Coral Sands/Chapter 19

HEN Fernand left June that evening and reached the shore, he turned to his house, went in and lay down on his bed to think. He had not slept the night before; he was tired and the business before him lay like a mountain to be climbed.

Would he have undertaken this business which meant a fight to the death between himself and two men if Yakoff had not flung that insult at him the other day? Leaving aside the hatred he had for Yakoff and Chales on account of their threatened attack on Cyrus, he hated Yakoff personally.

We have all our weak spots, and the weak spot—or shall we call it the red spot in the character of Fernand?—was a fine, full-blown Spanish capacity to hate another man to the knifing point. I have said, full blown. A week ago it was not in the bud. The insult when Yakoff had said to him, “You damned Kanaka,” had brought it to bud. The threat to the woman he loved and her father had brought it to blossom.

He lay on his bed now, thinking:

He would get Yakoff by himself that night on the reef, get him on some pretext away to a flat of coral that lay beyond the canoe beach and there make him fight it out. Two shark knives lay in the locker by his door; he would give Yakoff one and take the other himself. If he was the winner, the tide would take Yakoff's body away. If he was the loser Yakoff would proceed to the ruin of Cyrus and the girl.

But he would not be the loser.

Now, as to Chales, was it necessary to treat Chales in the same fashion? It was here that now, calmly thinking of the matter, his mind drew slightly back.

Chales knew a good deal, but he did not know the absolutely essential facts that would enable him to attack Cyrus. Yakoff out of the way, Chales would be a poor fish.

He was chiefly dangerous to Yakoff. If Yakoff were to squeeze Cyrus for money, Chales would be sure to squeeze Yakoff.

No. Chales, once the other was out of the way, might be disregarded; he felt sure of that, and glad of it. Loathing the creature, he still had no desire to kill him.

At this point in his meditations he fell asleep, sleeping for several hours and awaking to find that it was night and the moon above the reef. He took the knives from the locker and, placing one in each pocket of the flannel coat he was wearing, went out, closing the door behind him.

The village was still awake, and the California out on the lagoon lay with her anchor and port lights making amber dribbles on the water.

A guitar sounded from somewhere in the village and a light wind stirred the palm leaves, a warm wind sea scented and caressing as the breath of a woman on the cheek of her lover. Fernand was turning to the left to make for the house of Yakoff when his eye was caught by a canoe putting off. There were two men in her and she was heading for the California.

Now what canoe could that be putting out at this hour for the yacht? Had Yakoff decided to do the business to-night?

He remembered the plan he had heard Yakoff unfolding to Chales. They were to go together, and while Yakoff went on board to do his business, Chales was to hang on in the canoe as a support and witness in case Cyrus should turn dangerous.

He watched the canoe come to the side of the yacht. Then, turning, he ran to the house of Yakoff. There was no one there.

Yes. The business was on hand to-night; he was too late to stop them from threatening Cyrus. There was nothing to be done but wait till their return, and for this purpose he came to the last house in the village and lay down in its shadow, his eyes fixed on the California where at that moment Yakoff was being shown into the smoke room.