Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 27/Number 4/Shadows Tremendous/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI.
A BIT OF A SLIP.
THE two friends watched Ives walk briskly to the very house in which they had spent the night, and enter without knocking.
Bellamy edged closer to the secret-service agent. “Is he bluffing, Dal?” he asked, in a low tone.
“I'm not sure, but I think so,” was the answer.
“Yet you mean to accept his invitation and go aboard the yacht?”
“Certainly.”
“But it will be putting ourselves completely in his power,” protested Bellamy. “What's to prevent his keeping us there indefinitely if he chooses?”
“Nothing,” returned Darrell quietly. “We've got to take the chance, that's all, Jack. It's simply playing the game. So far, I've found out nothing; there's scarcely been time. Aboard the yacht, he may let something slip, and I want to be there to catch it. Besides, when you get down to facts, we're about as much in his power on shore as anywhere else. There isn't a greaser here who wouldn't obey Here he comes. Remember your part now, and don't mention Carmen, Boote, or Sudo unless he asks a direct question.”
“Well, that's over,” Ives said genially, as he rejoined them. “Now we'll go aboard. You were half right when you called the proposition here a gold brick,” he went on, after they were settled in the trim launch. “It's a big, wonderful stretch of territory, but without water it is next to useless. When we bought it, we supposed, of course, it would be an easy matter to sink artesian wells at various points, but we were mistaken. Personally I haven't given up hope. The well at Matancita, forty miles north, was discovered only a few years ago, and my engineers may strike something yet. Until that happens, however, it's all we can do to pay taxes.”
“I see.” Darrell nodded. “I should think it would be hard to do even that.” To himself he was saying: “Why is he telling us all this? What's his point in giving details of this sort to a couple of perfect strangers? Is he trying to blind us, or has he some other reason I haven't caught on to yet?”
“It is hard,” Ives returned. “Of course, the orchilla crop brings us in the largest income, but even such trivial things as gathering abalone shells and leasing these fishing rights to the Japanese help out.”
A little flicker of satisfaction leaped into Darrell's eyes, and was gone. So that was it! Ives evidently felt it necessary to explain the reason for the Japs being here. A man with nothing to hide would not have cared whether his guests understood or not.
“What is orchilla?” Darrell asked curiously, as the launch swerved in to the gangway and was deftly caught by a waiting sailor with a boat hook.
“A moss used in making dyes,” Ives explained, following his two guests to the deck. “It grows on the mesquite and cactus hereabouts.”
He led the way aft, where, under an awning, comfortable cushioned chairs were scattered about. The moment they were settled, he summoned the steward and ordered wine.
“It's the one thing that's cheap and fairly good in this country,” he said, smiling, as Darrell expostulated. “I never touch the water myself in a place like this.”
Darrell made no further objection, and, when the wine appeared, he proceeded to drink some with a coolness which excited Bellamy's admiration. The Californian was possessed with the conviction that every minute of their stay on the yacht was fraught with some unknown danger, and the instant wine was mentioned his mind leaped to the conclusion that it would be drugged.
This notion presently passed away, however, when he saw that Ives was not sparing the bottle, and he became slightly more composed. A little later, his roving eye fell upon a heavy piece of planking fastened upright in the extreme stern, on which was tacked a paper target.
“By Jove, Dal!” he exclaimed, pointing in that direction, “There's something that ought to interest you.”
“You shoot?” Ives asked, glancing at the secret-service agent.
“Shoot!” exclaimed Bellamy impulsively. “I should say he does! I don't believe he could miss a bull's-eye if he tried. And shooting isn't his only”
“Spare my blushes, Jack,” Darrell interrupted. “Pretty soon you'll be giving me a reputation I'll find difficult to live up to.”
His voice was drawlingly good-natured, but there was a faint something beneath the surface which made his friend realize that perhaps he had been a little indiscreet.
“Well, well!” commented Ives interestedly. “It's funny, but pistol shooting is my one and only hobby, and I've always flattered myself I was pretty fair at it. What make do you use?”
“Oh, almost any reputable one,” returned Darrell, laughing.
Ives arose swiftly, his eyes sparkling. “That's great!” he exclaimed. “I've got as nice a line of firearms aboard as you'd want to see. I'll bring a couple of them up, and we'll have a little match right here and now. I don't doubt your friend's word,” he went on, smiling, “but I'm from Missouri.”
As he disappeared into the deck house, Bellamy glanced swiftly toward his friend. “Sorry, Dal,” he whispered. “I won't slip up like that again. Is this part of his game, do you think?”
“Give it up,” replied the secret-service agent. “I don't know what he's after, unless it's to find out our accomplishments. Fortunately the ability to shoot doesn't prove anything against a man.”