Narrower, narrower, grew the intervening gap of dark water. Orme braced himself for the shock. In his left hand was the coiled painter; in his right, the end of the ready noose, which trailed behind him on the decking. It was long since he had thrown a lariat. In a vivid gleam of memory he saw at that moment the hot, dusty New Mexican corral, the low adobe buildings, the lumbering cattle and the galloping horses of the ranch. There he had spent one summer vacation of his college life. It was ten years past, but this pose, the rope in his hand, flashed it back to him.

Now they were almost on the j.a.panese. For the moment he seemed to waver.

He glanced at the approaching launch, and reached uncertainly for the boathook. Even his subtle resources were almost at an end. Yet it did not seem to occur to him to yield.

And then, as for the hundredth time he laid his hands on the motor, he uttered a cry. It was plain to Orme that the cause of the supposed breakdown had been discovered. But was there time for the j.a.panese to get away? It was doubtful. He opened the feed-pipe, and let the gasoline again flow in. The launch was now so near that Orme could almost have leaped the gap, but the j.a.panese bent his energy to the heavy fly-wheel, tugging at it hurriedly.

The motor started. The boat began to move.

Even now it looked as though the collision could not be prevented, but the j.a.panese, seizing the steering-wheel, turned the boat so quickly to starboard that the stern fell away from the bow of the approaching launch. There was no crash, no hard b.u.mp; merely a glancing blow so slight that in that calm water it scarcely made the boats careen.

Then Orme threw his noose. The distance was less than ten feet, and the loop spread, quick and true, over the head of the j.a.panese. But, swift though the action was, the j.a.panese had an instant to prepare himself.

His right arm shot up. As Orme, jerking at the rope, tried to tighten the noose, the hand of the j.a.panese pushed it over his head and it slid over the side into the water. In a few seconds the swift boat had disappeared in the night.

Tightening his lips grimly, Orme drew the wet rope in and mechanically coiled it. There was nothing to say. He had failed. So good an opportunity to recover the papers would hardly return.

Silently he turned back to the others. Porter had swung the launch around and was heading toward the distant lights of Evanston. The girl was peering in the direction whence came the sound of the receding boat.

Thus, for some time they remained silent.

At last the girl broke into a laugh. It was a rippling, silvery laugh, expressing an infectious appreciation of the humor of their situation.

Orme chuckled in spite of himself. If she could laugh like that, he need not stay in the dumps. And yet in his mind rankled the sense of failure.

He had made a poor showing before her--and she was laughing. Again the corners of his mouth drew down.

"I suppose the notion _is_ amusing," he said--"a cowboy at sea."

"Oh, I was not laughing at you." She had sobered quickly at his words.

"I shouldn't blame you, if you did."

"It is the whole situation," she went on. "And it wouldn't be so funny, if it weren't so serious."

"I appreciate it," he said.

"And you know how serious it is," she went on. "But truly, Mr. Orme, I am glad that we did not damage that boat. It might have been terrible. If he had been drowned----" her voice trailed off in a faint shudder, and Orme remembered how tired she must be, and how deeply disappointed.

"Now, Girl," he said, bending over her and speaking in a low voice, "try to forget it. To-morrow I am going after the papers. I will get them."

She looked up at him. Her eyes were softly confident. "I believe you,"

she whispered. "You never give up, do you?"

"No," he said, "I never give up--when I am striving for something which I greatly want." There was meaning in his voice, though he had struggled to conceal it. She lowered her eyes, and said no more.

Slowly the lights of sh.o.r.e grew brighter. After a time Orme could distinguish the ma.s.ses of trees and buildings, grayly illuminated by the arc-lamps of the streets. He spoke to Porter in an undertone.

"Can you land us some distance south of the life-saving station?" he asked.

"Sure. I'll run in by the Davis Street pier."

"I'll be obliged to you," Orme sighed. "I made a bad mess of it, didn't I?"

"Oh, I don't know," replied the life-saver. "We got the lady."

Orme started. "Yes," he said, "we got the lady--and that's more important than all the rest of it."

Porter grinned a noncommittal grin and devoted himself to the wheel.

They had saved the girl! In his disappointment over the escape of the j.a.panese Orme had forgotten, but now he silently thanked G.o.d that Porter and he had come out on the water. The girl had not yet explained her presence in the boat. In her own good time she would tell him. But she had been there under compulsion; and Orme shuddered to think what might have happened.

He stole a glance at her. She was leaning back on the seat. Her eyes were closed and her pose indicated complete relaxation, though it was evident from her breathing that she was not asleep. Orme marveled at her ability to push the nervous excitement of the evening away and s.n.a.t.c.h the brief chance of rest.

When at last the launch ran up under the end of a little breakwater near the Davis Street pier, she arose quickly and sprang out of the boat without help. Then she turned, as Orme stepped up beside her, and spoke to Porter. "If you and Mr. Orme had not come after me," she said, "there's no telling whether I should ever have got back. I should like to shake hands with you," she added; and bending down, she held out her firm white hand.

Then Orme laid his hand on the life-saver's shoulder. "You've done a piece of good work to-night," he said.

Porter laughed embarra.s.sedly. "I only ran the boat for you," he began.

"You took me at my word," said Orme, "and that's a good deal in such a case. Good-by. I will look you up before I go back East."

At the side of the girl, Orme now walked slowly through the deserted streets. It was some time before she spoke.

"After you left me at the home of my friends--" she began at last.

"Don't try to tell about it," he interrupted quickly. "You are tired.

Wait for another time."

They were pa.s.sing under a street-lamp at the moment, and she glanced up at him with a grateful smile, pleased apparently by his thought of her.

"That is good of you," she exclaimed, "but my story is easily told. Let me go on with it. I explained myself to my friends as best I could and went to my room. Then it suddenly occurred to me that Maku and his friend might have come to Evanston by boat."

"Just as, later, it occurred to me."

"I thought that the other man might be waiting for Maku. The motor-car that we heard--there was no good reason for thinking that our man was in it."

She paused.

"I know," he said. "I thought of those things, too."

"It flashed on me," she went on, "that if I could find the man, I might be able to buy him off. I didn't believe that he would dare to injure me.

There are reasons why he should not. My car had been taken in, but I had them bring it out, and I told them--well, that part doesn't matter.

Enough that I made an excuse, and went out with the car."

"You should have taken someone with you."

"There was the likelihood that the j.a.panese would run, if I had a companion. As long as I was alone, he might be willing to parley, I thought. At least, he would not be afraid of me alone. So I went north on Sheridan Road to the upper end of the lower campus. There is a crossroad there, you remember, cutting through to the lake, and I turned in. I left the car near a house that is there, and walked on to the edge of the bluff.

"Moored to a breakwater below was a boat, and a man was standing near her. I called out to him, asking what time it was. He answered, 'Don'

know,' and I knew him at once to be foreign and, probably, j.a.panese. So I went down toward him.

"When he saw that I was coming, he got into the boat. He seemed to be frightened and hurried, and I inferred that he was about to cast off, and I called out that I was alone. At that he waited, but he did not get out of the boat, and I was standing at the edge of the breakwater, just above him, before he actually seemed to recognize me."