



Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






THRICE ARMED

BY HAROLD BINDLOSS

Author of "Winston of the Prairie," "Delilah of the
Snows," "By Right of Purchase," "Lorimer
of the Northwest," etc.

[Illustration]

NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1908, by
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY




TABLE OF CONTENTS

 CHAPTER                                    PAGE
      I.  JIMMY RENOUNCES HIS CAREER           1
     II.  TO WINDWARD                         12
    III.  JIMMY MAKES FRIENDS                 24
     IV.  IN THE TOILS                        35
      V.  VALENTINE'S PAID HAND               46
     VI.  A VISION OF THE SEA                 60
    VII.  BLOWN OFF                           73
   VIII.  JIMMY TAKES COMMAND                 84
     IX.  MERRIL TIGHTENS THE SCREW           97
      X.  ELEANOR WHEELOCK                   108
     XI.  AT AUCTION                         120
    XII.  THE "SHASTA" SHIPPING COMPANY      134
   XIII.  THE "SHASTA" GOES TO SEA           145
    XIV.  IN DISTRESS                        159
     XV.  ELEANOR'S BITTERNESS               172
    XVI.  UNDER RESTRAINT                    184
   XVII.  THE RANCHER'S ANSWER               196
  XVIII.  ELEANOR SPEAKS HER MIND            209
    XIX.  WOOD PULP                          220
     XX.  ANTHEA MAKES A DISCOVERY           233
    XXI.  JIMMY GROWS RESTLESS               244
   XXII.  ASHORE                             254
  XXIII.  ANTHEA GROWS ANXIOUS               265
   XXIV.  JORDAN KEEPS HIS PROMISE           276
    XXV.  AN UNDERSTANDING                   285
   XXVI.  ELEANOR HOLDS THE CLUE             296
  XXVII.  JORDAN'S SCHEME                    306
 XXVIII.  DISABLED ENGINES                   317
   XXIX.  UNDER COMPULSION                   329
    XXX.  AN EYE FOR AN EYE                  344
   XXXI.  MERRIL CAPITULATES                 354
  XXXII.  ELEANOR RELENTS                    364




Thrice Armed




CHAPTER I

JIMMY RENOUNCES HIS CAREER


It was with somewhat mixed feelings, and a curious little smile in his
eyes, that Jim Wheelock stood with a brown hand on the _Tyee_'s wheel as
the deep-loaded schooner slid out through Vancouver Narrows before a
fresh easterly breeze. Dim heights of snow rose faintly white against
the creeping dusk above her starboard hand, and the busy British
Columbian city, girt with mazy wires and towering telegraph poles, was
fading slowly amidst the great black pines astern. An aromatic smell of
burning followed the schooner, and from the levels at the head of the
Inlet a long gray smear blew out across the water. A fire which had, as
not infrequently happens, passed the bounds of somebody's clearing was
eating its way into that part of the great coniferous forest that rolls
north from Oregon to Alaska along the wet seaboard of the Pacific <DW72>.

The schooner was making her six knots, with mainboom well out on her
quarter and broad wisps of froth washing off beneath her bows, slanted
until her leeward scuppers were close above the sliding foam. Wheelock
stood right aft, with his shoulders just above the roof of the little
deckhouse, and, foreshortened as the vessel was, she seemed from that
point of view a mere patch of scarred and somewhat uncleanly deck
surmounted by a towering mass of sail. Two partly seen figures were busy
bending on a gaff-topsail about the foot of her foremast, and Wheelock
turned as one of them came slouching aft when the sail had been sent
aloft. The man wore dungaree and jean, with a dilapidated oilskin coat
over them, for the wind was keen. He appeared to be at least fifty years
of age. Leaning against the rail, he grinned at Wheelock confidentially.

"She'll make a short trip of it if this breeze holds," he said. "I guess
you find things kind of different from what they were in the
mail-boats?"

Jim Wheelock nodded as he pulled up a spoke of his wheel, for it was
that difference that had brought the smile to his eyes. It was several
years now since he had touched a vessel's wheel, or done more than raise
a directing hand to the trimly uniformed quartermaster who controlled
the big liner's steering engine. He was twenty-eight years of age, and
held an extra-master's certificate, and he had just completed the year's
training in a big British warship which gave him his commission as a
lieutenant R.N.R. It was certainly a distinct change to figure as
supernumerary on board the Canadian coasting schooner _Tyee_, but he did
not resent the fact that it was the grizzled, hard-faced man leaning on
the rail beside him who had brought him there.

"Aren't you going to get the main gaff-topsail on to her? We'll carry
smooth water with us'most across the Straits," he said.

This was not to the purpose, as both of them felt, but it gave the other
man the opening for which he had been looking.

"No," he replied, "I guess not. We'll feel the wind fresher when she
draws out from the land, and there's a streak of dry rot in her mainmast
round the partners. That stick was sound right through when we put it
into her, but it has stood the wind and weather quite a while, and I
guess it's getting shaky, like its owner."

Now, the redwood logs hewn in the British Columbian forest as a rule
make excellent masts, but they naturally deteriorate with time, and in
some of them there is hidden a latent cause of trouble which now and
then leads to premature decay. Jimmy was aware of this, and fancied that
he knew why his companion had reminded him of it. It was scarcely two
hours since he had arrived on board the _Tyee_. He had made a long
journey to join her, because his father's kinsman Prescott, her mate,
had sent for him; and now, though he almost shrank from asking for the
information, there were points on which it was necessary that the latter
should enlighten him. He leaned on his wheel in silence a minute or two
and the smile died out of his eyes. Prescott regarded him steadily.

Jim Wheelock, who hitherto had taken life lightly, could bear
inspection, for he was a personable man, as more than one of the young
women who traveled in the big liner of which he had been mate had
decided, and he had seldom experienced much difficulty in finding a
pretty partner at any of the dances given to the warship's officers. He
had whimsical blue eyes, and, though he was Colonial-born, a face of the
fair, clean-skinned English type, which had in it an occasional
suggestion of latent force. He had a well-proportioned frame, and his
life in the mail-boats, and the R.N.R. training, had set their stamp on
him. Just then he was attired incongruously in an old skin-cap, battered
gum-boots which reached to his knees, trousers showing signs of wear,
and a steamboat mate's jacket with gilt buttons on it, in much the same
condition; but, in spite of that, he did not appear the kind of man one
would have expected to come upon steering a coasting schooner.

"What do you think about my father, Bob?" he asked.

"What I said in the letter," the other man replied. "I guess you ought
to understand it, now you've seen him. Tom's going to looard fast,'most
as fast"--and he seemed to search for a metaphor--"as a center-boarder
when her board won't come down. It kind of struck me it was 'bout time
you came home and looked after things and him. That's why I wrote you.
He'd have never done it, anyway."

Jim Wheelock knew this was true. Prescott's letter, which had come to
hand at Portsmouth just after he had finished his navy training, had
somewhat startled him, and, as the result of it, he had forthwith
started for Vancouver, traveling second-class and by Colonist car, as
one does not gain very much financially by serving in the R.N.R. On
arriving there he had been further startled by the change in his father
whom he had last seen several years earlier when Tom Wheelock was,
apparently, at least, beyond the reach of adversity as the owner of
several small coasting vessels, one of which he insisted on sailing
personally, though this had not seemed needful at the time. It was
evident to Jimmy that he had been going to leeward very fast in several
ways since then.

"Yes," he said, "that is a sure thing. When did the change begin? I
mean, when did things first go wrong with him?"

"When he lost the _Fish-hawk_--that was'most four years ago. Anyway,
that was when I began to notice it. Then the cannery people put on their
steamboat, and he couldn't keep the _Eagle_ going without their trade.
She lay ashore in a bad berth with a big load of Wellington coal in her,
and it cost him about a thousand dollars before she was fit for sea
again. Things were slack that season, and he gave Merril a bond for the
money. I guess that made the real trouble. Merril's a mighty hard man,
and he has been putting the screw on him."

Jim Wheelock looked thoughtful. "A thousand dollars isn't such a great
deal of money, after all. The old man seemed to have plenty of it when I
left home."

"Well," said Prescott dryly, "it's quite certain he hasn't got it now,
and I've more than a notion that there's a big bond on the _Tyee_. Why
did he bring your sister Ellen back from Toronto?"

Jim Wheelock did not know. He had, in fact, once or twice asked himself
the same question without finding an answer. His sister Eleanor, who was
an ambitious and capable young woman, was now earning a pittance by
teaching at a ranch near New Westminster; but she had never given him
any reason in her letters for abandoning the studies she had gone East
to pursue in Toronto.

"Anyway," said Prescott, "it's quite clear to me that your father needs
a man with sense and snap to stand right behind him and see that he
worries out of Merril's clutches. I don't know whether you can do it--I
can't--I'm no use at business. Tom and I were always honest. Then,
supposing you can do that, you're 'bout half-way through with the
thing."

"Only half-way?"

"'Bout that. Tom's been drifting to looard. You want to brace him sharp
up on the wind again."

He broke off somewhat abruptly, for the scuttle slide in the deckhouse
roof was flung back, and a man below lifted his head above it.

"Come right down and get your supper, Jimmy. Bob will take your wheel,"
he said.

Jimmy left the helm to Prescott, and with an effort he braced himself
for the interview before him as he descended to the little stuffy cabin.
It was dimly lighted by an oil-lamp that creaked as it swung, though the
_Tyee_ was ploughing her way westward steadily as yet. A little stove
made it almost intolerably hot, and the swirl of brine beneath the lee
quarter filled it with a sound that was like the rattle of sliding
gravel. Jimmy sat down, and ate the pork, potatoes, fresh bread, and
desiccated apples set before him, which he surmised might be considered
somewhat of a banquet on board the _Tyee_, and then he took out his pipe
and turned toward his father as he filled his pannikin again with strong
green tea. He had arrived in Vancouver only that afternoon, and they
had had no time for conversation in the hurry of getting to sea.

"Take some whisky in it?" asked Tom Wheelock. "It's not much of a supper
after what you've been used to on board the liners."

"No, thanks," said Jimmy. "I'm glad I didn't miss you."

"Got your wire," said Wheelock, who helped himself liberally to the
whisky. "We weren't through with the loading until yesterday, and,
though the folks want those sawmill fixings bad, I figured we could wait
another twenty-four hours. It's good to see you sitting there; but I
don't know yet what brought you over. It's quite a long way."

Jimmy spent some time in filling his pipe. He was a truthful person, and
Prescott, who wrote the letter, had pledged him to secrecy; then, too,
he was by no means certain that his father would appreciate what either
of them had done, or would consider it in any way necessary. He also had
scarcely got used to the change in his circumstances and surroundings,
and did not feel quite at ease. On the last liner he sailed in, the
officers dined in the saloon, and, though the battleship's wardroom was
less luxurious, it was, at least, very different from the _Tyee_'s
quarter-cabin. Tin pannikins and plates of indurated ware lay on a
soiled, uncovered table; a grimy brown blanket from the skipper's bunk
trailed down across the locker that served as a settee; and the fish-oil
lamp smelt horribly. Then he glanced at his father, who sat silent,
sipping his tea, which was freely laced with whisky.

Tom Wheelock was by no means dressed as neatly as most of the Vancouver
wharf-hands, and he looked like a man who had lost heart, and pride as
well. He was gaunt and big-boned, with a seaman's weather-darkened face,
but there was weariness and something that suggested vacancy in its
expression. He and Jimmy had the same blue eyes, and they were kindly
and honest in the case of each; but Tom Wheelock's were a trifle watery,
and there was a certain bagginess under them, while his mouth was slack.
In fact, the man, as his son recognized, appeared to have sunk into a
state of limpness that was mental as well as physical.

"Well," said Jimmy, with a little laugh, "I don't quite know. There
were, you see, several reasons. To begin with, I had to come out of the
mail-boat for my year's training, and when that was over there were a
good many men on the Company's list to be worked off before they wanted
me again. Trade is slack over there, and it seemed wiser to await my
turn. After all, it doesn't cost so much to come across second-class and
Colonist; and I guessed you would be glad to see me."

"So I am;" and there was no doubt that Wheelock meant it. "I've been
wanting you quite a while, Jimmy. Things aren't going well with me. Take
some whisky?"

It was evident to Jimmy that his father already had taken as much as was
good for most men; and he did not often shrink from a responsibility,
that is, when he recognized it as such, which is now and then a little
difficult when one is young.

"Well," he said, "this time I guess I will."

He took the bottle, and, after helping himself sparingly, contrived to
slip it out of sight on the locker.

"How's Eleanor?" he asked.

"Quite well; but though she has her mother's grit, life's hard on the
girl. Ellen could have done'most anything if she'd got her diplomas, or
whatever they are, and I had figured I'd do something for one of my
children when I sent her back East. It was your mother's brother--the
brains come from that side of the family--did everything for you. A kind
of pity you and he quarreled, Jimmy!"

Jimmy smiled drily as he remembered the year he had spent in Winnipeg
with the grim business man before the call of the sea that he was born
to listen to grew irresistible and the rupture came. Young as he was
then, he had proved himself equal in strength of purpose to the hard old
man, and had gone to sea in an English ship. It cost his father fifty
pounds for his outfit and premium, and that was all that Tom Wheelock
had done for him. He had made his own way into the steamers, and the
extra-master certificate and the commission in the R.N.R. he owed to
himself. Now it was evident that he must renounce all that they might
bring him--at least, for a while.

"I don't think we ever would have hit it off together; and I can't help
a fancy that, after all, he didn't blame me very much for taking my own
way in spite of him," he said. "Still, it is a pity Eleanor had to come
back. I suppose keeping her in Toronto was out of the question?"

Wheelock's eyes seemed to grow a trifle bloodshot, and his voice sank to
a hoarser note. "Quite. I might have done it but for the bond I gave
Merril when the _Eagle_ went ashore. It wasn't that big a one, but he
fixed up quite a lot of things I never figured on. I was to insure to
full value, and have her repaired whenever his surveyor considered she
wanted it. Twice the man ran me up a big unnecessary bill, and I had to
go to Merril for the money. Now the boat's his, and there's a bond on
the _Tyee_. When the old man goes under, you'll remember who it was
squeezed the life out of him, Jimmy. Say, where d'you put that whisky?"

"I'm not quite through with it yet;" and Jimmy, who did not pass