frank some furtherinstruction.

  "If you were pulling or paddling a small craft it would be safer tobring her head-on, because you have to remember that she'd be goingmighty slow, but when you're sailing a boat that's carrying her speedit's evident that you don't want to ram her right at a comber. If youdo, she's bound to go bang into it. When you see one that looksthreatening you let her fall off slightly and she goes over slanting."He broke off for a moment with a laugh. "Seems to me I'm always on the'teach.' You come here and take the tiller while I get some of the waterout of her. You can head for that point to starboard."

  He busied himself with the bucket while Frank steered the boat, and anhour or so later they ran into a little sheltered inlet where theybrought her head to wind and pitched the anchor over. After that theybailed out the half-swamped canoe, and, dropping into her, paddledashore.