Wild Norene/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII.
Prisoners—and Freed!
WONDERING how it all would terminate, Jack Connor left the bridge and went to the cabin to throw himself in a bunk and try to sleep, for he felt he would get no sleep that night.
He realized within a few minutes that Captain Adams was forcing the Amingo to her greatest speed. The attempt to dodge the gunboat had begun.
Had he been on deck, watching, he would have seen a peculiar thing, for Captain Bill called the members of the crew to him on the bridge, one by one, and to them imparted certain information. These men, for the greater part, had sailed with Adams for some time, had played parts in his evasions of the law, and were ready to do his bidding.
Others, newer on the Amingo, could be trusted by the skipper, since they had been vouched for by tried and trusted men. Only one man failed to get the summons to the bridge and a message from the captain; he was Morgan, Jack Connor's friend.
Morgan's guarded inquiries as to what was up were met by sneers from the others, and one man told him to his face to attend to his own business. Morgan asked no more questions, but decided to mention the matter to Connor when next he saw the mate.
Guerrero was on the bridge during these conversations and heard them all. One by one, the men were informed that that night cargo was to be landed. Grinning, they nodded that they understood.
But the remainder of the captain's message puzzled them. He would not be on deck, possibly, during the unloading, and they were to take orders only from Señor Guerrero in case their captain was absent.
If Connor attempted to take command, they were to ignore him. If he made himself obnoxious, they were to tie him to the mast and proceed with their work?
It was peculiar instructions, but the men did not question. They knew Captain Bill had peculiar ways.
As far as the mate was concerned, they knew there was bad blood between him and the captain. They had missed nothing during the voyage; they had witnessed clashes between Norene and the mate, and between Captain Bill and Connor.
One other instruction they received, too: if the gunboat overhauled the Amingo and her officers asked questions, the men were to swear that whatever Captain Bill said was the truth. They understood that—many of them had sworn to lies before for Captain Bill.
The Amingo began to gain on the gunboat. The latter did not realize it until night began falling and she attempted to creep nearer, as she had done on previous nights.
She found she could not; the Amingo held her distance.
Then the gunboat put forth her greatest speed, Garza, her commander, realizing that the clash was near at hand. At any time after dark he knew, the Amingo might turn toward the shore and soon get within Mexican waters.
Night came. Captain Bill still paced the bridge. Hatches were opened and huge packing cases were put on deck—cases supposed to contain mining machinery; and they might have, as far as their weight was concerned.
The men worked swiftly, silently, like men used to such labor. Señor Guerrero was among them, more nervous than ever, continually rubbing his hands together, his eyes sparkling with excitement. It was pitch-dark, and the lights of the pursuing gunboat could not be seen.
An hour or two passed, and the nose of the Amingo was turned toward the distant Mexican shore.
In the cabin below Jack Connor slept. In an adjoining cabin Wild Norene lay in a berth, her tempest of tears at an end, and Sally Wood sat beside her, bathing the girl's swollen face and telling her of Jack Connor.
"I heard it all—that night," she was saying. "I've known Jack Connor for some time. He never looks at a woman. And I knew by the way he acted that night that he never would look at a woman unless that woman was you. I could read him like a book. You should have seen him hurl the men away and prohibit them mentioning the girl he had met on Commercial Street, even though they did not say your name.
"He didn't know your name then. If he had he'd never have spoken of Wild Norene as he did a short time later."
"I know—I know," Norene said. "He wasn't speaking of me; he was speaking of the girl he thought I must be."
"And he—he loves you, I am sure," said Sally Wood.
She looked away as she said it, and there was an expression of pain in her face.
"I know he is clean and honest," she went on.
"You must be in love with him yourself," Norene muttered.
Sally hesitated before she answered.
"But he's never looked at me twice—with any interest," she said. "He—he feels sorry for me, I suppose. I have a share in his sympathy and perhaps his pity, but not in his love."
Norene thought it best to change the subject.
"Do you suppose you'll ever meet the other—Riney?" she asked. "What are you going to do if you meet him?"
"I don't know," Sally answered. "I've had thoughts of revenge for years, but I never decided how I'd take it. I've thought I'd find a way when I found him. We never know what we'll do, do we, when we meet the person we've hated for years?"
"He may be on Garza's boat," suggested Norene.
"In that case I hope I'll not meet him just now, for that would mean danger for you and your uncle."
Norene got up from the berth and walked across to the port-hole, to stare out at the blackness of the night.
Her uncle! There'd be another scene with him, she knew. And she was firm in her decision to leave the Amingo as soon as the vessel was in a United States port again. She had meant it when she said she would not sail with her uncle again until he turned honest.
The Amingo was steaming toward the coast without lights. On the bridge Captain Bill Adams searched the horizon with his night-glass, trying to locate the gunboat, wondering whether she had gone on south, past the place where the Amingo had turned her nose toward the shore.
And then from a masthead Captain Bill caused two red lights to be displayed for an instant, then extinguished, then displayed again. Guerrero stood beside him, and they watched in the direction of the coast.
Another hour passed, the lights winking their signal now and then, and finally the answer came—two green lights that blinked ahead in the darkness.
Captain Bill rang for half speed, and for a few minutes there was an exchange of signals between the vessel and the shore.
"I want the gunboat to come up just after the cargo is landed and you are safe ashore," Captain Bill told Guerrero.
"It is a risky business, señor"
"We'll carry it off, all right. You remember your instructions."
"Everything shall be done as you wish, señor."
"We'll go below in a moment, then."
The red lights had disappeared from the masthead; on the distant shore one green light blinked as a signal and a guide.
The Amingo crept nearer and nearer, then stopped, and the anchor was let go,
Captain Adams and Guerrero descended to the deck. A few whispered orders, to the men and a boat went over the side, and the crew began letting down the first heavy packing-case.
The stopping of the vessel had awakened Connor, and he left his cabin, to meet Captain Adams and Guerrero at the head of the companionway.
"You'd better stay in the cabin," the captain told him with a grin. "But you can go on deck if you wish."
"I beg your pardon, sir. Is the deck to be left without an officer?"
"Go on deck, by all means, if you think an officer necessary," the captain retorted, grinning again, then walked to his cabin, with Guerrero following close behind him.
Connor sprang to the deck and looked about him. He saw that a boat had been lowered, and that a heavy packing-case was being let down.
He searched the sea, but did not see the lights of any craft; nothing to indicate the presence of the gunboat.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded of the men near the boat.
"Cap'n's orders, sir."
"Just what are the cap'n's orders?" he demanded.
The man did not answer, but turned to grasp a line. Connor gripped him by the shoulder and whirled him around.
"Answer me, you scum, and be civil about it!" he roared.
By way of reply the man struck; the blow grazed Connor's shoulder.
"You would, would you? You'd strike an officer, would you?"
As he spoke one fist shot out and the sailor struck the deck like a dead man. But Connor found others upon him. They grasped his arms, tried to trip him, rained blows upon his head and face and breast.
Morgan sprang across the deck to the mate's assistance. In an instant he, too, had been conquered.
Both were carried to a mast, and lashings appeared as if by magic. Kicking, trying to strike, struggling to be free did not avail. The crew left their work at the boat to help.
A moment—and Connor and Morgan were lashed securely to the mast, so that they could move neither hand nor foot.
"Cap'n's orders," grinned one of the men as they started back across the deck.
"You'll suffer for this, you dogs!" Connor cried.
They gave him no reply; they hurried back to the boat and began lowering away another packing-case. They worked by only one dim light that was shielded so there would be no reflection in the distance of the open sea. They talked in whispers.
Connor and Morgan struggled at their bonds, but the sailors had done their work well and escape was impossible.
"They're landin' th' contraband," Morgan whispered.
"Yes."
"Do you suppose it was cap'n's orders?"
"Yes."
"But he hasn't come back on deck; there ain't anybody to boss the men."
"They don't need a boss," snorted Connor. "They've got their orders, and they've done this work before."
Then he saw Guerrero, who had come slowly across the deck and was standing before them.
"We are sending the playthings to the ragged, ignorant fools," Guerrero said. "And you, my friend, will soon be one of those men who tell no tales."
He turned and walked toward the men working at the packing-cases.
"Lively, men!" he called. "You'll be remembered with something extra apiece if we come out all right."
"Aye, aye, sir!" replied the men in chorus.
"Easy with that case, there! Those lines need more grease; they are making a devil of a noise!"
"Cap'n's orders," muttered Connor to Morgan. "You notice, don't you, who's commanding the ship?"
"But where's th' cap'n?" Morgan demanded. "Why isn't he on deck? I'd think he'd want to boss this job himself, with a gunboat liable to poke her nose at us out of th' dark any minute. You don't suppose Guerrero has done for th' cap'n, do you? You don't suppose th' men have mutinied and turned to Guerrero?"
"I do not," replied Connor. "I have an idea we'll see the captain presently, and I've an idea that he's playing some sort of a game."
Then there was silence for a time, save for the creaking of the lines and the scraping of the cases as they were lowered against the side, and low oaths of men who smashed fingers or cut hands, and the soft-spoken orders of Señor Guerrero.
From the dark behind them after a time came a whisper:
"Don't speak! Don't attract their attention!"
Connor felt his bonds give and knew a knife had slashed them. Another slash of a knife, and he was free. Morgan, too, was being favored, and without making noise they turned slowly and peered around the mast at their deliverer.
It was Wild Norene!