Part 17

“Not by a darn sight. I had to take a turn of extra duty. I’m the happiest man in the world, Cap’n Mike. And I’m tickled to death to clap eyes on you. Wait till I wash up and change my clothes.”

“Sure I’ll wait, Johnny. ’Tis a visit I have come to pay. You are sensitive about the terrible condition I find ye in, so I will say no more. But if I was surveyin’ you for Lloyds, I would mark you down as a total loss. And how are the pigs and chickens?”

The portly farmer brightened instantly and wheeled in the door to exclaim:

“You just ought to see ’em! Now how did I get along at sea all those years without ’em? Can you tell me that?”

“’Twas the lack of them that made ye so thin and melancholy,” said O’Shea with a grin. “Clean yourself up and fill the old pipe with the wicked brand of cut plug that ye misname tobacco, and we will sit down and talk it over.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n Mike. And there’s some bottles of beer in the ice-box in the wood-shed. It’s just abaft the galley. Help yourself.”

The shipmaster enjoyed exploring the cottage while his host repaired damages and presently reappeared in a white-duck uniform, which he had worn as chief engineer of the English steamer _Tarlington_.

“There now, you look more like a man and less like a fat coal-heaver that has blown all his wages for rum,” said Captain O’Shea. “And will ye rummage in the lockers for a bite to eat? The train that fetched me had difficulty in finding this cute little town of yours. I mistrust ’twas not on the chart at all, and we wandered for hours and hours looking for it and stopping to take soundings at ten million way-stations. Where is the cook?”

“I’m the whole crew,” replied Johnny Kent as he convoyed his guest into the kitchen. “You see, Cap’n Mike, I found it wouldn’t do to have a woman workin’ for me. All the old maids and widows in the township seemed anxious to get the berth. But a solid man like me, with money in the bank, has to be careful. Confound it, they pestered me! I don’t want to talk about it.”

Until sunset the comrades yarned and laughed, sprawling in the shade of an apple-tree or rambling arm-in-arm over the farm. Then the mariner had his chores to do, which consisted mostly in bullying the Perkins boy, while O’Shea chuckled to think of the tempestuous scenes in which he had beheld Johnny Kent play a dominant part. The shipmaster had a purpose up his sleeve, but he had artfully delayed disclosing it until he could discover how firmly the engineer was anchored to his pastoral existence.

After supper, which O’Shea helped prepare with the handiness of a sailor, they walked slowly to and fro in the garden, falling into step by force of habit, for thus they had passed many an hour on bridge and deck beneath the stars. The tranquillity of the place, the sense of comfort and repose, soothed the restless temper of O’Shea and turned his mind to thoughts of a home and fireside of his own. But he was well aware that this mood would pass.

“’Tis sad I am that I cannot tarry long with you and your intelligent pigs and hens, Johnny,” said he, “but I have a bit of business in hand.”

“What is it? Does it look good to you, Cap’n Mike?” demanded the other. “We’ve been so busy livin’ our fights and frolics all over again that I haven’t had a chance to hurl questions at you. Why don’t you stay ashore and take it easy for a while? You’ve got money; plenty of it. Blow it like a gentleman.”

“And what would be the fun of that? I have a charter in mind. Would ye like to hear of it?”

The contented farmer cocked his head alertly and stood in his tracks. The light in his eye was not inspired by his neat rows of beets, carrots, and cabbages. O’Shea perceived that he was curious, and hastened to add, in the most winning accents:

“’Tis the kind of a game you used to like, Johnny. I have looked over the steamer, and she would please you. Politics are stewin’ in the Persian Gulf and intrigues are as thick as huckleberries. The British and the Russians have locked horns again, do ye mind, and the poor deluded Persians will be prodded into a revolution, and divil a bit of good it will do them. When the smoke clears the two benevolent Powers will try to beat each other to the plunder. Just now they are manœuvrin’ for position.”

“Pshaw! Cap’n Mike, haven’t you recovered from them delusions about the Persian Gulf?” growled the engineer.

“’Tis no dream, Johnny. I have met a man in New York. He came from Europe to find me. The proposition is copper-riveted. I take the steamer and load her with arms and munitions in a Mediterranean port and deliver them to certain parties somewheres the other side of Aden. The British gun-boats are patrollin’ the Gulf to put a crimp in this industry, so there will be a run for me money.”

Johnny Kent was silent while he meditated and listened to the whisper of temptation. Then a pig grunted in its straw litter, a chicken chirped drowsily on its perch, and the breeze rustled among the luxuriant pole-beans and tomatoes. And O’Shea had come to coax him away from this enchanted place. He would hear what the blarneying rascal had to say and convince him of his folly. The shipmaster liked not the stolid silence of his companion. He knew it of old for a stubbornness that nothing could budge. However, he went on with the argument:

“I need an engineer, Johnny. And will ye not take one more fling with me? You are an old rover, and this messing about a farm will not content you for long. ’Tis no place for a bold man that knows his trade. Wait a bit and come back here when ye have seen the green seas tumbling over the bows once more and felt the swing of a good ship under you, and heard the trade-winds singing in your ears, and watched the strange faces in ports that are new to ye.”

“I’ve heard you talk before, Cap’n Mike, and your tongue never gets hung on a dead-centre,” was the deliberate reply. “You’ll have to dish up something more attractive than the blisterin’ Persian Gulf to drag me from my moorings. Do I act restless?”

“About as much so as that old barn yonder,” admitted the other.

“See here, Cap’n Mike, the farm next to mine can be bought cheap. It cuts a hundred tons of hay and pastures forty head of stock. I meant to write you about it soon. Why don’t you buy it and settle down alongside of me?”

“You are the hopeless old barnacle,” laughed O’Shea. “’Tis plain that I waste me words. If my seductive persuasions have missed fire entirely I must bid ye farewell in the morning and lay a course back to New York.”

“I wish I could hold you longer,” sighed Johnny Kent. “The Grange picnic comes right after hayin’, and there’s other excitements to keep you busy.”

“And this is the talk I hear from a man that used to enjoy risking his neck between the divil and the deep sea. Maybe ye can offer me the mad intoxication of a husking-bee.”

“They’re out of season just now,” seriously returned the agriculturist.

“Well, we will not quarrel, Johnny. I have taken notice that it made you fretty to ask why ye were so mussed up and dirty when I strolled in this afternoon. Have you cooled off by now and do you mind explaining yourself? You were an awful sight and I was near moved to tears.”

“You laughed at me like a darned hyena,” grumbled Johnny. “It wa’n’t friendly, Cap’n Mike. I’d been fightin’ a fire till I was wrecked fore and aft. And for all I know we may have to turn out again to-night and fight another one.”

“Then I will stand watch and watch with you and keep lookout. And why have ye turned prophet? Can you predict them, same as you read the weather signs?”

“Pretty near,” dolefully answered Johnny Kent. “Some miserable scoundrel has been settin’ the woods afire to burn us all out. He was sighted to-day, but the lunk-head that caught him in the act wasn’t quick enough to shoot him. Settin’ fires in a dry season like this is as bad as murder.”

O’Shea had found something to interest him. There might be a spice of adventure in this drowsy region. And his friend seemed so genuinely worried that he was eager to help him. With a thrill of gratitude he recalled a certain night off a tropic coast when Johnny Kent had led the gang that descended into a blazing hold and saved a ship from being blown to atoms.

“Maybe my business in New York can wait a day or so longer,” said he. “’Tis unmannerly of me to leave you accumulating more white hairs in that frosty old thatch of yours.”

“You’d sooner hunt trouble than a square meal,” gratefully exclaimed Johnny. “I ain’t so spry on my feet as I was, and my wind is short, or I’d go after this firebug and scupper him by myself. I haven’t felt real worried over it till to-day, but he’s worked nearer and nearer my place, and I’m blamed if I can set up all night watchin’ for him.”

“’Tis a tired man I know you are to-night, so I will tuck ye in, and then I will wander a bit and keep an eye lifted. It would please me to run afoul of this unpleasant gentleman with the bonfire habit.”

“The fires have been coming in couples, Cap’n Mike. If there’s one in the daytime, it’s a good bet that another one will break loose the next night.”

The engineer yawned and confessed with an air of apology: “I’m tuckered and no mistake. Suppose I turn in now and you rouse me out at eight bells of the first watch.”

“Right enough. Where’s your old pair of night-glasses; and have ye a gun? If I find the disturber I may want to bend it over his head. I would sooner catch him than kill him.”

“It ain’t a mite hospitable to treat you this way, Cap’n Mike.”

“Pooh, man. Ye do me a favor. ’Twould reconcile me to buying the next farm if there was a chance of a ruction now and then.”

An hour later Captain Michael O’Shea was climbing the long, easy slope of the barn roof. One end of it supported a water-tank built upon a platform of stout timbers. Here the enterprising lookout found room to sit and scrutinize the surrounding woods and fields. The sky was starlit but the darkness had a duskier, more impenetrable quality than on a clear night at sea. O’Shea’s keen vision, accustomed to sweep large and lonely horizons, was rather baffled, but the powerful glasses enabled him to distinguish the vague outlines of the woodland and meadow and pasture boundaries.

In a blithe humor he smiled at the odd situation in which he found himself. Good old Johnny Kent had actually achieved a farm, and here was his commander perched on top of the barn like a weather-cock, and enjoying it, forsooth. His nimble wits had framed the most effective strategy possible. It would be futile to go blundering through the woods on a blind trail. From his elevated station he could see the first spark of fire to glow in any direction. The incendiary would linger to make sure that the fire had fairly caught, and O’Shea hoped to catch him unawares and overpower him.

The silent hours wore on and drew near to midnight when he had promised to arouse Johnny Kent. Nothing suspicious had been descried. A whippoorwill sounded its call with such breathless, unflagging persistence that the sentinel amused himself counting the sweet, monotonous notes and concluded that a vast deal of energy was going to waste.

“That bird is over-engined for its tonnage,” he reflected. “Well, I have stood me watch in worse places than this. ’Tis a shame to turn poor old Johnny out of his bunk. I will stay up here awhile and listen to the long-winded bird and enjoy the pleasure of me own company.”

His back against the water-tank, he could not walk to ward off the drowsiness that was borne on the wings of the soft night wind all laden with the smells of trees and earth and hay-fields. His vigilance relaxed and his thoughts drifted away to other climes and places.

He came out of his revery with a sudden start, convinced that he had been caught napping, for his eyes had failed to detect anything moving in the direction of the barn. But he could hear some one groping about close to the side of the building. A stick snapped, the bushes rustled, and there were other sounds very small yet significant. Captain Michael O’Shea gingerly forsook the little platform and began to slide down the roof, fairly digging his fingers and toes into the shingles with the tenacity of a cat.

The overhanging eaves made it difficult to observe what was going on below. In order to peep over the edge of the roof, the shipmaster was compelled to sprawl upon his stomach with his heels higher than his head and with no purchase by which to maintain his grip. It was a wide-angled roof or he would have tobogganed off into space before his laborious descent carried him as far as the eaves. However, in his trade a man who could not hang on by his eyelids was a lubber of a sailor, and the bold O’Shea wriggled into position an inch at a time.

The mysterious noises might have been made by Johnny Kent prowling in search of him, but O’Shea was afraid to call out lest he might frighten away the object of his vigil. His trousers catching on a nail and holding him fast for a moment, he ceased his precarious exertions long enough to listen. This time his ear caught the crackle of crumpling paper and a succession of sharper noises as if some one were breaking dry wood over his knee. He smelt the unmistakable odor of kerosene. Almost directly beneath him, and not more than a dozen feet distant, an attempt was well under way to set fire to Johnny Kent’s barn.

With more speed and less caution O’Shea managed to poke his head over the edge of the roof, intending to get his bearings before launching the attack. He found himself directly above a shadowy figure which flitted to the wood-pile and back again with quick, furtive movements. Captain O’Shea had never found himself in a more embarrassing situation. He disliked the idea of letting go and diving head first, which was the quickest method of coming to close quarters. And even if he should try to turn about and launch himself right end to, he was likely to hit the earth with the deuce and all of a thump and perhaps break his leg on a stick of cord-wood. The ladder by which he had climbed to the roof was on the other side of the building and he had no time to scramble in search of it.

While he hesitated the man beneath him scratched a match. Startled and flurried at sight of this imminent danger, O’Shea let his grip loosen for an instant and the law of gravity solved the problem for him. With a blood-curdling yell he slid over the brink, his fingers clawing wildly at the shingles and the wooden gutter. Head downward he plunged and by rights should have broken his neck. His own theory to explain his survival was that an Irishman always alights on his feet. The fact was that the incendiary stranger happened to be in a stooping posture and O’Shea’s head smote him squarely between the shoulders.

Both men rolled over and over like shot rabbits. There followed an interval during which the one took no thought of hostilities, and the other had no interest in flight. O’Shea sat up at length, grunted once or twice, and rubbed his head in a dazed manner. The pile of kindling had been scattered, but a fragment of newspaper was burning and he brought his heel down on it. His quarry now began to realize that his back was not broken and he showed signs of life. The pair sat glaring at each other, speechless, endeavoring to regain the wind that had been knocked out of them.

As tough as sole-leather was Captain O’Shea, and not to be put out of commission by so trifling a mishap as this. His head was spinning like a top and he felt sick and weak, but he had a job on hand and he meant to finish it. The revolver was missing from his pocket. It had been dislodged by his tumble and it was useless to grope for it in the darkness. By now the other man had found his feet and was moving unsteadily toward the end of the barn. O’Shea made for him and they clinched in a clump of burdocks.

Neither was in the best of condition to make a Homeric combat of it. To O’Shea’s dismay he discovered that he had caught a Tartar as collision-proof as himself. He tried to grip the fellow by the throat and to throw him with a heave and a twist, but a pair of arms as muscular as his own flailed him in the face and hammered his ribs. Then the brawny young shipmaster let fly with his fists and broke his knuckles against a jaw which seemed to be made of oak.

“If the both of us was ship-shape we would make a grand fight of it,” panted O’Shea with the shadow of a grin. “’Tis no time for etiquette and I will stretch him before he does the same for me.”

“Wait till I set my teeth in you,” growled his adversary, finding speech for the first time. “I’ll tear your windpipe out,” and he followed the horrid threat with a string of oaths that chilled O’Shea’s blood, although he had heard profanity over all the seven seas. The accents were so hoarse and savage as to be even more alarming than the words. The shipmaster ceased to regard the fight in the light of a diversion. He was convinced that he had a madman to deal with. Keeping clear, he turned and made for the wood-pile, a few yards distant. Groping for a moment, he was fortunate enough to catch up a four-foot length of hickory sapling, as handy a bludgeon as he could desire.

As if at bay, the other man made no effort to escape during this respite, but lunged after O’Shea, who wheeled in the nick of time and found room to swing his hickory club. It rose and fell only once. The madman toppled over and collapsed among the burdocks.

“He will stay there for a while,” said the weary O’Shea. “I caught him fair over the ear, and ’tis a safe bet that I put a dent in him.”

Thereupon he turned his lagging footsteps in the direction of the cottage. A lantern came bobbing out of the wood-shed door, and its light revealed the large presence of Johnny Kent simply clad in a flowing night-shirt and a pair of slippers. At discerning O’Shea advancing through the gloom, he shouted:

“Why didn’t you wake me up at eight bells? I just come to and turned out to look for you, Cap’n Mike. All quiet, I suppose?”

“Yes. I made it quiet, you sleepy old terrapin,” returned O’Shea with a laugh before they had come together. “Didn’t you hear me yell when I fell off the barn roof?”

“Nary a yell. I do sleep sounder than when I was at sea,” and Johnny Kent waddled nearer and held the lantern higher. “Gracious saints, what have you been doin’ to yourself? Your nose is all bloodied up and one eye is bunged. What do you mean by falling off my barn roof? You must have tapped that barrel of hard cider in the cellar.”

“I tapped a harder customer than that, Johnny. It was a gorgeous shindy while it lasted, but I had to wind it up. I caught your firebug and I laid him out in the barn-yard. Ye can hold a wake over him or send for the police.”

The engineer swung his lantern in excited circles as he pranced toward the barn, unmindful of the chilly breeze that played about his bare shanks.

“You’re not jokin’, are you, Cap’n Mike? The situation is too blamed serious for that. You landed him, honest? You’re the man to turn the trick. Where did you ketch him?”

“I got the drop on him, as ye might say, and it was a divil of a drop. My neck is an inch shorter than it was, but me collision bulkhead held fast. He is a broth of a boy, and he will be hard to hold when he comes out of the trance I put him in.”

“And I missed the fun,” mourned Johnny. “I’m surely getting old, Cap’n Mike. But I guess we can handle him without sending for the village constable to-night.”

“I have seen you tame some pretty tough tarriers. This is a bad one and no mistake. Fetch the lantern closer and we will look him over.”

They ploughed through the burdocks, the prickly burrs causing Johnny Kent to stride high and wide. The stranger lay as he had fallen. The light revealed him as a powerfully built man of middle age with reddish hair and a stubbled growth of beard. The dilapidated shirt and trousers were stained with earth and grass, and held together by a leather belt. His captors were about to scrutinize him more closely when he opened his eyes, groaned, and raised himself upon his elbow with an unexpected display of vitality. Bidding Johnny Kent stand by with the lantern, O’Shea caught up the hickory club and flourished it as a hint that unconditional surrender was advisable.

The prisoner blinked stupidly at the lantern and made no effort to rise. His aspect was not in the least ferocious. O’Shea could scarcely believe that this was the madman who had threatened to sink his teeth in him and discommode his windpipe. Rough-featured he was and unkempt beyond words, but he conveyed a most incongruous impression of kindly and harmless simplicity, and O’Shea was the more amazed to hear him mutter in his hoarse, curiously thickened accents:

“Can you spare a chew of tobacco, shipmate?”

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” exclaimed Johnny Kent, absently feeling for his trousers’ pockets which were not there. “You certainly did tame him a whole lot, Cap’n Mike.”

“’Tis a riddle I cannot fathom at all,” was the reply.

Indignation got the upper hand of the engineer’s generous impulse and he explosively demanded of the stranger:

“What do you mean by tryin’ to set fire to my barn, you addle-headed, misbegotten, murderous son of a sculpin? I wish Cap’n Mike had knocked the block clean off you.”