The sureness of MacKenzie
Date: 2025-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The sureness of MacKenzie

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The sureness of MacKenzie

Author: Frederick R. Bechdolt

Release date: September 4, 2025 [eBook #76821]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Street & Smith Corporation, 1923

Credits: Roger Frank and Sue Clark

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SURENESS OF MACKENZIE ***

The Sureness of MacKenzie

By Frederick R. Bechdolt

Author of "The Fight of the Lone Pass,"
"Under Sealed Orders," etc.

An epic of the hill wind and fog. A story of thrills; and, when you think it's over, and read this story, you'll agree with Bechdolt that there are few jobs more crowded with thrills than that of the pilot who essays to bring a big liner into port in a fog so thick that it obscures the decks.

The hill wind and the fog raced down from Tamalpais’ crest to the inner portal of the Golden Gate. While the great sirens shook the living rock on either side with their hoarse warnings, these two lingered briefly in the steep-walled place. It was like the last conference of stealthy thugs at the scene of their projected crime. For tomorrow they were to bring the thing to pass.

Even now the Empress was facing straight toward the spot. Far out of sea she came, unswerving as though, disdainful of the plotting elements and imbued with absolute, abiding faith in man, she knew that her pilot was at this moment being summoned forth to the place where he would meet her.

The ringing of the telephone bell in the hallway was the first indication MacKenzie got of the impending task. He rose deliberately from his morris chair and strode out to answer. He was a wide-shouldered man whose weather-stained face was out of harmony with his well-tailored business suit. There was assertion in the very manner of his setting down his feet; his bushy, gray brows seemed to grow heavier as he neared the instrument. When he had taken down the receiver, he roared the salutation in his quarter-deck voice, and his “Hello!” made the windows rattle in the sitting room, where his wife was leaning forward, hearkening.

“All right.... Four o’clock.... Good-by.” He shouted each answer like an order.

His wife dropped the two dolls over which she had been smiling before the interruption, and a shadow came into her eyes. “You’re going to be away over the twins’ birthday.” Her voice made it like an accusation.

“I’ve got to go out inside of an hour.” He turned his back on those dolls which he had been fondly fingering five minutes ago, and he took down from its hook behind the door a file of the Guide. He scanned the first column’s closely printed list of homing vessels. “Two men out there ahead of me,” he said thoughtfully. “Let’s see.”

When he had replaced the papers—“It’s all right, Annie; I’ll come home on the Empress to-morrow afternoon.” He made the announcement as positively as though the Asiatic liner were a street car; and then, with his last half hour at home before him, he went on mapping out the details of to-morrow evening’s festivities which they had planned in honor of their two grandchildren. He spoke with a confidence, as if there were five-o’clock whistles to call him home from his work on the high seas. But his wife made no move to pick up the two presents, which she herself had dressed in bright raiment; she sat still, gazing with patient eyes upon the leaping flames in the grate. Thirty years of married experience had planted in her soul abiding distrust concerning ocean home-comings.

“After dinner,” he was saying placidly, “we’ll all come back to the sitting room; and we’ll have them here”—he pointed to the center table—“so they’ll see them as quick as they come through the door.” He heard her sigh.

“Annie, I tell you I’ll be back on the Empress in good time.” He made the statement as if its very utterance established it—a fact beyond all doubt or contradiction. He waved his large right hand in a gesture whose abruptness caused the tattooed dragon on his forearm to thrust its red-and-blue head out from under his spotless linen cuff.

“Now that’s settled, lass. And be sure to remember the candles for the birthday cakes. Two cakes; same size; and the candles set in exactly the same.” He sighed comfortably in the depths of the leather-cushioned chair, and he talked on. There was fondness in his face now; it had come there when he called her “lass.”

A half hour later he elbowed his way through the hurrying throngs of homebound commuters in front of the ferry building, and climbed the stairs. In the office of the Bar Pilots’ Association, he found two fellow members just back from outside the Heads, immaculately overcoated, their shoes agleam with polish, bulky men, gray-haired. They talked with MacKenzie of tide and wind and pitfalls of the deep as workman talks to workman at the changing of the shifts. He nodded and answered tersely as he went on tying up the evening papers into a round bundle to take with him to the pilot boat.

He glanced at the blackboard beside the secretary’s desk. Under the head of “Remarks” he read:

Thick Outside.
Sou’west Swell.
Breaking Bar.

These tidings, which would have forced a coastwise skipper to relieve his tense nerves by profanity, he accepted without comment. The fog and breakers brought him his bread and butter, after all. He saw the names of the pilots out there ahead of him. “Lea and Wills,” he chuckled. “They’re both of them always worrying for fear they won’t get ships back home.”

“How about you?” the secretary demanded.

“There’ll be ships enough, all right, to bring us all back before to-morrow evening,” he said, and departed.

He boarded the Bar Pilots’ Association tender at Meiggs Wharf, and stood on the low deck as the swift little craft steamed out through the inner portal of the Golden Gate with a seven-knot ebb pushing on her stern.

And now, just after the tug had passed Fort Point, the hill wind and the fog leaped down the Marin County slopes again, hand in hand—like two murderers coming to take a look at their intended victim as he goes by the appointed spot. The Lime Point siren bellowed after MacKenzie in hoarse warning, and he glanced behind him as the pair fled up the mountain. “Came on thick there for a minute,” he remarked to the man at the wheel, and turned his eyes ahead.

Where Point Bonita thrusts its fangs into the Pacific, the helmsman turned the little craft squarely to the right, for the bar was breaking to that southwest swell, and, jockeying the swirling currents, brought her safely into the entrance of North Channel. Between the breakers of the shoal and the surf at the foot of the cliffs, she went until she rocked on the bosom of the open sea; then, as she neared the lightship, MacKenzie saw the pilot boat careening out to meet him like a swooping gull.

The rising sea was but a herald of a remote gale; there was scant breeze; the gray mists marked a perfect circle on the tossing ocean. In the center of this a speck of white under the apex of a drab dome, the pilot boat lay. Her spray-laved deck glinted dully, deserted now by all save her helmsman. Through the thick curtain of the mists he heard the lightship’s lonely roaring, the muffled moan of breakers on the bar, the constant whispering of a myriad hoary billows yearning toward the lowering heavens. Among these sounds he hearkened for another, and peered into the murk, watching, listening for the first far sign of some homing ship.

Down in the cabin, MacKenzie and his two companions were killing with the gossip of the seven seas the time which separated them from home. They were talking of the long, blind trails which reach from the uttermost parts of the world, converging on this troubled patch of water, and of the ships that traveled by these pathways to the Golden Gate.

The engines had stopped; the schooner was under sail; and in the pauses of their conversation the sounds of the ship and the sea came into the cabin—the rattle of a shifting block from overhead, the intermittent gurgle of the water alongside, and at intervals out of the surrounding depths the faint, clinking toll of the lightship’s submarine bell.

MacKenzie lay on one of the red, upholstered lockers which extended the length of the cabin under the tiers of bunks on either side; he had changed his neat shore raiment for rough sea clothes. The other two, in similar attire, were seated at the wide table in the middle of the room. Lea, black-browed, swarthy as some old-time pirate, was hammering the table with his fist to emphasize his assertions. Old Wills wagged his white beard against the flaming background of a scarlet flannel undershirt, announcing every conclusion with slow placidity.

“There’s that Standard tanker,” he was saying; “from Honolulu, and——”

“The Empress,” Lea interrupted loudly. “And they’re all that’s coming in to-morrow. Sorry for you, Dan.”

“I’ll get the Empress.” MacKenzie made the announcement as positively as though it were an order.

Wills turned with the deliberation which his extensive girth demanded until he faced MacKenzie, and his snowy whiskers swept to and fro against the sanguinary background, as he shook his head. “Don’t you be so blame sure, now,” he said slowly.

As one who sums up judgment, MacKenzie spoke, and with a certainty, as though he were at this moment gazing beyond the curtain of the fog over the earth’s curve:“That overdue Frenchman is heading for the Farallons now. ’Twas him the Hazel Dollar sighted yesterday and reported with his topmasts gone. But unless there’s more air stirrin’ out there than there is here, he won’t be in till after daybreak.”

“That bark the Dollar sighted was bound for Puget Sound.” Lea thumped the table. “The Frenchman’s lost.”

Wills joined him, and their voices mingled for some moments; the names of ships and far ports flew thick and fast; the cabin resounded with strange words by which local tempests are called down the west coast. MacKenzie remained silent until they had concluded. Then——

“I’m right,” he reiterated.

Lea swore at him with the deep fervency which time-tried shipmates can use in their profanity when they apply it to one another. Old Wills turned laboriously to face him once more.

“Dan”—his voice was heavy with solemnity—“you’re always this way. You can’t even pass the time o’ day with a man without you got to be so dead sure about the thing. It ain’t right, I tell you.”

“Now listen, Dan,” Lea cut in. “You got to change your mind once in a while.”

MacKenzie shook his head. “I know when I’m right,” he said aggressively.

“Supposing you was wrong?” Wills demanded.

“I ain’t wrong,” MacKenzie announced, in the same sure tone. “I know when I’m right, I tell you. I’d be no pilot if I didn’t know that.”

Lea swore again, and the fervency of despair was in his voice now. “Come, Jim,” he told Wills, and picked up the cards which were lying in front of him on the table, “I’ll play you a game of pinochle.”

MacKenzie watched them from the locker for a good half hour; then went on deck, for the third man out has the task of cruising. He stood in the narrow cockpit, talking with the helmsman about the rising sea and the chances of the fog clearing away. But before he left for the cabin—“Keep her pretty well out toward the lightship,” he said quietly. “That Standard tanker’s due to-night, and that French bark at almost any time.”

In the dark hour before the dawn, the helmsman sighted the huge oil carrier—a blurred pin point of light emerging through the night mists, miles away—and he kindled the torch to signal her. As he waved the flaring beacon to and from its buzzing awakened the three sleepers in the cabin, and they saw the crimson glare spilling down the companionway.

“Good ship for you, cap’n!” The sailor’s hoarse announcement was followed by the tramp of his feet on the deck as he hurried forward to awaken his companions.

MacKenzie came up to take the wheel, and while he signaled for the engines he could hear old Wills stamping about the cabin to assemble his store clothes. Shortly before the launching of the yawl, Wills appeared, all evidences of that piratical undershirt extinguished beneath starched linen and black broadcloth. He hurried to the main rigging as the boat left the skids, and he hung there by the manropes, awaiting a safe moment when he could lower his two hundred and sixty-odd pounds into the pitching craft without bringing disaster.

“Good luck!” MacKenzie called from the cockpit. “Tell them if there’s nothing better sailing they’d better send some one out here on the tender, for I’ll be in on the Empress.”

Wills disappeared; and some moments later his voice floated upward from the darkened waters:“You always got to be so blame sure, Dan!”

MacKenzie’s face remained impassive as that final rebuke reached him; and hours later, when he had hastened up into the wan dawn, responding to the helmsman’s summons, his features wore no sign of triumph as he handed the glasses to Lea, pointing into the southwest. Through the fog the lenses picked up a gleaming, white bulk, like the specter of a remote tower which has been razed near its summit; and as that ghostly form stole on, looming larger through the damp mists, the binoculars discovered the black speck that crawled on before it.

“Tops’ls gone,” MacKenzie announced indifferently. “And there’s the tug. Your Frenchman, Jack.”

“I guess you’re right.” Lea shook his head as he hurried below to change his clothes.

“O’ course I’m right,” MacKenzie told him placidly; “I knew that all along.”

Noon passed. The fog, which had been lifting for several hours, crawled up the great, tawny ridges where Tamalpais rises from the sea until it found upon the mountain’s flanks the ancient rendezvous where it had often met the hill wind. Here it bided the approaching hour when they would meet again, to descend hand in hand to the inner portal of the Golden Gate and bring to pass the thing for which they had been preparing.

When the Empress thrust her steep, black prow over the earth’s bulge, the circle had widened about the pilot boat until its drab circumference inclosed the headlands to the northeast and racing crests far beyond the silent, red-hulled lightship. The bar’s entire shape was projected upon the waters in a vivid horseshoe-shaped smear of white, to which the towering billows raced, whispering. As they reached it, blanching in the instant, they leaped, roaring, amid a myriad snarling predecessors. From the lurching deck MacKenzie sniffed the keen, primeval tang of seaweed uptorn from the depths; and he gazed seaward at the liner’s smoke, a filament of brown, infinitesimal on the somber heavens.

“Raise the jack!” he ordered.

A sailor pulled the star-flecked banner to the masthead; and over the horizon, across the wild reaches of the ocean, the homing steamship and the little schooner spoke their greetings, flag for flag.

When they had drawn within a quarter of a mile of each other, the yawl slid from the skids into the hissing waters; the sailors sprang like cats between the thwarts; MacKenzie chose the next propitious instant, and followed them. They coasted from the summits of the gray-green billows into swirling troughs, shut off from all the world by rushing, foam-patched hills; they gained the lee of the biding liner. Her black side arose above them like the wall of a high building.

From the summit of that wall the slender Jacob’s ladder dangled, now touching the edge of a rising wave, now receding skyward as the steamship rolled, showing her red belly.

There came a moment when the Empress settled toward the yawl, and the little boat rose as if to meet her. The sailors grunted at the oars; the yawl rushed broadside toward the lowering bulk. MacKenzie leaned forward in the stern sheets.

The moment crystallized into a fleeting instant. The yawl was rising, the ship still descending; the end of the Jacob’s ladder hung within a few feet. Immediately that entire movement changed, and the ladder was swept away from the retreating boat.

But in the passing of that instant, as one who casts behind him all else upon the seizing of swift-racing opportunity, MacKenzie rose and leaped. Out of the boat against the reeling steel wall he sprang; he gripped the ladder’s sides with both strong hands and found the step which lay unseen beneath him. Already the oarsmen were pulling off to safety; through the black plates he heard the clanging of the gong down in the engine room. He climbed up and gained the deck.

Awaiting him, the skipper stood upon the bridge, tall in his spotless uniform of navy blue, grizzled, austere on this far height with all his ship beneath him. The days and nights of lonely mastery, when every movement of that enormous structure, every revolution throughout its complicated mechanism, and every act among those hundreds on board were his to answer for; those days and nights were over now. In these two remaining hours, when he faced the climax of that struggle against the elements into which every voyage resolves itself, the law had given him a companion. As he had looked upon the land whose imminence is the final ordeal for every deep-water captain, he had seen approaching him the only man who had a right to share his responsibility without taking his orders. And now, as MacKenzie gained the bridge and these two exchanged greetings, each called the other by his title, captain.

MacKenzie looked into the northeast, appraising the hostile elements—the raging breakers on the bar, the swirling currents hidden in North Channel, the headlands ravenous for wreckage, the gray fog that clung to the slopes above them. Striving to read from their aspect the signs of any conspiracy against this ship, whose safety was his trust now, he studied the fog longer than all the others; he watched for any movement which might betray the connivance of the treacherous hill wind. But the fog remained motionless on the heights.

He spoke; the great liner turned under his feet. From the red-hulled lightship she departed northward and a little to the east, and she left the distant harbor entrance to the right of her foaming wake. For seven miles she traveled, skirting the outside of the roaring bar, until she had passed the curve where the horseshoe hooks inward parallel to the land. Here she reached an unmarked spot on the tumbling waters which MacKenzie knew as well as a landsman knows his own doorstep. Again he spoke; the huge bulk swerved as obediently as a living creature, found the new course, and plunged down North Channel with the Potato Patch roaring on her right, and on her left the surf under the ringing cliffs. Between these bounds, which narrowed as the ship went on, he guided her, while the great, green seas hammered her forward deck and hidden currents strove desperately against her keel, now fighting to drive her on the rocks and now to drag her upon the shoal. Four miles, and then she shook the last hampering deluge from her bows as she emerged between Bonita’s teeth and the last bar buoy.

At the outer entrance of the Golden Gate she lingered for a moment, as one who hesitates before plunging into a final peril.

From the lofty bridge MacKenzie peered up the funnel-shaped lane whose narrow end opens between steep cliffs into the harbor. He looked into the bay and searched the hillsides above the Marin County precipices for any sign of downward movement in the fog. This was the last chance to stop until she passed through the neck of the funnel—between Fort Point and Lime Point. The gray fog was still motionless up there on the slopes. He uttered an order; the Empress started on.

She passed Mile Rock far over to her right. More than two miles ahead of her, at the edge of the point which has been named for it, the grim old black fort, with its rows of loopholes, stood out clearly. Across the narrow channel from it, the Lime Point Lighthouse gleamed white upon its rocky headland.

Under MacKenzie’s feet the decks were astir with men and women. Some were rushing to and fro in a fervor of final packing; others stood at the rail, gazing eagerly at the first evidences of the city; all were radiant with the expectancy of their home-coming. Back and forth among them stewards hurried on a multitude of errands; Chinese deck boys slipped unostentatiously in and out through the crowd; the noise of many tongues arose on all sides. Up here, remote from all that bustle, in the lonely place of responsibility, MacKenzie stood motionless; the captain paced back and forth close by, but spoke no word to him.

Then the fog seemed to fall from the hillsides upon the ship, it came so suddenly.

A thick, damp grayness cut off the bridge from everything; it obscured the decks; the bows were only a faint blur. The land vanished. The Empress was traveling on a little circle of dark waters over whose surface hoary shreds of mist were trailing; a circle whose circumference moved as the ship moved, whose area remained unchanged, without the slightest sound of anything beyond.

Out of that gray mystery great voices came, deep-toned, reverberating as in horror of the tidings which they proclaimed. The sirens were bellowing their brazen warnings to the ship, and the living rock trembled as they called their stern commands to keep away or die.

The ship went on; she must pass through the narrows before she could stop again. She was no longer steaming proudly in; she crept as one who has been stricken blind and feels her way; out of mid-channel toward the Marin County shore—MacKenzie was able to bring her that far while the fog was descending—and now she crawled along under the lofty hills. The passengers had left her decks; there were no signs of life save for the lookout hidden in the murk that cloaked the bows, and the two men on the bridge. The captain’s face had grown tense, and as he paced back and forth he glanced often at MacKenzie. But MacKenzie stood motionless, and there was no sign of feeling on his face.

He was looking down upon that little circle of dark waters over which the hoary filaments of mist were drifting. He was reading its secrets—the movement of the tide, the direction of the swirling currents, the strength with which they were pushing upon the liner’s submerged keel.

He was listening to the sounds in the gray fog—the whistle of the Empress, appealing hoarsely for guidance; the echoes with which the steep Marin County hills answered that appeal; the crashing blare of the Fort Point diaphone over to the right. These things and a strange sixth sense of locality which had come through long experience gave MacKenzie a picture.

In his mind’s eye he saw beyond the limits of that little circle on the dark waters. He saw the ship and her surroundings as he would on a clear day.

That mental vision portrayed the liner, now entering the neck of the funnel-shaped lane, approaching close to the inner portal of the Golden Gate. Close beside her it showed the Marin County hills, rising straight from the water; before her bows, barring the way with its rock walls, Lime Point; across the narrow channel from this—ahead and to his right—Fort Point.

That was the picture. The echoes came down from the hills; the Lime Point siren roared straight ahead of him; and over there to the right the Fort Point diaphone was bellowing like a hundred fear-maddened bulls. The ship crept on.

In his mind’s eye MacKenzie saw the steep, black prow approaching Lime Point—until, within a minute, he must say the word which would compel the Empress to turn to the right in order to avoid the rocky promotory as she passed through the narrows.

Then a strange and terrible change came.

The echoes from the steep hills dwindled and died away. The roaring of the Lime Point siren grew fainter, more remote, as if the ship were being shoved off to the right. The crashing diapason from Fort Point was growing with appalling suddenness.

At this same moment the color of the waters which swirled against the steel flanks of the Empress deepened to a turgid brown. The ebb tide was rushing seaward.

The captain halted abruptly. His tall form was erect no longer; he leaned forward, and his face was pallid as he peered into the fog toward the spot from which that diaphone’s blare emerged.

In the instant, MacKenzie became rigid. He stood like a grim statue. His shaggy brows seemed to hide the eyes beneath them. Under his heavy, gray mustache his lips pressed tightly together. And he asked himself a question:

Had he erred?

If he had—if in the painting of that mental picture he had been mistaken—by a quarter of a mile in distance, by two minutes in time—this seven-knot ebb tide would be carrying the liner far over to her right. She would be steaming toward Fort Point. It had occurred once. Another ship, laden, like this one, with hundreds of men and women, had been swung off her course in a fog by the ebb tide, lusty with freshet waters, and driven on those rocks. The bones of that ship lay somewhere on the bottom mingled with the skeletons of her passengers.

Two minutes! And that narrow interval of time depended to a hair upon the superiority of the Empress’ throbbing propellers over the opposition of the waters. What man could measure the results of that struggle down there under the surface? Or tell to exactness what might the currents were putting forth to-day?

The hillsides gave no echo now. The Lime Point siren died away entirely. The Fort Point diaphone crashed louder. The minute at whose expiration MacKenzie had intended to speak the word by which the liner would turn reached its final second. He put that question by. He had made his calculation in the beginning.

Now he spoke. The ship turned.

Her bow swung toward Fort Point; she steamed straight into that blaring warning as if she were defying it.

Her captain sprang toward MacKenzie; his right hand was upraised in a gesture of terrible protest; he was sweating; great beads of water stood out on his forehead. “Man!” he shouted hoarsely. “The current! Can’t you see?” He pointed frantically into the din of the diaphone as though it were a visible thing. “Can’t you hear? You’re piling her up on Fort Point!”

MacKenzie stood rigid. His head was thrust forward as if he were straining to listen for some other sound than that reverberating thunder which was overwhelming the entire ship; as if in this moment he were hoping to catch some shred of noise from the Lime Point siren in the place where he had pictured it. But there was no answer from that quarter.

The Empress kept on turning. Over her bows now, nearer, louder, terrible in volume and intensity, Fort Point’s warning came. The captain leaped in front of MacKenzie. His hand flew out toward the marine telegraph.

“Stop her!” His voice was heavy with horror.

MacKenzie seized the captain’s arm, and his fingers were like iron as he pulled it back from the handle of the telegraph. There was a sharp struggle; the captain tore away from him and whirled toward the man at the wheel. His lips parted; but even as he uttered the first word of that order to alter her course, MacKenzie drowned that order with his own deep-voiced command:

“Keep her headed as she is now!”

Then, as the ship moved on into the grayness, while the blare from Fort Point welled straight above her lofty prow, the captain groaned and clutched the rail instinctively, as though to save himself against the impact of the collision with those rocks.

In that final instant the fog, like a faint-hearted conspirator who gives up and flees before his companions, began to retreat up the slope toward the distant mountain. But the hill wind remained stubborn. So, as MacKenzie touched the captain on the shoulder, pointing over there straight to their left, they gazed upon the ragged rocks from which her pilot had preserved the ship, and they saw the pallid jets of steam emanating from the siren behind the white lighthouse; but as yet they could hear nothing of the warning which the siren bellowed.

On her beam now; and now it receded to her quarter; and now the Empress had passed the place into the channel. The harbor showed clear before her bows; the sunlight was flecking the waters. MacKenzie moved his hand upon the lever of the telegraph, and the great liner ceased that creeping to resume her proud pace toward the wharves.

“It was that wind in the hills,” MacKenzie told the secretary in the office of the Bar Pilots’ Association, while he was leaving the order for fees which the captain had signed. “Come on thick for a few minutes, John; and just as I got her under Lime Point that wind played a dirty trick on me. Lime Point siren kept carrying off toward the mountain somewheres, and Fort Point came on so loud you couldn’t hear another thing. For a minute they had me pretty near to guessing. I’d of been in trouble—if I hadn’t been sure o’ my bearings.”

Which was all the comment that he made, for he was in a hurry to get home for that birthday festival.

At home, he rested as a good workman should rest. He shook off that sea harshness of his; his voice was gentle as he played with his grandchildren. He dispensed with that quarter-deck authoritativeness; he became the slave of the whole shrieking brood and did their smallest bidding. As if it were wearisome now, he forsook that calmness which he had worn while he was dealing with the hostile elements; he fairly trembled with nervousness when he stole into the sitting room to place the two dolls on the center table, so fearful was he lest one of the twins would catch him at it.

But there was a thing which he could not shake off, a trait which had fastened itself too firmly during his hours of facing the unexpected. One of his daughters mentioned it to her mother at the close of the evening, after the children had been put to bed, and while the rest of them were talking in front of the fire. MacKenzie was arguing with his two sons-in-law.

“Don’t you go quoting government statistics at me,” he was saying implacably; “I don’t care what they say; I’m right!”

His daughter’s voice was full of amused tolerance as she spoke to her mother:“He is so sure!”

And if the elements were—as men of old believed them—gifted with the power of speech, there is no doubt that on their next meeting at the inner portal of the Golden Gate the hill wind and the fog would have echoed that sentiment.

Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the January 5, 1923 issue of Sea Stories magazine.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SURENESS OF MACKENZIE ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

Table of Contents

- The Sureness of MacKenzie

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE