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But Betty was holding her breath, for MacRae had picked up a twelve-foot pike pole, a thing with an ugly point and a hook of iron on its tip. He only used it, however, to shove away the boat containing the man he had so savagely smashed. And while he did that Gower curtly issued an order, and the Arrow slid on to the cannery wharf. Nelly went below for something.
The water's full of salmon, an' we been suckin' our thumbs an' watching 'em play. If you won't buy here again we got to go where there is buyers. And we'd rather not do that. There's no place on the Gulf as good fishin' as there is here now." "What was the trouble?" MacRae asked absently. "Couldn't you supply him with fish?" "Nobody knows. There was plenty of salmon.
They knew the fishing grounds of the British Columbia coast as a schoolboy knows his a, b, c's. They would never get rich, but they were independent fishermen, making a good living. And they were as clannish as the Scotch. All of them had chipped in to send Dolly to school in Vancouver. Old Peter could never have done that, MacRae knew, on what he could make trolling around Poor Man's Rock.
It maddened him to think that this foundation of a dream had become the plaything of his father's enemy, a neglected background for a summer cottage which he only used now and then. There might, however, be something in the statements Stubby had made. MacRae recalled that Gower had not replaced the Arrow.
They go about seeking sympathy, railing against the fate. They lie down and the world walks unheeding over their prone bodies. Gower was not doing that. If he had done so, MacRae would have sneered at him with contempt. As it was, in spite of the rancor he had nursed, the feeling which had driven him to reprisal, he found himself sorry sorry for himself, sorry for Betty.
No man is supposed, as MacRae had pointed out to me after we'd held up those three troopers, to inflict a compound fracture on one law in his efforts to preserve another. But it had been necessary for us to do so, and we had justified our judgment in playing a lone hand and upsetting Lessard's smoothly conceived plan to lay us by the heels while he and his thugs got away with the plunder.
A sea that would toss the old wrecked Blackbird like a dory and keep her low decks continually awash let the Blanco pass with only a moderate pitch and roll. MacRae worked hard. He found ease in work. When the last salmon was dressed and stowed below, many times under the glow of electric bulbs strung along the cargo boom, he would fall into his bunk and sleep dreamlessly.
Hurrying footsteps climbed the stairs; Mr. Mr. Macrae all but embraced Merton. 'Had I a son, I could have wished him to be like you, he said; 'but my poor boy his voice broke. Merton had not known before that the millionaire had lost a son. He did understand, however, that the judicious Logan had given him the whole credit of the exploit, for reasons too obvious to Merton.
As had happened briefly the night of the Blackbird's wrecking, he experienced that feeling of dumb protest against the shaping of events in which he moved helpless. This bit of flesh and blood swaying in his arms in effortless rhythm to sensuous music was something he had to reckon with powerfully, whether he liked or not. MacRae was beginning dimly to see that. When he was with her
If your appreciation of Folly Bay's past kindness to you is so keen that you would rather sell him your fish, why, that's your privilege." "Aw, that's bunk," a man called. "You know blamed well we wouldn't. Not after him blowin' up like this." "How do I know?" MacRae laughed.
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