The Courage of Captain Plum | Page 7

sweetness of balsam and wild flowers. It
struck him that it would be pleasanter waiting outside than in, and it
would undoubtedly make no difference to Obadiah Price. In front of the
cabin he found the stump of a log and seating himself on it where the
clear light of the stars fell full upon him he once more began his
interrupted smoke. It seemed to him that he had waited a long time
when he heard the sound of footsteps. They came rapidly as if the
person was half running. Hardly had he located the direction of the
sound when a figure appeared in the opening and hurried toward the
door of the cabin. A dozen yards from him it paused for a moment and
turned partly about, as if inspecting the path over which it had come.
With a greeting whistle Captain Plum jumped to his feet. He heard a
little throat note, which was not the chuckling of Obadiah Price, and the
figure ran almost into his arms. A sudden knowledge of having made a
mistake drew Captain Plum a pace backward. For scarcely more than
five seconds he found himself staring into the white terrified face of a
girl. Eyes wide and glowing with sudden fright met his own.

Instinctively he lifted his hand to his hat, but before he could speak the
girl sprang back with a low cry and ran swiftly down the path that led
into the gloom of the woods.
For several minutes Captain Plum stood as if the sudden apparition had
petrified him. He listened long after the sound of retreating footsteps
had died away. There remained behind a faint sweet odor of lilac which
stirred his soul and set his blood tingling. It was a beautiful face that he
had seen. He was sure of that and yet he could have given no good
verbal proof of it. Only the eyes and the odor of lilac remained with
him and after a little the lilac drifted away. Then he went back to the
log and sat down. He smiled as he thought of the joke that he had
unwittingly played on Obadiah. From his knowledge of the Beaver
Island Mormons he was satisfied that the old man who displayed gold
in such reckless profusion was anything but a bachelor. In all
probability this was one of his wives and the cabin behind him, he
concluded, was for some reason isolated from the harem. "Evidently
that little Saintess is not a flirt," he concluded, "or she would have
given me time to speak to her."
The continued absence of Obadiah Price began to fill Captain Plum
with impatience. After an hour's wait he reentered the cabin and made
his way to the little room, where the candle was still burning dimly. To
his astonishment he beheld the old man sitting beside the table. His thin
face was propped between his hands and his eyes were closed as if he
was asleep. They shot open instantly on Captain Plum's appearance.
"I've been waiting for you, Nat," he cried, straightening himself with
spring-like quickness. "Waiting for you a long time, Nat!" He rubbed
his hands and chuckled at his own familiarity. "I saw you out there
enjoying yourself. What did you think of her, Nat?" He winked with
such audacious glee that, despite his own astonishment, Captain Plum
burst into a laugh. Obadiah Price held up a warning hand. "Tut, tut, not
so loud!" he admonished. His face was a map of wrinkles. His little
black eyes shone with silent laughter. There was no doubt but that he
was immensely pleased over something. "Tell me, Nat--why did you
come to St. James?"

He leaned forward over the table, his odd white head almost resting on
it, and twiddled his thumbs with wonderful rapidity. "Eh, Nat?" he
urged. "Why did you come?"
"Because it was too hot and uninteresting lying out there in a calm,
Dad," replied the master of the Typhoon. "We've been roasting for
thirty-six hours without a breath to fill our sails. I came over to see
what you people are like. Any harm done?"
"Not a bit, not a bit--yet," chuckled the old man. "And what's your
business, Nat?"
"Sailing--mostly."
"Ho, ho, ho! of course, I might have known it! Sailing--mostly. Why,
certainly you sail! And why do you carry a pistol on one side of you
and a knife on the other, Nat?"
"Troublous times, Dad. Some of the fisher-folk along the Northern End
aren't very scrupulous. They took a cargo of canned stuffs from me a
year back."
"And what use do you make of the four-pounder that's wrapped up in
tarpaulin under your deck, Nat? And what in the world are you going to
do with five barrels of