by Max Brand
“While they’re cooking,” said McTee, “I’m going off. I’ve an idea.”
Harrigan watched him with a shade of suspicion while he retreated. He turned his head to find Kate studying him gravely.
“Before you came, Mr. Harrigan—”
“My name’s Dan. That’ll save time.”
“While you were gone,” she went on, thanking him with a smile, “Captain McTee told me a great many things about you.”
Harrigan stirred uneasily.
“Among other things, that you had no such record as he hinted at while we were on the Mary Rogers. So I have to ask you to forgive me—”
The blue eyes grew bright as he watched her.
“I’ve forgotten all that, for the sea washed it away from my mind.”
“Really?”
“As clean as the wind has washed the sky.”
Not a cloud stained the broad expanse from horizon to horizon.
“That’s a beautiful way to put it. Now that we are here on the island, we begin all over again and forget what happened on the ship?”
“Aye, all of it.”
“Shake on it.”
He took her hand, but so gingerly that she laughed.
“We have to be careful of you,” he explained seriously. “Here we are, as McTee puts it, on the rim of the world, two men an’ one woman. If something happens to one of us, a third of our population’s gone.”
“A third of our population! Then I’m very important?”
“You are.”
He was so serious that it disconcerted her. It suddenly became impossible for her to meet his eyes, they burned so bright, so eager, with something like a threat in them. She hailed the returning figure of McTee with relief.
He came bearing a large gourd, and he knelt before Kate so that she might look into it. She cried out at what she saw, for he had washed the inside of the gourd and filled it with cool water from the spring.
“Look!” said she to Harrigan. “It’s water—and my throat is fairly burning.”
“Humph,” growled Harrigan, and he avoided the eye of McTee.
The gourd was too heavy and clumsy for her to handle. The captain had to raise and tip it so that she might drink, and as she drank, her eyes went up to his with gratitude.
Harrigan set his teeth and commenced raking the roasted eggs from the hot ashes. When her thirst was quenched, she looked in amazement at Harrigan; even his back showed anger. In some mysterious manner it was plain that she had displeased the big Irishman.
He turned now and offered her an egg, after removing the clay mold. But when she thanked him with the most flattering of smiles, she became aware that McTee in turn was vexed, while the Irishman seemed perfectly happy again.
“Have an egg, McTee,” he offered, and rolled a couple toward the big captain.
“I will not. I never had a taste for eggs.”
“Why, captain,” murmured Kate, “you can’t live on shellfish?”
“Humph! Can’t I? Very nutritious, Kate, and very healthful. Have to be careful what you eat in this climate. Those eggs, for instance. Can you tell, Harrigan, whether or not they’re fresh?”
Harrigan, his mouth full of egg, paused and glared at the captain.
“For the captain of a ship, McTee,” he said coldly, “your head is packed with fool ideas. Eat your fish an’ don’t spoil the appetites of others.”
He turned to Kate.
“These eggs are new-laid—they’re—they’re not more than twenty-four hours old.”
His glance dared McTee to doubt the statement. The captain accepted the challenge.
“I suppose you watched ’em being laid, Harrigan?”
Harrigan sneered.
“I can tell by the taste partly and partly”—here he cracked the shell of another egg and, stripping it off, held up the little white oval to the light—“and partly by the color. It’s dead white, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“That shows it’s fresh. If there was a bit of blue in it, it’d be stale.”
McTee breathed hard.
“You win,” he said. “You ought to be on the stage, Harrigan.”
But Harrigan was deep in another egg. Kate watched the two with covert glances, amazed, wondering. They had saved each other from death at sea, and now they were quarreling bitterly over the qualities of eggs.
And not eggs alone, for McTee, not to be outdone in courtesy, passed a handful of his shellfish to Harrigan. The Irishman regarded the fish and then McTee with cold disgust.
“D’you really think I’m crazy enough to eat one of these?” he queried.
Black McTee was black indeed as he glowered at the big Irishman.
“Open up; let’s hear what you got to say about these shellfish,” he demanded.
Harrigan announced laconically: “Scurvy.”
“What?” This from Kate and McTee at one breath.
“Sure. There ain’t any salt in ’em. No salt is as bad as too much salt. A friend of mine was once in a place where he couldn’t get any salt food, an’ he ate a lot of these shellfish. What was the result? Scurvy! He hasn’t a tooth in his head today. An’ he’s only thirty.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” cried Kate indignantly, and she laid a tentative finger against her white teeth, as if expecting to find them loose.
“I didn’t want to hurt McTee’s feelin’s. Besides, maybe a few of them won’t hurt you—much!”
McTee suddenly burst into laughter, but there was little mirth in the sound.
“Maybe you know these are the great blue clams that are famous for their salt.”
“Really?” said Kate, greatly relieved.
“Yes,” went on McTee, his eyes wandering slightly. “This species of clam has an unusual organ by which it extracts some of the salt from the sea water while taking its food. Look here!”
He held up a shell and indicated a blue-green spot on the inside.
“You see that color? That’s what gives these clams their name and this is also the place where the salt deposit forms. This clam has a high percentage of salt—more than any other.”
Harrigan, sending a bitter side glance at McTee, rose to bring some more wood, for it was imperative that they should keep the fire burning always.
“I’m so glad,” said Kate, “that we have both the eggs and the clams to rely on. At least they will keep us from starving in this terrible place.”
“H’m. I’m not so sure about the eggs.”
He eyed them with a watering mouth, for his raging hunger had not been in the least appeased by the shellfish.
“But I’ll try one just to keep you company.”
He peeled away the shell and swallowed the egg hastily, lest Harrigan, returning, should see that he had changed his mind.
“Maybe the eggs are all right,” he admitted as soon as he could speak, and he picked up another, “but between you and me, I’ll confess that I shall not pay much attention to what Harrigan has to say. He’s never been to sea before. You can’t expect a landlubber to understand all the conditions of a life like this.”
But a new thought which was gradually forming in her brain made Kate reserve judgment. Harrigan came back and placed a few more sticks of wood on the fire.
“I can’t understand,” said Kate, “how you could make a fire without a sign of a match.”
“That’s simple,” said McTee easily. “When a man has traveled about as much as I have, he has to pick up all sorts of unusual ways of doing things. The way we made that fire was to—”
“The way we made it?” interjected Harrigan with bitter emphasis.
Kate frowned as she glanced from one to the other. There was the same deep hostility in their eyes which she had noticed when they faced each other in the captain’s cabin aboard the Mary Rogers.
“An’ why were ye sittin’ prayin’ for fire with the gir-rl thremblin’ and freezin’ to death in yer ar-rms if ye knew so well how to be makin’ one?”
“Hush—Dan,” said Kate; for the fire of anger blew high.
McTee started.
“You know each other pretty well, eh?”
“Tut, tut!” said Harrigan airily. “You can’t expect a slip of a girl to be calling a black man like you by the front name?”
McTee moistened his white lips. He rose.
“I’m going for a walk—I always do after eating.”
And he strode off down the beach. Harrigan instantly secured a handful of the shellfish.
“Speakin’ of salt,” he said apologetically, “I’ll have to try a couple of these to be sure that the captain’s right. I can tell by a taste or two.”
He pried open one of the shells and ate the contents hastily, keeping one eye askance against the return of McTee.
“Maybe he’s right about these shellfish,” he pronounced judicially, “but it’s a hard thing an’ a dangerous thing to take the word of a man like McTee—he’s that hasty. We must go easy on believin’ what he says, Kate.”
CHAPTER 12
Then understanding flooded Kate’s mind like waves of light in a dark room. She tilted back her head and laughed, laughed heartily, laughed till the tears brimmed her eyes. The gloomy scowl of Harrigan stopped her at last. As her mirth died out, the tall form of McTee appeared suddenly before them with his arms crossed. Where they touched his breast, the muscles spread out to a giant size. He was turned toward her, but the gleam of his eye fell full upon Harrigan.
“I suppose,” said McTee, and his teeth clicked after each word like the bolt of a rifle shot home, “I suppose that you were laughing at me?”
The Irishman rose and faced the Scotchman, his head thrust forward and a devil in his eyes.
“An’ what if we were, Misther McTee?” he purred. “An’ what if we wer-r-re, I’m askin’?”
Kate leaped to her feet and sprang between them.
“Is there anything we can do,” she broke in hurriedly, “to get away from the island?”
“A raft?” suggested Harrigan.
McTee smiled his contempt.
“A raft? And how would you cut down the trees to make it?”
“Burn ’em down with a circle of fire at the bottom.”
“And then set green logs afloat? And how fasten ’em together, even supposing we could burn them down and drag them to the water? No, there’s no way of getting off the island unless a boat passes and catches a glimpse of our fire.”
“Then we’ll have to move this fire to the top of the hill,” said Harrigan.
“Suppose we go now and look over the hill and see what dry wood is near it,” said McTee.
“Good.”
Something in their eagerness had a meaning for Kate.
“Would you both leave me?” she reproached them.
“It was McTee suggested it,” said Harrigan.
McTee favored his comrade with a glance that would have made any other man give ground. It merely made Harrigan grin.
“We’ll draw straws for who goes and who stays,” said McTee.
Kate picked up two bits of wood.
“The short one stays,” she said.
“Draw,” said Harrigan in a low voice.
“I was taught manners young,” said McTee. “After you.”
They exchanged glares again. The whole sense of her power over these giants came home to her as she watched them fighting their duel of the eyes.
“You suggested it,” she said to McTee.
He stepped forward with an expression as grim as that of a prize fighter facing an antagonist of unknown prowess. Once and again his hand hovered above the sticks before he drew.
“You’ve chosen the walk to the hill,” she said, and showed the shorter stick. “Do you mind?”
“No,” mocked Harrigan, “he always walks after meals.”
Their eyes dwelt almost fondly upon each other. They were both men after the other’s heart. Then the Scotchman turned and strode away.
Kate watched Harrigan suspiciously, but his eyes, following McTee, were gentle and dreamy.
“Ah,” he murmured, “there’s a jewel of a man.”
“Do you like him so much?”
“Do I like him? Me dear, I love the man; I’ll break his head with more joy than a shtarvin’ man cracks a nut!”
He recovered himself instantly.
“I didn’t mean that—I—”
“Dan, you and McTee have planned to fight!”
He growled: “If a man told me that, I’d say he was a liar.”
“Yes; but you won’t lie to a girl, Harrigan.”
She rose and faced him, reaching up to lay her hands on his thick shoulders.
“Will you give me your promise as an honest man to try to avoid a fight with him?”
For she saw death in it if they met alone; certainly death for one, and perhaps for both.
“Kate, would you ask a tree to promise to avoid the lightning?”
She caught a little breath through set teeth in her angry impatience, then: “Dan, you’re like a naughty boy. Can’t you be reasonable?”
Despite her wrath, she noticed a quick change in his face. The blue of his eyes was no longer cold and incurious, but lighted, warm, and marvelously deep.
And she said rapidly, making her voice cold to quell the uneasy, rising fire behind his eyes: “If you have made McTee angry, aren’t you man enough to smooth things over—to ask his pardon?”
He answered vaguely: “Beg his pardon?”
“Why is that so impossible? For my sake, Dan!”
The light went out of his face as if a candle had been snuffed.
“For you, Kate?”
Then she understood her power fully for the first time, and found the thing which she must do.
“For me. I—I—”
She let her head droop, and then glanced up as if beseeching him to ask no questions.
“Look me square in the eye—so!”
He caught her beneath the chin with a grip that threatened a bruise, and his eyes burned down upon her.
“Are ye playin’ with me, Kate? Are ye tryin’ to torment me, or do ye really care for McTee?”
She tried with all her might, but could not answer. The rumble and ring of his voice brought her heart to her throat.
“You’re tremblin’,” said Harrigan, and he released her. “So it’s all true. McTee!”
He turned on his heel like a soldier, lest she should mark the change of his expression; but she must have noticed something, for she called: “Harrigan—Dan!”
He stopped, but would not face her.
“You have your hands clenched. Are you going out to hunt for McTee in that black mood?”
“Kate,” said Harrigan, “by my honor I’m swearin’ he’s as safe in my hands as a child.”
CHAPTER 13
Harrigan strode off through the trees. To loosen the tight, aching muscles of his throat he began to sing—old Irish songs with a wail and a swing to them. He had taken no certain direction, for he only wished to be alone and far away from the other two; but after a time he realized that he was on the side of the central hill to which McTee had gone to look for the dry wood. Above all things in the world he wished to avoid the Scotchman now, and as soon as he became conscious of his whereabouts, he veered sharply to the right. He had scarcely walked a minute in the new direction before he met McTee. The latter had seen him first, and now stood with braced feet in his position of battle, rolling the sleeves of his shirt away from his forearms. Harrigan stepped behind a tree.
“Come out,” roared McTee. “I’ve seen you. Don’t try to sneak behind and take me from the back.”
With an exceeding bitterness of heart, Harrigan stepped into view again.
“You look sick,” went on McTee. “If you knew what would happen when we met, why did you come? If you fear me, go back and hug the skirts of the girl. She’ll take pity on you, Harrigan.”
The Irishman groaned. “Think your thoughts an’ say your s
ay, McTee. I can’t lay a hand on you today.”
The latter stepped close, stupefied with wonder.
“Do I hear you right? Are you taking water, Harrigan?”
Harrigan bowed his head, praying mutely for strength to endure.
“Don’t say it!” pleaded McTee. “I’ve hunted the world and worn the roads bare looking for one man who could stand up to me—and now that I’ve found him, he turns yellow inside!”
And he looked upon the Irishman with a sick horror, as if the big fellow were turning into a reptile before his eyes. On the face of Harrigan there was an expression like that of the starving man whom the fear of poison induces to push away food.
“There’s no word I can speak to you, McTee. You could never understand. Go back to the girl. Maybe she’ll explain.”
“The girl?”
At the wild hope in that voice Harrigan shuddered, and he could not look up.
“Harrigan, what do you mean?”
“Don’t ask me. Leave me alone, McTee.”
“Here’s a mystery,” said the Scotchman, “and our little party is postponed. The date is changed, that’s all. Remember!”
He stepped off through the trees in the direction of the shelter on the beach, leaving Harrigan to throw himself upon the ground in a paroxysm of shame and hate.
But McTee, with hope to spur him on—a vague hope; a thought half formed and therefore doubly delightful—went with great strides until he came to Kate where she sat tending the fire. He broke at once into the heart of his question.
“I met Harrigan. He’s changed. Something has happened. Tell me what it is. He says you know.”
He crouched close to her, intent and eager, his eyes ready to read a thousand meanings into the very lowering of her lashes; but she let her glance rove past him.
“Well?” he asked impatiently.
“It is hard to speak of it.”
Cold doubt fell upon the captain; he moistened his lips before he spoke.
“Hit straight from the shoulder. There’s something between you and the Irishman?”
She dropped a hand over his mighty fist.
“After all, you are our only friend, Angus. Why shouldn’t you know?”
He stood up and made a few paces to and fro, his hands locked behind him and his leonine head fallen low.
“Yes, why shouldn’t you tell me! I think I understand already.”