Lister\'s Great Adventure - Harold Bindloss
LISTER'S GREAT ADVENTURE
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
_Author_ of "THE WILDERNESS MINE," "WYNDHAM'S PAL," "PARTNERS OF THE
OUT-TRAIL," "THE BUCCANEER FARMER," "THE LURE OF THE NORTH," "THE GIRL
FROM KELLER'S," "CARMEN'S MESSENGER," ETC.
1920
CONTENTS
PART I--BARBARA'S REBELLION
CHAPTER
I CARTWRIGHT MEDDLES
II IN THE DARK
III BARBARA VANISHES
IV THE GIRL ON THE PLATFORM
V SHILLITO GETS AWAY
VI WINNIPEG BEACH
VII LISTER'S DISSATISFACTION
VIII THE TEST
IX BARBARA PLAYS A PART
X VERNON'S CURIOSITY
PART II--THE RECKONING
I VERNON'S PLOT
II BARBARA'S RETURN
III LISTER CLEARS THE GROUND
IV A DISSATISFIED SHAREHOLDER
V CARTWRIGHT'S SCRUPLES
VI A NASTY KNOCK
VII THE SHAREHOLDERS' MEETING
VIII A STOLEN EXCURSION
IX CARTWRIGHT SEES A PLAN
X A BOLD SPECULATION
XI THE START
PART III--THE BREAKING STRAIN
I THE FIRST STRUGGLE
II THE WRECK
III A FUEL PROBLEM
IV MONTGOMERY'S OFFER
V MONTGOMERY USES HIS POWER
VI LISTER MEETS AN OLD ANTAGONIST
VII BARBARA'S REFUSAL
VIII CARTWRIGHT GETS TO WORK
IX LISTER MAKES GOOD
X BARBARA TAKES CONTROL
XI LISTER'S REWARD
PART I--BARBARA'S REBELLION
CHAPTER I
CARTWRIGHT MEDDLES
Dinner was over, and Cartwright occupied a chair on the lawn in front of
the Canadian summer hotel. Automatic sprinklers threw sparkling showers
across the rough, parched grass, the lake shimmered, smooth as oil, in
the sunset, and a sweet, resinous smell drifted from the pines that
rolled down to the water's edge. The straight trunks stood out against a
background of luminous red and green, and here and there a slanting beam
touched a branch with fire.
Natural beauty had not much charm for Cartwright, who was satisfied to
loaf and enjoy the cool of the evening. He had, as usual, dined well,
his cigar was good, and he meant to give Mrs. Cartwright half an hour.
Clara expected this, and, although he was sometimes bored, he indulged
her when he could. Besides, it was too soon for cards. The lights had
not begun to spring up in the wooden hotel, and for the most part the
guests were boating on the lake. When he had finished his cigar it would
be time to join the party in the smoking-room. Cartwright was something
of a gambler and liked the American games. They gave one scope for
bluffing, and although his antagonists declared his luck was good, he
knew his nerve was better. In fact, since he lost his money by a
reckless plunge, he had to some extent lived by bluff. Yet some people
trusted Tom Cartwright.
Mrs. Cartwright did so. She was a large, dull woman, but had kept a
touch of the beauty that had marked her when she was young. She was
kind, conventional, and generally anxious to take the proper line.
Cartwright was twelve years older, and since she was a widow and had
three children when she married him, her friends declared her money
accounted for much, and a lawyer relation carefully guarded, against
Cartwright's using her fortune.
Yet, in a sense, Cartwright was not an adventurer, although his ventures
in finance and shipping were numerous. He sprang from an old Liverpool
family whose prosperity diminished when steamers replaced sailing ships.
His father had waited long before he resigned himself to the change, but
was not altogether too late, and Cartwright was now managing owner of
the Independent Freighters Line. The company's business had brought him
to Montreal, and when it was transacted he had taken Mrs. Cartwright and
her family to the hotel by the Ontario lake.
Cartwright's hair and mustache were white; his face was fleshy and red.
He was fastidious about his clothes, and his tailor cleverly hid the
bulkiness of his figure. As a rule, his look was fierce and commanding,
but now and then his small keen eyes twinkled. Although Cartwright was
clever, he was, in some respects, primitive. He had long indulged his
appetites, and wore the stamp of what is sometimes called good living.
The managing owner of the Independent Freighters needed cleverness,
since the company was small and often embarrassed for money. For the
most part, it ran its ships in opposition to the regular liners. When
the _Conference_ forced up freights Cartwright quietly canvassed the
merchants and offered to carry their goods at something under the
standard rate, if the shippers would engage to fill up his boat. As a
rule, secrecy was important, but sometimes, when cargo was scarce,
Cartwright let his plans be known and allowed the _Conference_ to buy
him off. Although his skill in the delicate negotiations was marked, the
company paid small dividends and he had enemies among the shareholders.
Now, however, he was satisfied. _Oreana_ had sailed for Montreal, loaded
to the limit the law allowed, and he had booked her return cargo before
the _Conference_ knew he was cutting rates.
Mrs. Cartwright talked, but she talked much and Cartwright hardly
listened, and looked across the lake. A canoe drifted out from behind a
neighboring point, and its varnished side shone in the fading light.
Then a man dipped the paddle, and the ripple at the bow got longer and
broke the reflections of the pines. A girl, sitting at the stern, put
her hands in the water, and when she flung the sparkling drops at her
companion her laugh came across the lake. Cartwright's look got keen and
he began to note his wife's remarks.
"Do you imply Barbara's getting fond of the fellow?" he asked.
"I am afraid of something like that," Mrs. Cartwright admitted. "In a
way, one hesitates to meddle; sometimes meddling does harm, and, of
course, if Barbara really loved the young man--" She paused and gave
Cartwright a sentimental smile. "After all, I married for love, and a
number of my friends did not approve."
Cartwright grunted. He had married Clara because she was rich, but it
was something to his credit that she had not suspected this. Clara was
dull, and her dullness often amused him.
"If you think it necessary, I won't hesitate about meddling," he
remarked. "Shillito's a beggarly sawmill clerk."
"He said he was _treasurer_ for an important lumber company. Barbara's
very young and romantic, and although she has not known him long--"
"She has known him for about two weeks," Cartwright rejoined. "Perhaps
it's long enough. Shillito's what Canadians call a looker and Barbara's
a romantic fool. I've no doubt he's found out she'll inherit some money;
it's possible she's told him. Now I come to think about it, she was off
somewhere all the afternoon, and it looks as if she had promised the
fellow the evening."
He indicated the canoe and was satisfied when Mrs. Cartwright agreed,
since he refused to wear spectacles and own his sight was going.
Although Clara was generous, he could not use her money, and, indeed,
did not mean to do so, but he was extravagant and his managing owner's
post was not secure. When one had powerful antagonists, one did not
admit that one was getting old.
"I doubt if Shillito's character is all one could wish,'" Mrs.
Cartwright resumed. "Character's very important, don't you think? Mrs.
Grant--the woman with the big hat--knows something about him and she
said he was _fierce_. I think she meant he was wild. Then she hinted he
spent money he ought not to spend. But isn't a treasurer's pay good?"
Cartwright smiled, for he was patient to his wife. "It depends upon the
company. A treasurer is sometimes a book-keeping clerk. However, the
trouble is, Barbara's as wild as a hawk, though I don't know where she
got her wildness. Her brother and sister are tame enough."
"Sometimes I'm bothered about Barbara," Mrs. Cartwright agreed. "She's
rash and obstinate; not like the others. I don't know if they're tame,
but they had never given me much anxiety. One can trust them to do all
they ought."
Cartwright said nothing. As a rule, Clara's son and elder daughter
annoyed him. Mortimer Hyslop was a calculating prig; Grace was finicking
and bound by ridiculous rules. She was pale and inanimate; there was no
blood in her. But Cartwright was fond of the younger girl. Barbara was
frankly flesh and blood; he liked her flashes of temper and her pluck.
When the canoe came to the landing he got up. "Leave the thing to me,"
he said. "I'll talk to Shillito."
He went off, but when he reached the steps to the veranda in front of
the hotel he stopped. His gout bothered him. At the top Mortimer Hyslop
was smoking a cigarette. The young man was thin and looked bored; his
summer clothes were a study in harmonious colors, and he had delicate
hands like a woman's. When he saw Cartwright stop he asked: "Can I help
you up, sir?"
Cartwright's face got red. He hated an offer of help that drew attention
to his infirmity, and thought Mortimer knew.
"No, thanks! I'm not a cripple yet. Have you seen Shillito?"
"You'll probably find him in the smoking room. The card party has gone
in and he's a gambler."
"So am I!"
Mortimer shrugged, and Cartwright wondered whether the fellow meant to
imply that his gambling was not important since he had married a rich
wife. The young man, however, hesitated and looked thoughtful.
"I don't know your object for wanting Shillito, but if my supposition's
near the mark, might I state that I approve? In fact, I'd begun to
wonder whether something ought not to be done. The fellow's plausible.
Not our sort, of course; but when a girl's romantic and obstinate--"
Cartwright stopped him. "Exactly! Well, I'm the head of the house and
imagine you can leave the thing to me. Perhaps it doesn't matter if your
sister is obstinate. I'm going to talk to Shillito."
He crossed the veranda, and Mortimer returned to his chair and
cigarette. He did not approve his step-father, but admitted that
Cartwright could be trusted to handle a matter like this. Mortimer's
fastidiousness was sometimes a handicap, but Cartwright had none.
Cartwright entered the smoking-room and crossed the floor to a table, at
which two or three men stood as if waiting for somebody. One was young
and tall. His thin face was finely molded, his eyes and hair were very
black, and his figure was marked by an agile grace.
He looked up sharply as Cartwright advanced.
"I want you for a few minutes," Cartwright said roughly, as if he gave
an order.
Shillito frowned, but went with him to the back veranda. Although the
night was warm and an electric light burned under the roof, nobody was
about. Cartwright signed the other to sit down.
"I expect your holiday's nearly up, and the hotel car meets the train in
the morning," he remarked.
"What about it?" Shillito asked. "I'm not going yet."
"You're going to-morrow," said Cartwright grimly.
Shillito smiled and gave him an insolent look, but his smile vanished.
Cartwright's white mustache bristled, his face was red, and his eyes
were very steady. It was not for nothing the old ship-owner had fronted
disappointed investors and forced his will on shareholders' meetings.
Shillito saw the fellow was dangerous.
"I'll call you," he said, using a gambler's phrase.
"Very well," said Cartwright. "I think my cards are good, and if I can't
win on one suit, I'll try another. To begin with, the hotel proprietor
sent for me. He stated the house was new and beginning to pay, and he
was anxious about its character. People must be amused, but he was
running a summer hotel, not a gambling den. The play was too high, and
young fools got into trouble; two or three days since one got broke.
Well, he wanted me to use my influence, and I said I would."
"He asked you to keep the stakes in bounds? It's a good joke!"
"Not at all," said Cartwright dryly. "I like an exciting game, so long
as it is straight, and when I lose I pay. I do lose, and if I come out
fifty dollars ahead when I leave, I'll be satisfied. How much have you
cleared?"
Shillito said nothing, and Cartwright went on: "My antagonists are old
card-players who know the game; but when you broke Forman he was drunk
and the other two were not quite sober. You play against young fools and
_your luck's too good_. If you force me to tell all I think and
something that I know. I imagine you'll get a straight hint to quit."
"You talked about another plan," Shillito remarked.
"On the whole, I think the plan I've indicated will work. If it does not
and you speak to any member of Mrs. Cartwright's family, I'll thrash you
on the veranda when people are about. I won't state my grounds for doing
so; they ought to be obvious."
Shillito looked at the other hand. Cartwright's eyes were bloodshot, his
face was going purple, and he thrust out his heavy chin. Shillito
thought he meant all he said, and his threat carried weight. The old
fellow was, of course, not a match for the vigorous young man, but
Shillito saw he had the power to do him an injury that was not
altogether physical. He pondered for a few moments, and then got up.
"I'll pull out," he said with a coolness that cost him much.
Cartwright nodded. "There's another thing. If you write to Miss Hyslop,
your letters will be burned."
He went back to the smoking-room, and playing with his usual boldness,
won twenty dollars. Then he joined Mrs. Cartwright on the front veranda
and remarked: "Shillito won't bother us. He goes in the morning."
Mrs. Cartwright gave him a grateful smile. She had long known that when
she asked her husband's help difficulties were removed. Now he had
removed Shillito, and she was satisfied but imagined he was not.
Cartwright knitted his white brows and drew hard at his cigar.
"You had better watch Barbara until the fellow starts," he resumed.
"Then I think you and the girls might join the Vernons at their fishing
camp. Vernon would like it, and he's a useful friend; besides, it's
possible Shillito's obstinate. Your letters needn't follow you; have
them sent to me at Montreal, which will cover your tracks. I must go
back in a few days."
Mrs. Cartwright weighed the suggestion. Vernon was a Winnipeg merchant,
and his wife had urged her to join the party at the fishing camp in the
woods. The journey was long, but Mrs. Cartwright rather liked the plan.
Shillito would not find them, and Mrs. Vernon had two sons.
"Can't you come with us?" she asked. "Mortimer is going to Detroit."
"Sorry I can't," said Cartwright firmly. "I don't want to leave you, but
business calls."
He was relieved when Mrs. Cartwright let it go. Clara was a good sort
and seldom argued. He had loafed about with her family for two weeks and
had had enough. Moreover, business did call. If the _Conference_ found
out before his boat arrived that he had engaged _Oreana's_ return load,
they might see the shippers and make trouble. Anyhow, they would use
some effort to get the cargo for their boats. Sometimes one promised
regular customers a drawback on standard rates.
"I'll write to Mrs. Vernon in the morning," Mrs. Cartwright remarked.
"Telegraph" said Cartwright, who did not lose time when he had made a
plan. "When the lines are not engaged after business hours, you can send
a night-letter; a long message at less than the proper charge."
Mrs. Cartwright looked pleased. Although she was rich and sometimes
generous, she liked small economies.
"After all, writing a letter's tiresome," she said. "Telegrams are easy.
Will you get me a form?"
CHAPTER II
IN THE DARK
In the morning Cartwright told the porter to take his chair to the beach
and sat down in a shady spot. He had not seen Barbara at breakfast and
was rather sorry for her, but she had not known Shillito long, and
although she might be angry for a time, her hurt could not be deep.
Lighting his pipe, he watched the path that led between the pines to the
water.
By and by a girl came out of the shadow, and going to the small
landing-stage, looked at her wrist-watch. Cartwright imagined she did
not see him and studied her with some amusement. Barbara looked
impatient. People did not often keep her waiting, and she had not
inherited her mother's placidity. She had a touch of youthful beauty,
and although she was impulsive and rather raw, Cartwright thought her
charm would be marked when she met the proper people and, so to speak,
got toned down.
Cartwright meant her to meet the proper people, because he was fond of
Barbara. She had grace, and although her figure was slender and girlish,
she carried herself well. Her brown eyes were steady, her small mouth
was firm, and as a rule her color was delicate white and pink. Now it
was high, and Cartwright knew she was angry. She wore boating clothes
and had obviously meant to go on the lake. The trouble was, her
companion had not arrived.
"Hallo!" said Cartwright. "Are you waiting for somebody?"
Barbara advanced and sat down on a rocky ledge.
"No," she said, "I'm not waiting _now_."
Cartwright smiled. He knew Barbara's temper, and his line was to keep
her resentment warm.
"You mean, you have given him up and won't go if he does arrive? Well,
when a young man doesn't keep his appointment, it's the proper plan."
She blushed, but tried to smile. "I don't know if you're clever or not
just now, although you sometimes do see things the others miss. I really
was a little annoyed."
"I've lived a long time," said Cartwright. "However, perhaps it's
important I haven't forgotten I was young. I think your brother and
sister never were very young. They were soberer than me when I knew them
first."
"Mortimer _is_ a stick," Barbara agreed. "He and Grace have a calm
superiority that makes one savage now and then. I like human people, who
sometimes let themselves go--"
She stopped, and Cartwright noted her wandering glance that searched the
beach and the path to the hotel. He knew whom she expected, and thought
it would give her some satisfaction to quarrel with the fellow.
Cartwright did not mean to soothe her.
"Mr. Shillito ought to have sent his apologies when he found he could
not come," he said.
Barbara's glance got fixed, and Cartwright knew he had blundered.
"Oh!" she said, "now I begin to see! Mother kept me by her all the
evening; but mother's not very clever and Mortimer's too fastidious to
meddle, unless he gets a dignified part. Of course, the plot was yours!"
Cartwright nodded. Sometimes he used tact, but he was sometimes brutally
frank.
"You had better try to console yourself with the Wheeler boys; they're
straight young fellows. Shillito is gone. He went by the car this
morning and it's unlikely he'll come back."
"You sent him off?" said Barbara, and her eyes sparkled. "Well, I'm not
a child and you're not my father really. Why did you meddle?"
"For one thing, he's not your sort. Then I'm a meddlesome old fellow and
rather fond of you. To see you entangled by a man like Shillito would
hurt. Let him go. If you want to try your powers, you'll find a number
of honest young fellows on whom you can experiment. The boys one meets
in this country are a pretty good sample."
"There's a rude vein in you," Barbara declared. "One sees it sometimes,
although you're sometimes kind. Anyhow, I won't be bullied and
controlled; I'm not a shareholder in the Cartwright line. I don't know
if it's important, but why don't you like Mr. Shillito?"
Cartwright's eyes twinkled. In a sense, he could justify his getting rid
of Shillito, but he knew Barbara and doubted if she could be persuaded.
Still she was not a fool, and he would give her something to think
about.
"It's possible my views are not important," he agreed. "All the same,
when I told the man he had better go he saw the force of my arguments.
He went, and I think his going is significant. Since I'd sooner not
quarrel, I'll leave you to weigh this."
He went off, but Barbara stopped and brooded. She was angry and
humiliated, but perhaps the worst was she had a vague notion Cartwright
might be justified. It was very strange Shillito had gone. All the same,
she did not mean to submit. Her mother's placid conventionality had long
irritated her; one got tired of galling rules and criticism. She was not
going to be molded into a calculating prude like Grace, or a prig like
Mortimer. They did not know the ridiculous good-form they cultivated was
out of date. In fact, she had had enough and meant to rebel.
Then she began to think about Shillito. His carelessness was strangely
intriguing; he stood for adventure and all the romance she had known.
Besides, he was a handsome fellow; she liked his reckless twinkle and
his coolness where coolness was needed. For all that, she would not
acknowledge him her lover; Barbara did not know if she really wanted a
lover yet. She imagined Cartwright had got near the mark when he said
she wanted to try her power. Cartwright was keen, although Barbara
sensed something in him that was fierce and primitive.
Perhaps nobody else could have bullied Shillito; Mortimer certainly
could not, but Barbara refused to speculate about the means Cartwright
had used.
Shillito ought not to have gone without seeing her; this was where it
hurt. She was entitled to be angry--and then she started, for a page boy
came quietly out of the shade.
"A note, miss," he said with a grin. "I was to give it you when nobody
was around."
Barbara's heart beat, but she gave the boy a quarter and opened the
envelope. The note was short and not romantic. Shillito stated he had
grounds for imagining it might not reach her, but if it did, he begged
she would give him her address when she left the hotel. He told her
where to write, and added if she could find a way to get his letters he
had much to say.
His coolness annoyed Barbara, but he had excited her curiosity and she
was intrigued. Moreover, Cartwright had tried to meddle and she wanted
to feel she was cleverer than he. Then Shillito was entitled to defend
himself, and to find the way he talked about would not be difficult.
Barbara knitted her brows and began to think.
At lunch Mrs. Cartwright told her they were going to join the Vernons in
the woods and she acquiesced. Two or three days afterwards they started,
and at the station she gave Cartwright her hand with a smiling glance,
but Cartwright knew his step-daughter and was not altogether satisfied.
Barbara did not sulk; when one tried to baffle her she fought.
The Vernons' camp was like others Winnipeg people pitch in the lonely
woods that roll west from Fort William to the plains. It is a rugged
country pierced by angry rivers and dotted by lakes, but a gasolene
launch brought up supplies, the tents were large and double-roofed, and
for a few weeks one could play at pioneering without its hardships. The
Vernons were hospitable, the young men and women given to healthy sport,
and Mrs. Cartwright, watching Barbara fish and paddle on the lake,
banished her doubts. For herself she did not miss much; the people were
nice, and the cooking was really good.
When two weeks had gone, Grace and Barbara sat one evening among the
stones by a lake. The evening was calm, the sun was setting, and the
shadow of the pines stretched across the tranquil water. Now and then
the reflections trembled and a languid ripple broke against the
driftwood on the beach. In the distance a loon called, but when its wild
cry died away all was very quiet.
Grace looked across the lake and frowned. She was a tall girl, and
although she had walked for some distance in the woods, her clothes were
hardly crumpled. Her face was finely molded, but rather colorless; her
hands were very white, while Barbara's were brown. Her dress and voice
indicated cultivated taste; but the taste was negative, as if Grace had
banished carefully all that jarred and then had stopped. It was
characteristic that she was tranquil, although she had grounds for
disturbance. They were some distance from camp and it would soon be
dark, but nothing broke the gleaming surface of the lake. The boat that
ought to have met them had not arrived.
"I suppose this is the spot where Harry Vernon agreed to land and take
us on board?" she said.
"It's like the spot. I understand we must watch out for a point opposite
an island with big trees."
"Watch out?" Grace remarked.
"Watch out is good Canadian," Barbara rejoined. "I'm studying the
language and find it expressive and plain. When our new friends talk you
know what they mean. Besides, I'd better learn their idioms, because I
might stop in Canada if somebody urged me."
Grace gave her a quiet look. Barbara meant to annoy her, or perhaps did
not want to admit she had mistaken the spot. Now Grace came to think
about it, the plan that the young men should meet them and paddle them
down the lake was Barbara's.
"I don't see why we didn't go with Harry and the other, as he
suggested," she said.
"Then, you're rather dull. They didn't really want us; they wanted to
fish. To know when people might be bored is useful."
"But there are a number of bays and islands. They may go somewhere
else," Grace insisted.
"Oh well, it ought to amuse Harry and Winter to look for us, and if
they're annoyed, they deserve some punishment. If they had urged us very
much to go, I would have gone. Anyhow, you needn't bother. There's a
short way back to camp by the old loggers' trail."