# Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 27/Number 4/Shadows Tremendous/Chapter 10

pp. 29–31.

### CHAPTER X.
#### A FRESH SURPRISE.

A COMBINATION of unwelcome bedfellows, the close, stuffy atmosphere of the room which had been given up to them by the Mexican and his wife, and, most of all, an unsettled mental condition, resulted in a rather sleepless night for Darrell and Bellamy. They were astir early, and, after a fairly decent breakfast of fish and medricks' eggs, strolled forth and walked slowly northward along the curving beach.
The fog still lay over the country like a blanket. Already it was thinning, however, and in a short time it would vanish completely under the fierce, beating rays of the semitropical sun.
The two men were silent. Bellamy's face wore a dispirited, disappointed expression, for with every passing hour the conviction that the whole affair had utterly fizzled out became stronger and stronger. The absence of any Japanese, the empty harbor, the whole humdrum, sleepy atmosphere of the place, all seemed to prove that they had wasted their time on a wild-goose chase.
After starting out with such high expectations, the let-down was more than annoying, and, but for his friend's very evident preoccupation, Bellamy would have voiced his chagrin and disappointment the moment they were in the open. He hesitated, however, to interrupt the secret-service agent's train of thought, and so he slouched along in silence, hands thrust deep into trouser pockets, kicking petulantly at stray pebbles, waiting for Darrell to break the silence.
In this wise they traversed about half a mile of beach, when the secret-service agent stopped abruptly, and stood staring into the lightening mist, his preoccupied expression swiftly transformed into one of keen intentness. Bellamy paused, too, wondering what was up. The next second, he caught his breath, and his eyes brightened as the chatter of voices, speaking in a foreign tongue, which sounded more than suspicious, came to him out of the fog.
“Japs?” he whispered eagerly.
Darrell nodded, and after an instant's hesitation began to move slowly forward. A dozen steps brought him to the beginning of a small promontory which broke the shore line. Bending over, he slipped behind a hummock of sand a short distance from the beach, and peered cautiously around it.
The mist had cleared sufficiently for him to see quite a stretch of beach, which curved inland, forming a shallow, sheltered cove. Scattered about on this beach were a dozen or fifteen little brown men engaged in spreading fish nets on the sand to dry. Bare of leg and back, they chattered and laughed as they went about their work without the slightest effort at secrecy or concealment. A little way up from the beach stood three or four rough huts. A fisherman's boat was drawn up on the sand, and, last of all, as the sun began to suck up the mist with increasing rapidity, the secret-service agent beheld the vague outlines of a small steamer such as the Japanese commonly use for deep-sea fishing.
Darrell was conscious of a swift wave of disappointment. Here were his Japs at last, but the discovery brought with it no sense of triumph. A handful of coolies, engaged in a perfectly legitimate occupation, was not what he had expected to find. For years the Japanese had fished in these waters, and there was no shadow of significance in their presence here.
Frowning, he arose to his feet and started to rejoin Bellamy. He had not taken two steps when his eyes widened with a fresh. surprise. Anchored a quarter of a mile offshore, almost opposite to the dock, lay a beautiful steam yacht, her immaculate white paint gleaming in the sunlight which had just broken through the scattered, flying fragments of fog. A moment later, the silvery chime of her bells striking seven came to him over the water.
“There's Ives!” Bellamy said excitedly. “When do you s'pose he got in?”
“Give it up,” returned Darrell.
Bellamy stared in surprise at his friend's frowning face. “What did you find?” he asked swiftly. “Weren't they Japs?”
“Sure! A dozen or more fishermen spreading their nets to dry. Look as if they'd been here for months. Let's go back.”
As they retraced their steps, they saw a tender put out from the yacht and head toward the dock. By the time they reached the settlement, it had made fast, and a tall, fine-looking man of forty-odd years, dressed in spotless white duck, was striding briskly over the rough planking.
Darrell had never happened to see Harrington Ives, but he felt certain this was he. There was a suggestion of mental power in the man's carriage and in his square, resolute face which brought a sparkle to the secret-service agent's eyes, and swept his lassitude away in an instant. The old keen interest in playing the game gripped him again. The capitalist's reason for being here might be perfectly legitimate, or, again, it might not. Darrell meant to do his best to find out.
“Let me do the talking at first, Jack,” he said softly. “We may have to shift our story.”
Ives had paused at the end of the wharf, and was watching them approach with frank and open curiosity.
“Well, well!” he exclaimed heartily, as they came up. “This is a surprise. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you strolling along the beach just now. You must have got in last night. What sort of a trip was it overland? That sounds nosey, doesn't it?” he said, laughing, before Darrell had time to speak; “but it isn't meant that way. You see, visitors of any sort are mighty scarce around these parts, and then they're mostly not real white men. That's why I'm curious. My name is Ives, by the way—Harrington Ives.”
“Mine is Archer,” explained Darrell readily, “and my friend is Jack Bellamy. I don't blame you for being surprised at seeing us here,” he went on, in a dry tone. “Were surprised ourselves. If any one had told me twenty-four hours ago that I'd be promenading the beach at Magdalena Bay this morning, I'd have called him a liar.”
Ives raised his eyebrows. “Yes?” he said interestedly. “You mean you got here sooner than you expected?”
“Not at all. We didn't expect to come. Last Saturday we left San Francisco on a tramp, bound for Panama, but when one of the crew came down yesterday morning with cholera, we decided to get ashore at the earliest possible minute.”
“Cholera!” Ives exclaimed. “By Jove! I don't blame you for beating it. That's about the last thing I'd care about being cooped up with aboard ship. Sure it was cholera?”
“Dead sure, though the captain was a close-mouthed beggar, and it was just luck we found out before there was much chance for exposure.”
“You must have landed while we were up the coast getting water,” Ives said. “Well, now you're here, what do you think of the place?”
“It's the most God-forsaken hole I was ever in,” returned Darrell promptly and with much force. “I've seen some rum places, but this has them all beat in the show-down. Why, there isn't a white man here; nothing but greasers and a few Japs, and they have to tote every drop of water forty miles. If I'd had any idea how bad it was, I'll be hanged if I wouldn't have taken a chance on the tramp!”
Ives laughed. “Lay on, Macduff!” he exclaimed. “I happen to be the president of a syndicate owning most of the land hereabouts.”
The secret-service agent grinned. “That so? I'm sorry for you. Looks to me as if it might be a gold brick, unless there are minerals here, which doesn't seem likely. I wish you'd given a little more attention to traffic arrangements. I understand we've got to wait anywhere from a week to a month for a steamer to put in, or else hoof it over two hundred miles of desert.”
The older man chuckled. “You're certainly in a bad fix,” he agreed. “Luckily I'll be getting out of here myself in a day or so, and can take you along. In the meantime, just to remove the sour taste from your mouths, I'm going to take you aboard and give you a good American luncheon, with trimmings. You see”—his eyes twinkled—“I feel as if I should do all I can to prevent you from knocking the property ever after this.”
“That's mighty good of you, Mr. Ives,” Darrell said gratefully, “but haven't you any feeling about——”
“The cholera?” put in the older man swiftly. “Not a bit. You say you weren't exposed; that's enough for me. Life's too short to waste time fretting over the unlikely. I'll be with you as soon as I've given some instructions to this agent of mine.”