Every one liked "Miss Virginia," the beautiful wife of Dick Brown, and most every one—as a matter of course—liked those whom it was evident she liked. Among those fortunate individuals was James Falkner, and to a greater degree than even he realized she had been the guiding force in the shaping of his life.
Still she exerted her influence upon the young man's career from a distance. To him she was almost of another world than that in which he lived—as, in fact, she actually was, some one worthy of worship, but not ever to be a comrade. There could be little in common between the rich cultured lady who graced the palatial home of Richard Brown, Esq., Barrister at Law, Solicitor in Chancery and Proctor in Admiralty, General Counsel for the great corporation whose myriad ships ploughed the Inland Seas from early spring until winter storms drove them to their harbours, and the orphan boy, obviously of the lake breed, sole survivor of the Bannockburn and lately master of the pirate-craft Lady Gwendolyn, even though he walked erect—his shoulders squared and his eyes piercing and fearless—knew more facts concerning more subjects, spoke more correctly, and was more active and energetic than any of his fellows.
The truth is that Jim Falkner adored his lovely sponsor, to whom even the passing years had been kind, but was strangely and unaccountably shy in her presence; and she was as ignorant of what was passing in the young man's mind as she had been the Lady Gwendolyn was captured and its master returned to school and the ways of civilized, law- abiding folks.
Dick was as much interested in the shaping of Jim Falkner's career as his wife. With the passing of the years, his memories of the eventful cruise of the amateur pirates faded and the obliterating mantle of Time obscured the unpleasant incidents of that trip. So, by the time the boy had graduated from High School, Richard Brown had become his sincere champion—yet one who fully realized that the only career worth while for a young man is the career which he carves out for himself, following his own inclinations, with but a modicum of advice and control from the elders who have his welfare at heart.
Due to the influence of Dick Brown, Jim Falkner was permitted to carve out his own fortune during the summer which followed his completion of his High School course; but Miss Virginia quite failed to understand the value to him of his experiences on the Pauline Spreckles, the Ventura, and on that thrice-cursed schooner where the Law of the Lakes missed its victim by reason of the fact that a courageous and true- hearted woman cared less for her reputation than for the safety of her husband. Because Dick's wife did not and could not so understand, Jim Falkner spent the next four years of his We at the University where Dick and Virginia had once been classmates. Few people—least of all Richard Brown—found it in their hearts to oppose Miss Virginia long, once her determination had become known.
Jin Falkner was but an indifferent student on the great campus, though it must be admitted that he did sincerely try. Each summer the lure of the Inland Seas had its way with him, however, adding to the young man's rich store of worth-while experiences; and eventually, with much of solemn ceremony, James Falkner, A.B.—who would rather have been Jim Falkner, able-bodied seaman—joined the reportorial staff of the best daily in the best city on the Great Lakes. At least, the young man chose so to regard the ten-dollar-a-week job which Dick's influence had enabled him to obtain.
The managing editor was studying a map when Falkner came in the third afternoon. He looked up, nodded, and asked sharply: "Have you seen this Jim?"
The young man picked up the afternoon edition of a rather sensational rival and noted the big headlines running across the first three columns. The preceding night an American fishing-tug had been fired upon by a Canadian revenue cutter, and the story had been "played-up" in graphic detail.
"What do you think of it?" asked the editor, who had been told of his new cub's interest in the lakes and their people.
Jim Falkner shrugged his shoulders. He had already learned that this was a golden way of expressing himself until he had fathomed the managing editor's mind. "Interesting," he said. "Mighty interesting!"
"I'll wager a hat that it will end in something more than a little excitement, Falkner!" exclaimed the managing editor. "Our lake correspondents say that the fishermen along the Erie shore are desperate. They're not catching fish on our side, and a great many of the tug captains have turned pirates and are running their nets over the international boundary. Our Dunkirk man says the town is hot with threats against the Canadians; while in Erie they're ready to fight, and I've got a tip that a number of captains are fitted out with guns— and there's a strong sentiment that if they're fired upon they'll use 'em. The Canadian revenue cutters are confiscating nets by the wholesale; they've captured three tugs, which have been taken as prizes into Canadian ports; and two boats have been fired upon when they refused to haul to. That's the situation in a nutshell, Jim. If the Dunkirk and Erie men don't back down there's going to be a fish- pirate war; anyway, there's stacks of fun brewing, and I want you to hustle over there and take the thing in hand. Everything is up to you. Get the best special stuff you can. Our regular correspondents will attend to the routine. Here—wait a minute—I'll give you an order for transportation and funds."
Jim Falkner was instantly on his feet, ready to go. "I can make the three-twenty train," he said, glancing at his watch. "That will get me into Erie to-night."
It was already three o'clock, and the managing editor nodded in appreciation of the young man's readiness. "Then we won't waste time in getting transportation. Here's an order on the cashier. If you want more money wire for it. Get in with the pirates, if you can, and take a trip with one of them. That's what we want. Good luck to you!"
Fifteen minutes later Jim Falkner was aboard his train. He had purchased a magazine at the depot news-stand, but did not read. Lounging back comfortably in his seat, he closed his eyes and began formulating a plan of action. At the outset he realized that he would have difficulty in successfully filling his assignment. This was not the first time that the dark clouds of a fishermen's war had gathered over Erie. And it was not the first time that a newspaper man had gone down among the pirates.
He remembered that MacIlvie had almost succeeded. MacIlvie's story was a bit of cherished history in the Herald office. He had smuggled himself aboard a Dunkirk fish-pirate's boat, and had reached the poaching grounds before he was discovered. After that he was marooned upon a sand-bar which was not much larger than the tug which put him there. He had almost starved. Falkner chuckled as he recalled the Scotchman's adventure. Then there was Briggs, the best marine man that ever struck the Herald beat. Briggs came back with one arm in a sling, and so badly used-up that he was unrecognizable for a month.
Falkner himself had been among the pirates two years before, in a desultory, friendly sort of way, while writing up the fish industry during a summer vacation. He knew them for men of strong courage, toughened by storm and inured to wreck and hardship, and with a thousand fancied wrongs to right—men who talked with fox-like caution in the companionship of strangers, and who thought it no sin to seek their livelihood across a line they could neither feel nor see, and would not understand.
The young reporter admired their courage. He liked the men. He wanted to join them, and be friends, and write them up as heroes instead of outlaws. He knew that this would please the managing editor. Everybody liked the fish pirates, except the Canadians. MacIlvie and Briggs had liked them—a mental picture of MacIlvie upon his sand-bar, and Briggs in his hospital cot, flashed upon Falkner, and the humour of it tickled him.
"If that's the reward of friendship in Erie, what the deuce will they do with me?" he thought.
Unconsciously he spoke the words quite audibly. The next instant he was looking into a pair of dark, tear-filled eyes turned upon him from the seat ahead. He saw a troubled face and a mouth trembling as if upon the point of speech. Then the face was turned away.
Falkner straightened himself. He had noticed the girl when he came in, and had looked at her hair because it had struck him as being exquisitely pretty. After that he had not thought of her again. But now he watched her closely, hoping that she would give him an opportunity to speak to her. But the opportunity did not come, and gradually his thoughts slipped back into their old channel.
By the time his train reached Toledo he had devised a scheme by which he hoped to make good among the pirates. He would get employment in one of the fish-houses, make the acquaintance of poachers, and watch for a chance to join one of their crews. It would take time, but he believed the managing editor would stand for it.
As the train pulled into the Toledo yards the girl of him rose from her seat, and Falkner was enabled to get another view of her face. Something in it—a look of tense anxiety, almost fear—urged him to speak. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I change here—may I help you with your grip?"
A bit of colour mounted into the girl's pale cheeks.
"I—I—hardly know," she faltered. The young man saw unutterable wretchedness in her eyes. "You are-going to Erie?" she asked. "I overheard you—"
"Yes, I'm going to Erie," Jim Falkner interrupted. He wanted the girl to understand that he knew she was in trouble, and there was gentle friendliness in his voice. "Won't you please tell me how I can help you?"
She looked up into his face, and there came a little tremble round her mouth, and her eyes were soft in the lamp-glow, as though she wanted to cry. It was a pretty face, and the young man felt his heart pounding with sympathy.
"I want to do more than that!" he said. Suddenly he reached out and caught one of her hands. "See here, little girl, something's troubling you! Won't you tell me what it is?"
The girl was crying in earnest now. The passengers had filed out of the car, but Falkner continued to hold the hand he had taken.
"I—I—want you to take me to a pawn-shop," sobbed the girl from behind her handkerchief.
"A pawn-shop!" cried Falkner. "What the devil—-Oh, I beg your pardon."
"Yes, a pawn-shop!" repeated the girl, with-drawing her hand and meeting his eyes squarely. "I want to go to a pawn-shop right away. I've lost my purse, and I haven't a ticket to Erie, and I'm—"
"Hungry, I'll bet a dollar!" cried the young man. "We're bound this instant for a place where they set up square meals, and do it in a hurry. We've got just thirty-five minutes. Come on!"
He caught up their grips and hurried down the aisle. There was not much beauty about Jim Falkner, but there was something unusually attractive in the boyish frankness of his face, and, as he looked back over his shoulder, his strong white teeth shining at her, the girl laughed.
"The prettiest I ever met!" he flung back; and their eyes met laughingly as he reached up to help her down the car steps.
"A pawn-shop—you!" He laughed aloud.
Relief from her anxiety and the excitement of her rescue had flushed the girl's cheeks with colour. Suddenly the young man halted under a depot light.
"My name is Falkner," he announced, fishing a card from his pocket. "J. Augustus Falkner, of Detroit. It's a rummy name, but I've got to keep it. I don't put on that 'J.' for style, but to make the thing passable. Altogether it's James Augustus Falkner."
"And mine is Burton," replied the girl, smiling up into his jolly face. "Josephine Burton, of Erie."
"Ye-e-e-e-s, if you want to. You're a newspaper man?"
"Bound for Erie, to get up a few special stories about the fish pirates," he answered. He led her into the depot cafe and gave their orders. "Do you know any fish pirates?" he asked, after he had done so.
He noticed that she was looking at him with unusual interest.
"What are you going to say about them?" she questioned. "You're not going to—say anything—bad?" She spoke with intense seriousness, and Falkner detected a note of alarm in her voice.
"I want to make friends with them," he assured her. "I want to turn pirate myself. And I will—if they'll let me." Then he told her about MacIlvie and Briggs. Afterward, when they were seated in their train he described to her his plan for getting among the poachers.
"And you think that will succeed?" she asked, with a suggestive curving of her lips. "Well, it won't!"
Falkner stared at her in astonishment. "How do you know!" he retorted.
"I'd be ashamed of them if it did," continued the girl, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Those men whom you call pirates are old hands. They've known one another for years, and would no more think of stringing a gang over the line with a new hand aboard—" She caught herself in confusion.
"You're a pirate!" whispered Falkner. His eyes burned with admiration. "You're a pirate, Miss Jo-and so am I!"
It was late when they reached Erie. A single cab was waiting at the depot, and James Augustus Falkner, A.B., led Miss Burton to it. "I am coming to see you soon," he said. "To-morrow, or the day after—may I?"
"The day after," she invited. "I shall sleep to-morrow."
The young man opened the cab door for her. After she had entered she stretched out a hand to him and said: "I will get you acquainted with a pirate, Mr. Falkner. To-morrow afternoon call at 520 Water Street and ask for Captain Town. He will help you. Good night—and a million thanks!"
It was midnight by the time Jim Falkner had registered for a room at a hotel. But for some time after that he did not go to bed. He lighted his pipe and went over the afternoon's adventure. Who was this Captain Town? For some reason which he did not attempt to analyse the question bothered him, and he imagined half a dozen things which might account for Miss Burton's apparent influence with him. He was quite positive that he must be a pirate, however; and a picturesque one at that, if his name stood for anything at all. Altogether, he counted himself immensely fortunate in having met the girl and in having been thus placed in line, as he was convinced, with a Lake Erie poacher.
The following morning, when the young man went down to breakfast, he stopped to chat for a few moments with the clerk, and asked him if he knew Captain Town. The clerk had never heard of him.
Until noon Falkner hung about the fish-houses. There he discovered that Captain Town was master and owner of the only "compounder" in the port.
What's a 'compounder'?" asked the young reporter.
"A compounder," said his informant, who was a dock lounger, "is a tug wot you can only 'ear the riffles of—if y' listen 'ard!"
At a little before two o'clock Jim Falkner walked slowly along Water Street. Before Number 520 he stopped in astonishment. It was a big stone front.
"Great Scott!" he gasped; but he walked up to it and rang the door- bell.
"Rooms here, I suppose," he mentally concluded.
A moment later the door was opened by a little white-haired old lady, who stared at him with ardent curiosity. "Does Captain Town live here?" asked Falkner.
"You bet he does, my boy!" came a jovial voice from back in the hall. "Step in, will you? I suppose you're the fellow Burton's girl sent over?"
One of the oddest individuals he had ever seen confronted the young man. He was unusually tall, and unusually thin, and his long lean face shone like red tanned leather. But there was something immediately likeable about him. His smile was friendly, and his grip so convincing that his visitor's hand ached for some time after he had shaken it.
"Been expecting you for some time, Falkner," he said familiarly. "Come this way, will you?"
He led him into a little room shut off from the hall, in which two men were busily engaged in smoking pipes. They were broad-built, weather- toughened men, wearing heavy seamen's jackets, and as Captain Town came in they shuffled to their feet and stood with their pipes in their hands. Falkner had previously learned that this was a custom of old lakemen when they wished to show unusual regard for a stranger.
"This is the fellow Burton's girl sent over," announced the captain. "Mr. Falkner, shake hands with the boys, will you? This is Teddy— Teddy Roosevelt, we call him, though his name is Jones; and this is Sandy—Sandy MacGunn. Both of 'em old-timers and rattling good men, as Burton's girl may have told you."
"We're going out to-night," continued Captain Town, relighting his pipe. "We've got our gang stretched two miles over the line, and there's a straight tip come that the Vigilant is going to drag there to-morrow. If she does we lose our nets—unless we get 'em out before morning. Burton's girl says you want to go, so—" He puffed hard on his pipe. "So—I guess we'll have to take you!"
For an hour Jim Falkner talked and smoked with the men. It did not take him long to see that for some reason the two fishermen, MacGunn and Jones, treated him with especial deference. Even the captain was puzzlingly attentive. At the door, as he was leaving, the master of the compounder gave him a letter.
"Burton's girl asked me to give this to you," he explained. "It's the money, I guess."
Suddenly he placed his two great hands upon the young man's shoulders and looked him squarely in the eyes. "See here, mate," he spoke in a low voice, "you did the square thing by Burton's girl. She thinks you're a brick. But if you lied to her—if you came down here to—" he stopped. Jim Falkner thought of Briggs and the Scotchman, and understood.
"I swear that I won't betray her confidence," he replied. His voice vibrated with truth. "I'd turn back now if I thought there was a chance of it!" he finished.
"You'd be willing to die first if you knew Burton's girl as well as I do!" declared the captain. "You would, s'elp me God, you would, Falkner!" He took his hands from his visitor's shoulders and opened the door. "I don't suppose Burton's girl told you anything about herself?" he asked. "Not a word!" cried the young man; and his eyes shone with eager interest.
"Well, mebby I'll tell you something to-night," laughed the fish pirate. "Remember, we leave at ten sharp. You're sure you can find us?"
"Perfectly!" said Jim Falkner.
He walked away as if in a dream. Twice he looked back at the handsome stone house, and more than once during the next half-hour he asked himself if it were possible that a fish pirate lived there; an outlaw, a man who staked a fortune and imperiled himself on the strength of his own cunning, and who was willing to accept the risks of the poorest fisherman for the chance of a successful haul from over the line. He had expected to meet pirates, but not of this kind. He had not associated stone fronts and pretty girls with his pictures of the poachers. He realized that, perhaps unwittingly, he was now turning traitor to his assignment.
He knew that he had already gathered material which would have created a sensation in the Herald office; but he had given his word not to divulge its secrets, and he had deliberately pledged himself not to use those details which his managing editor would demand. All this—he acknowledged it with a peculiar thrill of satisfaction—because he had become strangely interested in a girl!
Jim Falkner whistled as he thought, and walked without seeking any particular direction. If he had made a fool of himself he was not in a mood to confess it. He still might follow out his original scheme, ingratiate himself into the confidence of some other pirate not associated with the girl, and write his sensation in the manner he had planned. He wondered how far Captain Town's friendship for the girl went. Perhaps they were relatives. He tried to make himself believe it.
Not until he had reached his hotel did he think to open the letter which had been given to him by the fish pirate. He was elated to find that it contained a note from Miss Burton, as well as the money which he had expended for her ticket the previous evening.
"Dear Mr. Falkner," he read. "In this I am returning what you kindly lent me last night. I hope you liked Captain Town. Please do not forget your promise to come and see me to-morrow afternoon. JOSEPHINE BURTON."
It was not much, but it filled the young man with pleasure. Since his interview with Captain Town he had feared that perhaps Miss Burton did not care to continue their acquaintance, and that the captain himself might not regard further attentions on his Part in a friendly light.
He read the note again, and, instead of destroying it afterward, as was his custom with unimportant epistles, he placed it in his pocket. Miss Burton had become a young woman of mystery to him. He realized that she possessed unusual influence with the fish pirates,—or, at least, with Captain Town,—and each hour added to the eagerness with which he anticipated that night's adventure, in which he was confident he would learn more about her.
An hour before the appointed time he was at the slip in which the fish-pirate tug was secured. With the approach of evening a high wind had sprung up out of the north-east—although the night was clear—and from the disturbance in the bay he knew that heavy seas were running outside. The compounder lay black and silent. Not a spark of light could he discern aboard her, and he began to fear that the gale had driven Captain Town and his men from their determination to leave port. He was confident that they would at least send him word, however, so he seated himself in the shelter of a fish-box and waited.
A few minutes before ten two men hurried down from the blackness of the fish-houses and jumped aboard the tug. Falkner called to them, and found that one was MacGunn. The other was the tug's engineer, whom he had not met before.
"Going out, MacGunn?" he asked as he followed them aboard.
"Sure! Didn't the cap'n say so—at ten?"
MacGunn flung open the engine-room door and a rush of hot air poured into the young man's face. He lighted a couple of lanterns, and saw the puzzled look in his companion's face. "Had steam up for half an hour," he grinned. Then he added, with a suggestive shrug and another grin: "Hard coal!"
He flung an oil-coat over one of the lanterns and carried it into the pilot-house, where Falkner and he sat down in silence. A few minutes later they were joined by Captain Town and Teddy.
When the captain spoke it was in a voice but little louder than a whisper, and Falkner accepted the hint by maintaining silence while the compounder was got under way. Only by the gentle throbbing of her engine and the pitching of the boat in the seas could he tell when she had left her mooring.
A quarter of an hour had passed when MacGunn uncovered the lantern. He handed it to the captain. "We're off the point," he said. "You remember—"
Captain Town pressed his face close up to one of the port windows. After a moment he turned and motioned Falkner to him. "That's Presque Isle," he said. "Can you make out a light?"
The young man stared hard. A long distance away, it seemed to him, he could see what he thought to be the glow of a lamp in a window.
"That's where Burton's girl lives," said the captain softly, "I told her that if we took you to-night we'd show a light. She must see us soon. There—look!"
Falkner's heart gave a sudden throb of pleasure. For an instant the distant light vanished, then reappeared; and in a dozen flashes of light, followed by intervals of gloom, came the signs of recognition from the watching girl. There was almost a break in the young man's voice when he spoke to Captain Town. "She's—a trump!" he breathed.
He looked again, but now the light remained steadily in the window. He watched it until the tops of the heaving seas shut it out from his vision. Never in his life had he felt the blood pulsing through his veins as it did now, and when he seated, himself, facing Sandy, and the master of the compounder, he found the men eyeing him with keen interest.
"She is a trump!" replied MacGunn. "She's a—"
A sweeping run of the sea caught the compounder with the booming force of a ten-ton sledge-hammer, and at this first signal that she had come into the open lake Teddy swung the tug's nose squarely out from the point, three-quarters in the teeth of the wind and on a line for the international boundary. Falkner shivered.
"She's an angel!" finished MacGunn, when the compounder had straightened herself.
Jim Falkner passed around a box of cigars. The fish pirates seemed indifferent to the roughness of the night, and the fact gave him courage. But Captain Town had discovered his nervousness.
"We've gone out in worse seas than this," he said, lighting his cigar. "It was twice as bad that night Burton went out; wasn't it, Teddy?" he asked, turning to the wheelman. "It ain't customary to go out nights— unless you've got a couple o' thousand dollars' worth of nets at stake, as we've got right now. That's what took Burton out, in November three years ago. He had a fifteen-hundred-dollar gang—which is a string o' gill-nets—dropped three miles over the line in a heavy herring-run, which ground was scheduled to be dragged the next day by Canadian gunboat Petrel. It was that damned boat that settled for Burton!" he growled.
MacGunn had pulled a piece of paper from one of his pockets.
"Look here!" he cried, bringing a doubled fist forcefully upon his knee. "Look here what this feeds. I cut it from a fish paper. 'Cap'n Chayter,' it says,' of the United States revenue cutter Morrell, on Lake Erie, states that all the fish this year are on the Canadian side.' And that's right! Nine out of ten of 'em are over there. Now, look here, Mr. Falkner," he continued in a voice that shook the little cabin, "fish is fish, ain't they? And they ain't got no nationality, 'ave they? And everybody ought to be allowed to ketch 'em, 'adn't they? But the law says not. The law says fish is CITIZENS! The fish this side of that damned line out there it says is Americans. The fish t'other side is Canadians. If an American pike 'appens to cross that line he immediately turns Canuck—accordin' to law—and we can't ketch 'im, no matter if 'e was born 'n' bred right in Erie harbour! Think of that! An Erie man can't go over there and bring back a runaway Erie fish! That ain't a decent law-it's a damned outrage. And that's the law which killed Burton."
"You see, Burton went out in a bad night to save his nets and was washed overboard," elucidated Captain Town. "The lights of the cutter hove in Slight, and it was in the hurry of trying to save a part of the gang that he was lost. The tug got away—but that was all—and it left Burton's girl and her mother in pretty bad shape."
"Then she went to work as a—as a—"
"Shut up!" commanded Captain Town. "I won't have it said, Teddy— darned if I will!"
Jim Falkner reached over and gripped the fish pirate's hand.
"I believe I understand," he said, his eyes glowing. "She was a brick, old man!"
"But it wasn't long," interrupted the other. "We rented Burton's boat to a Dunkirk man, and got her a position in one of the fish-house offices. That was just before the strike."
"Remember the big strike a couple of years ago?" asked Teddy, looking over his shoulder. "Lord—"
"Them as owned boats was all right," spoke MacGunn. "But for them that didn't it was—hell! Half of us was reduced to soup bones, sir—soup bones, by thunder!"
"And atop of that came an epidemic of diphtheria," said the captain. "It was a desperate rub for some of the poorer fellows. That was when Burton's girl showed her colours."
A deep breath came from Teddy.
"I lost my little Nell then," he said hoarsely. "I'd lost the others— three of them—and the wife, too, if it hadn't been for her. She nursed 'em through it, and fed 'em, God bless her—s'elp me, she did; she FED 'em!"
"There are others, Teddy," said MacGunn, a peculiar softness in his rough voice. "There was the Stimsons, the Rogerses, 'Pig' Walcott's family, and a dozen others. We didn't know what she had done for 'em until—"
He stopped, and for a time there was silence.
Falkner listened to the wash of the seas, and waited. Teddy, the wheelman, was staring straight ahead into the gloom of the night. MacGunn was enveloping himself in clouds of smoke. After a little Captain Town finished what the other had begun.
"We didn't know until we found she had sold Burton's boat," he said. "The Dunkirk man had bought it at a half what it was worth, and by the time we discovered what she had done the girl had spent it all on poor devils of the fishing fleet. That's her, Falkner—that's Burton's girl!"
"We paid her back—afterward," came Terry's muffled voice. "But she wouldn't take a cent more than she had spent, not a cent."
"And at Walcott's she took diphthery herself," rejoined MacGunn. "God, how we prayed! And in the critical days some of us didn't work, but just hung around waitin' f'r her to live."
"That was two years ago," said Falkner, after a silence. "What does she do now?"
"Nurses sick folks!" jerked MacGunn.
Teddy drew the tug a step into the wind and glanced at Captain Town. The master of the compounder thrust his head and shoulders out of the pilot-house, and, after peering for a few minutes into the darkness of the sea ahead, went forward.
Jim Falkner followed. The wind had shifted into the north, and was colder, but less violent. A mile over the starboard bow two or three steady, star-like lights were slipping swiftly up the lake.
After a little MacGunn's voice came from behind. "What is it, Cap'n?" he cried.
"It isn't her," shouted Town over his shoulder.
"Lights are too high for the Vigilant. We'll cut a quarter of a mile astern. Better douse the glims." He made room for Falkner beside him in the bow.
"The Canucks are in port to-night," he said to him. "They're pretty sure they wouldn't catch anything in a sea like this. I'd be tied up myself if I didn't have a couple of thousand dollars' worth of nets layin' out there!"
Captain Town kept a ceaseless vigil to the north. Once or twice Jim Falkner spoke to him, but received only monosyllabic replies. After a while he rejoined Teddy and MacGunn in the pilot-house.
"D'ye remember the Laughing Lass?" greeted Teddy. The incident of the Laughing Lass had caused talk of war, and the young man nodded.
"Well, right here is where the Petrel tried to shoot hell out of her, back in 1903. She was poaching on the other side and wouldn't stop—"
Captain Town interrupted him from the pilot-house door.
"Tell the engineer to ease her down, Teddy," he called. "We're sighting the point buoy. Sandy, give us a lift with the drag."
Falkner followed the two aft. A few days before he knew that he would have taken a keen interest in what was about to happen, but now his enthusiasm was lamentably lacking. He saw the international buoy come and go in the gloom. He heard the creaking of the net-lifter, watched Captain Town as he slowly paid out the drag-line, and was conscious of the suspense which followed.
He knew that the compounder was now in forbidden waters—that they were pirates, with certain prices upon their heads, and that at any moment a gunboat might bear down upon them. But these things did not thrill him as he had imagined they would. More than anything else they produced in his mind the picture of another night, when the father of the girl back at Presque Isle had gone to his death, perhaps very near to where he stood at this moment. After a little he noticed that the tug was moving at a snail-like speed. She seemed to be feeling her way through the seas foot by foot.
Then came a shout from the captain, a triumphant cry from MacGunn—and the throbbing of the compounder's engine ceased. He knew that the drag had caught. For a few moments he watched the line as the creaking windlass drew it in. He saw the first of a mile of net slip over the stern, and then, unobserved by the fish pirates, went back into the still darkness of the pilot-house.
Half an hour later Captain Town came in to get his pipe. As he lighted a match he caught sight of the young man doubled up in one of the cushioned seats. "Hello, mate!—Seasick?" he cried.
"A little uneasy," replied Falkner. As the fish pirate turned to go, Jim Falkner jumped to his feet and caught him by the arm. "Captain, can you tell me on what date Burton was lost?" he asked.
"On the day before the season closed—November fourteenth."
"And to-morrow is the thirteenth," mused the young man as the other left the pilot-house. "Lord deliver us, Jerry, there's no time to lose!" He whistled softly and happily, in the way of a man who is far from seasick.
In the early dawn the compounder came back into Erie. There were two tons of herring in her boxes. Her nets were wet and tangled. But Captain Town did not remain to see the unloading of his catch or to the reeling of his gang. With Jim Falkner he hurried ashore, the two almost running in their haste. A few moments later, divested of his oil-coat and sou'wester, Teddy disappeared upon a run behind the fish- houses.
When they reached Water Street, Jim Falkner and the captain halted. "You are sure you've got time?" he asked.
"I'll have twenty boats and a hundred men by noon!" declared the fish pirate. "We'll raise hell—if you can work your end of it, Falkner!"
The Herald man thrust out a hand. "I'll never look Burton's girl in the face again if I don't!" he exclaimed. "Remember—I promise upon my word of honour!"
He hurried townward. A block away he glanced over his shoulder and saw Captain Town going up Water Street at a trot. It was six o'clock when he reached the Western Union telegraph office.
"I don't suppose the manager is in," he inquired of the clerk.
The young man reached for a pad and began writing. Five minutes later he handed the message through the window.
"This is a matter of great importance," he explained to the clerk, "and I don't want to spare expense in getting it to the right party. I want it sent to Port Stanley, Port Burwell and Port Rowan, Ontario. If Captain Fitzgerald is not in any of these three places have a tug sent out in search of him from each port, and I will stand the expense. He must get that message before noon at all costs."
As the clerk read he gave a low whistle of astonishment. This was the message which Falkner had written:
"CAPTAIN FITZGERALD, Commander Revenue Cutter Vigilant,—Ontario. This afternoon a powerful fleet of tugs will leave Erie for Port Dover, where it is their intention to recapture the three American fishing- boats recently caught in Canadian waters and now held in that port. It is probable that the boats will approach from the direction of Stromness. For assurance of responsibility of writer, wire managing editor, the Herald, Detroit, or W.P. Samson, M.P., Windsor. J.A. FALKNER."
Half an hour later the most sensational story of the year was being received over the Herald wire. It described in minute detail the daring plot of a hundred men to consummate one of the most thrilling exploits in lake history. After a column of it had gone the young man sat down and waited. Exhausted by forty-eight hours of sleepless exertion, he soon fell into a slumber, from which he was aroused by the clerk an hour and a half later. The Vigilant had been found by a Port Rowan tug near Long Point, and the message had been delivered to Captain Fitzgerald.
After breakfast at his hotel Falkner went to his room, but not to sleep. He had made up his mind. to call upon Miss Burton as soon as possible, although he knew that she did not expect him until afternoon. He changed his clothes, shaved himself, and a little before ten o'clock appeared on Presque Isle. A small boy directed him to the Burton home. It was a comfortable-looking cottage, set well back in a group of maples. A gravel path, with flower-beds on either side, led to the big porch, and as he walked up this Falkner caught a magnificent view of the lake beyond. As he approached he heard whistling, unusually clear and musical.
"A man, by jove!" he thought. "I hope not—-"
Suddenly he caught the whisk of a skirt around the edge of the cottage. He followed the path, and a moment later stopped dead still, while a flush of pleasure and embarrassment gathered in his face. Perched half-way up a ladder, a dozen feet away, was a young woman in a man's coat, a man's hat, and with a big brown shining braid of hair falling down her back. She was wielding a paint-brush upon the side of the cottage, and whistling while she worked.
As she partly turned to dip her brush into a can suspended to the ladder she saw her chance acquaintance of the other day. The whistle died on her rounded mouth. For an instant she stared in astonished confusion—and then she laughed, the merriest, sweetest laugh the young man had ever heard.
"There! I was afraid you'd go and do it!" she cried. "I told mama that just as surely as I came out to paint this morning you would show up— and you have! How do you do?" She reached down a hand, laughing, and Falkner climbed up the ladder to reach it.
"I wouldn't have missed this for anything," he said, looking up into her face. "You—you're beautiful up there! Besides, I'm here just in time to help you. I can mix paint—-"
"I buy mine ready mixed," cried the girl. "See, it comes in cans." She turned to show him, and in doing so dislodged the paint receptacle, which dashed its contents down the ladder, discolouring the tip of one of his shoes. She looked at him with mock dismay.
"I'm glad of it," he said, descending. "Now you must stop work!"
"I've got a dozen more cans in the kitchen," she flung down at him. "And another brush—and a ladder! If you will help me paint this side I'll let you stay to dinner."
Jim's heart fairly jumped with joy. The girl came down and surveyed her work with critical eyes. Her hat had fallen off, and Falkner stood a few steps behind to look at her unobserved.
"Isn't it fine?" she asked, turning upon him. "I'm painting it copper- brown—because—well—-" Her eyes danced with fun. "That's the prevailing style in ladies' dress-goods this year, you know," she added. "I painted the fence to begin with. Mr. Tubbs, our neighbour, gave me some home-made paint for that, and it was—it was like paste. Please don't look at the fence!"
"I'll do it all over for you, and paint your whole cottage, too—if you'll have an early dinner," he replied,
"Why an early dinner?" The girl pouted her red lips. "Are you hungry, or are you in a hurry to get away?"
"I came over this morning, Miss Jo, because I couldn't come this afternoon," said the young man. "I've got a very important engagement, which begins at one o'clock, and—-"
"Then we won't paint," she interrupted.
"But I'll come over and help you every day for a week after to-day, if you'll let me. I'll paint it copper-brown, or red, or—no, it must be copper-brown, for that's the colour of your hair—and your hair is beautiful. Will you let me come, Miss Jo?" he pleaded. "Please!"
"I'll have to ask mama about that," said the girl, laughing softly at him with her eyes. "I think—perhaps—-Well, let's go in and see her. Do you mind going through the kitchen?"
When he rejoined Captain Town at one o'clock in the Water Street stone front he spoke his feelings. "I've been over to see Miss Burton," he said. "I never met a girl like her before."
"And you never will," declared the fish pirate. "Next to Laura—that's Mrs. Town—she's the finest girl that lives."
He led the way to the little room into which the young man was admitted the day before. "Well, I've got twenty-seven boats and a hundred and sixteen men. The tugs you want have steam up and are ready to leave at any time. You didn't let Burton's girl know?"
"Only told her part of the scheme," said Falkner. "She fairly begged me to let her go with us—said she knew Mrs. Town would go if you'd let her."
"Lord, Falkner, how Miss Jo will fight us when she discovers just why we're doing this!" laughed the captain. "If it wasn't for the mother—" He shrugged his shoulders and blew a huge cloud of smoke from his pipe.
"Have you mapped out the course, Captain?"
"This is it." The master of the compounder thumbed a much-worn map hanging on the wall. "We strike due north to the international line; follow that on the American side until we're opposite Dunkirk, then cut a point midway between Stromness and Port Dover. The Canadian boats can't help from sighting us somewhere along that course."
"It's sixty-five miles. We should leave within an hour."
"That will give me just about time to run up-town and wire a few paragraphs to my paper," said Falkner. "I'll meet you at the boats."
He hurried to the telegraph office again and found a message awaiting him. It was from W.P. Samson, member of Parliament, Windsor, and read:
"What the devil! Captain Fitzgerald, the Vigilant,
asks who you are, and if responsible. Told him
yes. Are you in trouble? SAMSON."
The clerk turned a surprised face upon him from the window. "Good news?" he asked. "Money from father, perhaps?"
He scribbled a note of thanks to Sarnson, M.P., and then hurried half a column additional matter off to the Herald. When he came down to the docks he saw Captain Town advancing to meet him. "The Vigilant is taking the bait," he greeted, as the fish pirate came up. "Read this!"
He gave him Samson's telegram, and when they reached the foot of the ship Captain Town read it aloud to the little group of men assembled there. Broad grins overspread their strong faces, and each gave Jim Falkner a hearty grip of the hands.
A quarter of an hour later six of the largest and fleetest tugs in Erie trailed out of the harbour. As they passed Presque Isle Falkner stood high up on the engine-house of the compounder and gazed toward the Burton home. Soon he saw a figure run down to the edge of the beach, and with a joyful shout he waved his hat above his head. Then something rose in the air above the distant girl. For an instant it fluttered, only partly visible; then a gust of wind caught it, and every eye in the little fleet recognized the American flag.
From the pilot-house Captain Town shouted to his engineer, and a screeching blast from the compounder answered the salute of Burton's girl. In an instant it had been taken up by the other tugs, until a mist of steam floated out and hid the distant shore from Falkner's eyes. When he rejoined the fish-pirate captain in the pilot-house there was tense whiteness in his face which he did not know was there.
It was a strange fleet that passed along the international boundary that afternoon. According to Jim Falkner's plans, the six tugs followed one after another, in battleship line, and the blackest smoke that bituminous coal could be forced to make trailed over the sea behind them. Late in the afternoon a slim low craft, which was made out to be the auxiliary Canadian cruiser, was sighted in the offing. For an hour she remained parallel with them, running eastward; when darkness fell her lights showed that she was gathering great speed, and was making in the direction of Port Dover.
Opposite Dunkirk the compounder swung her course to a point between Stromness and Port Dover. At nine o'clock, with the sky faultlessly clear above them, they were in the edge of Outer Long Point Bay. In the distance the lights of Port Dover shone dimly.
Half an hour later the compounder, under low pressure, left the line and steamed silently in the direction of Stromness. Both vessels edged shoreward. It was nearly midnight when they returned to the fleet.
The compounder reported that the auxiliary cruiser was lying with steam up between Port Rowan and Normandale; the Vigilant had been found two miles beyond Port Dover. Both cruisers were on the watch, and ready to sweep down upon the little fleet the moment it entered the harbour.
For two hours more the tugs lay silently in the Outer Bay. Then the reconnaissance was made again. The cruisers had not changed their positions. A little after three o'clock the compounder led a course straight for Port Dover, and simultaneously with their movement the auxiliary cruiser slipped down from Port Rowan. Mile after mile, steaming slowly, the fleet of tugs approached the port in which the captured American boats were held. At dawn they had come to within half a mile of the town Then the compounder darted eastward. In their battleship line they steamed boldly past the Vigilant gave a simultaneous blast of their whistles, and with their crews shouting themselves hoarse with joy struck a course for the town of Dunkirk.
Meanwhile, in the unguarded Canadian fishing-grounds, forty miles away, twenty-one Erie fish-tugs were making the biggest catch of the season. When they came into port they brought fifty-two tons of Canadian herring, and that afternoon a check for six thousand dollars was handed to Captain Town by the manager of one of the big fish companies.
That evening a deputation of fish pirates, headed by Captain Town, called upon Mrs. William Burton. Jim Falkner accompanied them until he could see the lights of Josephine's home. Then he stopped. For a few moments he and the fish-pirate captain stood alone, and their hands met in a firm grip. "Falkner," said the master of the compounder, "this was your scheme. I want to tell them so. I want to let Miss Jo know that the biggest thing that ever happened in Erie came from an idea of yours. I want—"
"She would never forgive me, Captain," interrupted the young man. "I don't believe she would ever let me see her again. She will regard the whole thing as a piece of charity, and she will fight it—hard! Remember, it's for the mother. It's a six-thousand-dollar ransom taken from the Canadians for Burton's death—and it comes from the fishermen of Erie. Please leave me out!"
Captain Town returned to the waiting men and Falkner watched them until they disappeared into the cottage, but he stood in the deep shadow of a tree and waited. An almost overmastering desire came upon him to enter the cottage and ask the girl to share her life with him. The sound of voices from a near-by shrub brought him out of his reverie. Several minutes passed before he noticed two forms coming toward him, and as they approached he recognized Burton's girl.
Her companion was a tall, good-looking athletic man in his early thirties. They seemed very happy and obviously in love. When they reached a few yards from where Falkner stood the man drew the girl toward him and said in anxious tones, "I love you, Jo. Won't you give me your answer to-night? I imagine you have changed since you met this Jim Falkner and I'm afraid. Do you care for him?"
Though eavesdropping was not one of the young reporter's accomplishments, there seemed to be no place to which he might go; and after what he had already heard, disclosure of his presence in the near-by shadows was unthinkable.
The girl hesitated a moment and then said, "No, dear, I like him—but I do not love him. I'll marry you whenever you are ready!"
They moved on slowly, but Jim Falkner remained where he had hidden himself without realizing how rapidly the moments were slipping away. An hour later the cottage door reopened and the men filed out As they came out at the gate he joined them.
"It was a hard rub, Falkner," said Captain Town "but we made the little widow take it!" Then glancing at the young man's face, the captain continued, "Why, what—"
"I'm glad, Captain, very glad indeed. It will make it—easier for her."
