By Shore and Sedge by Bret Harte (feel good books to read txt) 📕

exalting only his lonely sufferings and mysterious wrongs. Renshaw listened, lost between shame for his late suspicions and admiration for her thoughtful delicacy, until she began to speak of de Ferrieres’s strange allusions to the foreign papers in his portmanteau. “I think some were law papers, and I am almost certain I saw the word Callao printed on one of them.”

“It may be so,” said Renshaw, thoughtfully. “The old Frenchman has always passed for a harmless, wandering eccentric. I hardly think public curiosity has ever even sought to know his name, much less his history. But had we not better first try to find if there IS any property before we examine his claims to it?”

“As you please,” said Rosey, with a slight pout; “but you will find it much easier to discover him than his treasure. It’s always easier to find the thing you’re not looking for.”

“Until you want it,” said Renshaw, with sudden gravity.

“How pretty it looks over there,” said Rosey, turning her conscious eyes to the opposite mountain.

“Very.”

They had reached the top of the hill, and in the near distance the chimney of Madrono Cottage was even now visible. At the expected sight they unconsciously stopped—unconsciously disappointed. Rosey broke the embarrassing silence.

“There’s another way home, but it’s a roundabout way,” she said timidly.

“Let us take it,” said Renshaw.

She hesitated. “The boat goes at four, and we must return to-night.”

“The more reason why we should make the most of our time now,” said Renshaw with a faint smile. “Tomorrow all things may be changed; tomorrow you may find yourself an heiress, Miss Nott. Tomorrow,” he added, with a slight tremor in his voice, “I may have earned your forgiveness, only to say farewell to you forever. Let me keep this sunshine, this picture, this companionship with you long enough to say now what perhaps I must not say tomorrow.”

They were silent for a moment, and then by a common instinct turned together into a narrow trail, scarce wide enough for two, that diverged from the straight practical path before them. It was indeed a roundabout way home, so roundabout, in fact, that as they wandered on it seemed even to double on its track, occasionally lingering long and becoming indistinct under the shadow of madrono and willow; at one time stopping blindly before a fallen tree in the hollow, where they had quite lost it, and had to sit down to recall it; a rough way, often requiring the mutual help of each other’s hands and eyes to tread together in security; an uncertain way, not to be found without whispered consultation and concession, and yet a way eventually bringing them hand in hand, happy and hopeful, to the gate of Madrono Cottage. And if there was only just time for Rosey to prepare to take the boat, it was due to the deviousness of the way. If a stray curl was lying loose on Rosey’s cheek, and a long hair had caught in Renshaw’s button, it was owing to the roughness of the way; and if in the tones of their voices and in the glances of their eyes there was a maturer seriousness, it was due to the dim uncertainty of the path they had traveled, and would hereafter tread together.

IX

When Mr. Nott had satisfied himself of Renshaw’s departure, he coolly bolted the door at the head of the companion way, thus cutting off any communication with the lower deck. Taking a long rifle from the rack above his berth, he carefully examined the hammer and cap, and then cautiously let himself down through the forehatch to the deck below. After a deliberate survey of the still intact fastenings of the hatch over the forehold, he proceeded quietly to unloose them again with the aid of the tools that still lay there. When the hatch was once more free he lifted it, and, withdrawing a few feet from the opening, sat himself down, rifle in hand. A profound silence reigned throughout the lower deck.

“Ye kin rize up out o’ that,” said Nott gently.

There was a stealthy rustle below that seemed to approach the hatch, and then with a sudden bound the Lascar leaped on the deck. But at the same instant Nott covered him with his rifle. A slight shade of disappointment and surprise had crossed the old man’s face, and clouded his small round eyes at the apparition of the Lascar, but his hand was none the less firm upon the trigger as the frightened prisoner sank on his knees, with his hands clasped in the attitude of supplication for mercy.

“Ef you’re thinkin’ o’ skippin’ afore I’ve done with yer,” said Nott with labored gentleness, “I oughter warn ye that it’s my style to drop Injins at two hundred yards, and this deck ain’t anywhere mor’n fifty. It’s an uncomfortable style, a nasty style—but it’s MY style. I thought I’d tell yer, so yer could take it easy where you air. Where’s Ferrers?”

Even in the man’s insane terror, his utter bewilderment at the question was evident. “Ferrers?” he gasped; “don’t know him, I swear to God, boss.”

“P’r’aps,” said Nott, with infinite cunning, “yer don’t know the man ez kem into the loft from the alley last night—p’r’aps yer didn’t see an airy Frenchman with a dyed moustache, eh? I thought that would fetch ye!” he continued, as the man started at the evidence that his vision of last night was a living man. “P’r’aps you and him didn’t break into this ship last night, jist to run off with my darter Rosey? P’r’aps yer don’t know Rosey, eh? P’r’aps yer don’t know ez Ferrers wants to marry her, and hez been hangin’ round yer ever since he left—eh?”

Scarcely believing the evidence of his senses that the old man whose treasure he had been trying to steal was utterly ignorant of his real offense, and yet uncertain of the penalty of the other crime of which he was accused, the Lascar writhed his body and stammered vaguely, “Mercy! Mercy!”

“Well,” said Nott, cautiously, “ez I reckon the hide of a dead Chinee nigger ain’t any more vallyble than that of a dead Injin, I don’t care ef I let up on yer—seein’ the cussedness ain’t yours. But ef I let yer off this once, you must take a message to Ferrers from me.”

“Let me off this time, boss, and I swear to God I will,” said the Lascar eagerly.

“Ye kin say to Ferrers—let me see—” deliberated Nott, leaning on his rifle with cautious reflection. “Ye kin say to Ferrers like this—sez you, ‘Ferrers,’ sez you, ‘the old man sez that afore you went away you sez to him, sez you, “I take my honor with me,” sez you’—have you got that?” interrupted Nott suddenly.

“Yes, boss.”

“‘I take my honor with me,’ sez you,” repeated Nott slowly. “‘Now,’ sez you—‘the old man sez, sez he—tell Ferrers, sez he, that his honor havin’ run away agin, he sends it back to him, and ef he ever ketches it around after this, he’ll shoot it on sight.’ Hev yer got that?”

“Yes,” stammered the bewildered captive.

“Then git!”

The Lascar sprang to his feet with the agility of a panther, leaped through the hatch above him, and disappeared over the bow of the ship with an unhesitating directness that showed that every avenue of escape had been already contemplated by him. Slipping lightly from the cutwater to the ground, he continued his flight, only stopping at the private office of Mr. Sleight.

When Mr. Renshaw and Rosey Nott arrived on board the Pontiac that evening, they were astonished to find the passage before the cabin completely occupied with trunks and boxes, and the bulk of their household goods apparently in the process of removal. Mr. Nott, who was superintending the work of two Chinamen, betrayed not only no surprise at the appearance of the young people, but not the remotest recognition of their own bewilderment at his occupation.

“Kalkilatin’,” he remarked casually to his daughter, “you’d rather look arter your fixin’s, Rosey, I’ve left ‘em till the last. P’r’aps yer and Mr. Renshaw wouldn’t mind sittin’ down on that locker until I’ve strapped this yer box.”

“But what does it all mean, father?” said Rosey, taking the old man by the lapels of his sea-jacket, and slightly emphasizing her question. “What in the name of goodness are you doing?”

“Breakin’ camp, Rosey dear, breakin’ camp, jist ez we uster,” replied Nott with cheerful philosophy. “Kinder like old times, ain’t it? Lord, Rosey,” he continued, stopping and following up the reminiscence, with the end of the rope in his hand as if it were a clue, “don’t ye mind that day we started outer Livermore Pass, and seed the hull o’ the Californy coast stretchin’ yonder— eh? But don’t ye be skeered, Rosey dear,” he added quickly, as if in recognition of the alarm expressed in her face. “I ain’t turning ye outer house and home; I’ve jist hired that ‘ere Madrono Cottage from the Peters ontil we kin look round.”

“But you’re not leaving the ship, father,” continued Rosey, impetuously. “You haven’t sold it to that man Sleight?”

Mr. Nott rose and carefully closed the cabin door. Then drawing a large wallet from his pocket, he said, “It’s sing’lar ye should hev got the name right the first pop, ain’t it, Rosey? but it’s Sleight, sure enough, all the time. This yer check,” he added, producing a paper from the depths of the wallet, “this yer check for 25,000 dollars is wot he paid for it only two hours ago.”

“But,” said Renshaw, springing to his feet furiously, “you’re duped, swindled—betrayed!”

“Young man,” said Nott, throwing a certain dignity into his habitual gesture of placing his hands on Renshaw’s shoulders, “I bought this yer ship five years ago jist ez she stood for 8,000 dollars. Kalkilatin’ wot she cost me in repairs and taxes, and wot she brought me in since then, accordin’ to my figgerin’, I don’t call a clear profit of 15,000 dollars much of a swindle.”

“Tell him all,” said Rosey, quickly, more alarmed at Renshaw’s despairing face than at the news itself. “Tell him everything, Dick—Mr. Renshaw; it may not be too late.”

In a voice half choked with passionate indignation Renshaw hurriedly repeated the story of the hidden treasure, and the plot to rescue it, prompted frequently by Rosey’s tenacious memory and assisted by Rosey’s deft and tactful explanations. But to their surprise the imperturbable countenance of Abner Nott never altered; a slight moisture of kindly paternal tolerance of their extravagance glistened in his little eyes, but nothing more.

“Ef there was a part o’ this ship, a plank or a bolt ez I don’t know, ez I hevn’t touched with my own hand, and looked into with my own eyes, thar might be suthin’ in that story. I don’t let on to be a sailor like YOU, but ez I know the ship ez a boy knows his first hoss, as a woman knows her first babby, I reckon thar ain’t no treasure yer, onless it was brought into the Pontiac last night by them chaps.”

“But are you mad! Sleight would not pay three times the value of the ship to-day if he were not positive! And that positive knowledge was gained last night by the villain who broke into the Pontiac—no doubt the Lascar.”

“Surely,” said Nott, meditatively. “The Lascar! There’s suthin’ in that. That Lascar I fastened down in the hold last night unbeknownst to you, Mr. Renshaw, and let him out again this morning ekally unbeknownst.”

“And you let him carry his information to Sleight—without a word!” said Renshaw, with a sickening sense of Nott’s utter fatuity.

“I sent him back with a message to the man he kem from,” said Nott, winking both his eyes