Never-Fail Blake

  XIII

  Once assured that his surf-boat would keep afloat, Blake took the oarsand began to row. But even as he swung the boat lumberingly about herealized that he could make no headway with such a load, for almost afoot of water still surged along its bottom. So he put down the oarsand began to bale again. He did not stop until the boat was emptied.Then he carefully replugged the bullet-hole, took up the oars again,and once more began to row.

  He rowed, always keeping his bow towards the far-off spangle of lightswhich showed where the _Trunella_ lay at anchor.

  He rowed doggedly, determinedly. He rowed until his arms were tiredand his back ached. But still he did not stop. It occurred to him,suddenly, that there might be a tide running against him, that with allhis labor he might be making no actual headway. Disturbed by thisthought, he fixed his attention on two almost convergent lights onshore, rowing with renewed energy as he watched them. He had thesatisfaction of seeing these two lights slowly come together, and heknew he was making some progress.

  Still another thought came to him as he rowed doggedly on. And thatwas the fear that at any moment, now, the quick equatorial morningmight dawn. He had no means of judging the time. To strike a lightwas impossible, for his matches were water-soaked. Even his watch, hefound, had been stopped by its bath in sea-water. But he felt thatlong hours had passed since midnight, that it must be close to thebreak of morning. And the fear of being overtaken by daylight filledhim with a new and more frantic energy.

  He rowed feverishly on, until the lights of the _Trunella_ stood highabove him and he could hear the lonely sound of her bells as the watchwas struck. Then he turned and studied the dark hull of the steamer asshe loomed up closer in front of him. He could see her only inoutline, at first, picked out here and there by a light. But thereseemed something disheartening, something intimidating, in her veryquietness, something suggestive of a plague-ship deserted by crew andpassengers alike. That dark and silent hull at which he stared seemedto house untold possibilities of evil.

  Yet Blake remembered that it also housed Binhart. And with thatthought in his mind he no longer cared to hesitate. He rowed in underthe shadowy counter, bumping about the rudder-post. Then he worked hisway forward, feeling quietly along her side-plates, foot by foot.

  He had more than half circled the ship before he came to herlanding-ladder. The grilled platform at the bottom of this row ofsteps stood nearly as high as his shoulders, as though the ladder-endhad been hauled up for the night.

  Blake balanced himself on the bow of his surf-boat and tugged andstrained until he gained the ladder-bottom. He stood there, recoveringhis breath, for a moment or two, peering up towards the inhospitablesilence above him. But still he saw no sign of life. No word orchallenge was flung down at him. Then, after a moment's thought, helay flat on the grill and deliberately pushed the surf-boat off intothe darkness. He wanted no more of it. He knew, now, there could beno going back.

  He climbed cautiously up the slowly swaying steps, standing for apuzzled moment at the top and peering about him. Then he crept alongthe deserted deck, where a month of utter idleness, apparently, hadleft discipline relaxed. He shied away from the lights, here andthere, that dazzled his eyes after his long hours of darkness. With aninstinct not unlike that which drives the hiding wharf-rat into thedeepest corner at hand, he made his way down through the body of theship. He shambled and skulked his way down, a hatless and ragged anduncouth figure, wandering on along gloomy gangways and corridors untilhe found himself on the threshold of the engine-room itself.

  He was about to back out of this entrance and strike still deeper whenhe found himself confronted by an engineer smoking a short brier-rootpipe. The pale blue eyes of this sandy-headed engineer were wide withwonder, startled and incredulous wonder, as they stared at the raggedfigure in the doorway.

  "Where in the name o' God did _you_ come from?" demanded the man withthe brier-root pipe.

  "I came out from Guayaquil," answered Blake, reaching searchingly downin his wet pocket. "And I can't go back."

  The sandy-headed man backed away.

  "From the fever camps?"

  Blake could afford to smile at the movement.

  "Don't worry--there 's no fever 'round me. _That 's_ what I 've beenthrough!" And he showed the bullet-holes through his tatteredcoat-cloth.

  "How'd you get here?"

  "Rowed out in a surf-boat--and I can't go back!"

  The sandy-headed engineer continued to stare at the uncouth figure infront of him, to stare at it with vague and impersonal wonder. And infacing that sandy-headed stranger, Blake knew, he was facing a judgewhose decision was to be of vast moment in his future destiny, whoseword, perhaps, was to decide on the success or failure of muchwandering about the earth.

  "I can't go back!" repeated Blake, as he reached out and dropped aclutter of gold into the palm of the other man. The pale blue eyeslooked at the gold, looked out along the gangway, and then looked backat the waiting stranger.

  "That Alfaro gang after you?" he inquired.

  "They 're _all_ after me!" answered the swaying figure in rags. Theywere talking together, by this time, almost in whispers, like twoconspirators. The young engineer seemed puzzled. But a wave of reliefswept through Blake when in the pale blue eyes he saw almost a look ofpity.

  "What d' you want me to do?" he finally asked.

  Blake, instead of answering that question, asked another.

  "When do you move out of here?"

  The engineer put the coins in his pocket.

  "Before noon to-morrow, thank God! The _Yorktown_ ought to be here bymorning--she 's to give us our release!"

  "Then you'll sail by noon?"

  "We 've _got_ to! They 've tied us up here over a month, withoutreason. They worked that old yellow-jack gag--and not a touch of feveraboard all that time!"

  A great wave of contentment surged through Blake's weary body. He puthis hand up on the smaller man's shoulder.

  "Then you just get me out o' sight until we 're off, and I 'll fixthings so you 'll never be sorry for it!"

  The pale-eyed engineer studied the problem. Then he studied the figurein front of him.

  "There's nothing crooked behind this?"

  Blake forced a laugh from his weary lungs. "I 'll prove that in twodays by wireless--and pay first-class passage to the next port of call!"

  "I 'm fourth engineer on board here, and the Old Man would sure fireme, if--"

  "But you needn't even know about me," contended Blake. "Just let mecrawl in somewhere where I can sleep!"

  "You need it, all right, by that face of yours!"

  "I sure do," acknowledged the other as he stood awaiting his judge'sdecision.

  "Then I 'd better get you down to my bunk. But remember, I can onlystow you there until we get under way--perhaps not that long!"

  He stepped cautiously out and looked along the gangway. "This is yourfuneral, mind, when the row comes. You 've got to face that, yourself!"

  "Oh, I 'll face it, all right!" was Blake's calmly contented answer."All I want now is about nine hours' sleep!"

  "Come on, then," said the fourth engineer. And Blake followed after ashe started deeper down into the body of the ship. And already, deepbelow him, he could hear the stokers at work in their hole.