Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 27/Number 4/Shadows Tremendous/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
WHAT THE BREEZE REVEALED.
THE morning hours seemed to drag along on leaden wings. Darrell, Bellamy, and Carmen had moved their chairs to the port side of the fore deck, from which point of vantage they would get the first glimpse of the land which meant so much to all three of them.
Conversation was broken and spasmodic, for as the minutes slowly passed the feeling of tense expectancy increased until it was all Bellamy could do to hide the nervousness which was gripping him. Even the languid Carmen developed an unexpected capacity for restlessness, while Darrell, though outwardly unperturbed, lapsed now and then into spells of thoughtful silence. Though the uselessness of it was quite obvious, the temptation to speculate on what awaited them at Magdalena Bay was irresistible. Would they find the Japanese in complete occupation, swarming over the place, and making it impossible to land even without the certainty of walking into a trap from which it would be impossible ever to emerge?
There was, of course, a possibility that the negotiations between Ives, who represented the owners of the land, and the Mexican government, which held sovereignty over it, had not yet been completed. There was also the barest sort of chance that the whole affair was in the nature of a false alarm; but to the secret-service agent this seemed very faint. Carmen's story, agreeing so closely with the stolen wireless, made Darrell almost certain that something big was in the wind.
He wished he had some means of knowing just how much of that story was true. It could scarcely have all been made up out of whole cloth, and if Carmen was the man he supposed him to be, he was certainly in a position to learn something of Carranza's intentions.
There was one phase of the situation which gave Darrell a grim satisfaction. If, as he had every reason to believe, it was Sudo who had spied upon them the night before, the suspicions of the Japs would almost surely be diverted to Philip Carmen for a time, at least, giving Bellamy and himself a brief respite from espionage. All the secret-service agent wanted was a breathing spell. A few hours, or even less, of freedom would be sufficient, he believed, for him to find out what he wanted to know.
Once that knowledge was his, provided he was able to lull suspicion until it was obtained, he could snap his fingers at the little brown men. There was no means of escaping from Magdalena by water, but forty-odd miles north of the settlement was the great rancho of Matancita, where an artesian well—the only fresh-water supply within a circuit of a hundred miles—made a blooming oasis in the desert of burning sand.
Once there, it should be possible to find some means of crossing the peninsula to the east coast and making their way southward to La Paz, where was located a United States coaling station with wireless, which would bring them into touch with the outer world.
Dinner was a somewhat hurried and silent meal, and afterward the three men returned to the deck again. Two bells sounded, and three, and four, without so much as a low-lying cloud bank breaking the flat, distant horizon. It was after four, in fact, when a faint, vague haze appeared almost dead ahead, and another half hour elapsed before it was pronounced with any certainty to be land.
“I really think our goal is in sight at last,” Carmen observed.
He had risen to his feet, and, with an expression which was far from bored, was studying the horizon with a powerful field glass.
“Yes,” he went on, ten minutes later, “there seems to be no doubt about it. I recognize the cliffs of Man-of-war Island, which forms the outer edge of the bay.”
Through his own glass Darrell had already assured himself of that fact some minutes before, but it was part of his plan to pretend total ignorance regarding the aspect of the place.
“I thought it was mostly sand,” he said, in a tone of surprise.
“So it is, except for the rocky headland and islands and a high plateau to the north of the town.”
Carmen did not lower the glass as he spoke, and for several minutes there was silence.
“I wonder if your Jap vessels are here,” Bellamy said presently.
“I shan't know, of course, until we are in the bay. These cliffs make a most effectual barrier.”
From that time on, the conversation was fitful and broken. As the steamer plowed her way steadily through the waves, the glasses of the two men swept back and forth along the line of barren cliffs, which grew clearer and more distinct with every passing moment.
The place was as desolate as a desert waste. Not a touch of green showed anywhere. There was no sign of life or movement save thousands of sea birds circling and wheeling above the frothy waves which pounded and broke on the beach.
It was the essence of all that is lonely. and deserted, yet Darrell knew that the rocky headlands between which their course was set might easily swarm with men and they be none the wiser.
As the Golden Horn neared the narrow gap between the two islands, the conversation ceased entirely. In the thrilling expectancy of the moment the secret-service agent dropped for a time his rôle of careless looker-on. Standing a little behind Carmen, so that the latter could not see his movements, he swept the precipitous headlands for a sign of life, but found nothing.
His practiced eye told him that the first act of an enemy, sure in possession, would be to erect batteries to command the entrance, which was barely five hundred yards in width; yet apparently the work had not been even started. Was is possible, he wondered, that the deal had not yet been consummated? A frown furrowed his forehead as he lowered the glass at length, and stood waiting for a view of the bay.
It came swiftly, and as the wide expanse of placid water spread out before him Darrell bit his lips to choke back an exclamation of overwhelming surprise.
To right and left a wonderful expanse of water glittered in the rays of the late-afternoon sun. In color it was almost as blue as the cloudless sky. The breeze had stirred it into little ripples, which lapped against the steamer's sides with sleepy, soothing rhythm. Its surface was unbroken by vessels of any sort. Not even a native fishing boat could be seen. The whole atmosphere was as full of peace as if they had been entering a lagoon on some deserted island, and there was no thought of war in Mexico with the United States or any other power.
Incredulously Darrell swept his glass southward along the shores of the two islands which formed the lower boundary; northward along the cliffs of the long, narrow strip of land hemming in the bay in that direction; across the stretch of placid, deserted water to where he knew the little settlement lay.
At last he lowered it, and glanced swiftly at Carmen. “The Jap ships don't seem to have arrived,” he remarked quietly.
“Apparently not.” The languid person's voice was drawling, but Darrell fancied there was a faint undercurrent of relief in it. He wondered what brought it there. It looked very much as if the man was not particularly anxious to have his story verified. If that was the case, he could have no connection with Carranza, as the secret-service agent had feared.
“It is possible, of course,” Carmen went on presently, “that they've landed the men and sailed away. I can't account for it in any other way.”
That thought had occurred to Darrell, only to be rejected instantly. For them to send away the transports which had brought them there was too much like burning their bridges behind them, and would be an act of utter folly. Besides, there was Ives' yacht to be accounted for. It could scarcely have arrived more than twenty-four hours ahead of the Golden Horn, and that seemed altogether too short a time in which to conclude the transfer of title and all the other details which had to be attended to.
Could it be possible, he wondered, that the whole affair had fizzled? It seemed incredible, yet when he remembered that their only clew had been a code message plucked out of the air his heart sank within him. That wireless might never have come from a yacht at sea. It was quite possible for it to have been sent from some apparatus in San Francisco. It might have been deliberately faked up by some sportive amateur. Heaven knew there were plenty such who. possessed sufficient knowledge and skill to do it.
“I won't believe I'm mistaken till the proof is thrust down my throat,” he thought, his jaw squaring doggedly. “We haven't landed yet.”
The steamer was headed straight for a point of shore almost opposite the narrow entrance to the bay. Presently Bellamy went below for their belongings, and by the time he had returned Darrell was able to make out through his glass the spidery outlines of a wharf jutting out from the sandy beach. Soon afterward, he could see distinctly the low houses clustered back of the dock, and even the figures of men lounging in the shade of the buildings.
From their indolent attitudes he judged them Mexicans, and presently, when the glass had made his guess certain, he thrust it into his pocket and glanced at Bellamy.
“We may as well find out how we're going to land, Jack,” he remarked. “I don't suppose they'll take the trouble of docking.”
“Hardly,” returned Bellamy. “We'll be put ashore in a boat, I fancy.”
Picking up their bags, they walked aft, Carmen accompanying them. Here they found one of the boats being swung out on its davits. Billy Boote was on the spot, still wearing his red bandanna and carrying his dunnage wrapped in another. A moment or two later, Sudo appeared, looking pale and weak, and apparently scarcely able to stand. Darrell glanced at him curiously for a moment, wondering what sort of dope the Jap had taken, for there seemed no doubt that the fellow was actually ill.
Slowing down to half speed a short distance from shore, the engine presently stopped, and then reversed. Captain Coffin himself was at the wheel, and it was evident he did not propose to waste time anchoring, for the boat was quickly lowered and manned, and the four passengers were hustled down the side into her.
Boote sat just behind Carmen, and as the boat lay for an instant rolling in the gentle swell while the sailors settled to their oars, he began hoarsely humming under his breath the haunting refrain of his pirate chantey.
“Shut up, for Heaven's sake, can't you!” snapped Carmen, with sudden unwonted heat. “I'm sick and tired of that confounded song!”
The one-eyed ruffian stopped abruptly and stared in an injured manner. “Whats the matter with it, matie?” he inquired, with some petulance. “It's a good song as has been sung by many a good man now dead an'”
He broke off suddenly; and Bellamy, who faced them, noticed, with a flash of startled comprehension, that Carmen had reached stealthily back and gripped the fellow's knee with warning fingers.
“By Jove!” he muttered under his breath, dropping his lids to hide the gleam of excited interest which had leaped into his eyes. “So that's the game, is it?”