In Her Own Right

“I’ve been thinking,” said Croyden, as they footed it across the Severn bridge, “that, if we knew the year in which the light-house was erected, we could get the average encroachment of the sea every year, and, by a little figuring, arrive at where the point was in 1720. It would be approximate, of course, but it would give us a start—something more definite than we have now. For all we know Parmenter’s treasure may be a hundred yards out in the Bay.”

Macloud nodded. “And if we don’t find the date, here,” he added, “we can go to Washington and get it from the Navy Department. An inquiry from Senator Rickrose will bring what we want, instantly.”

“At the same time, why shouldn’t we get permission to camp on the Point for a few weeks?” Croyden suggested. “It would make it easy for us to dig and investigate, and fish and measure, in fact, do whatever we wished. Having a permit from the Department, would remove all suspicion.”

They had passed the Experiment Station and the Rifle Range, and were rounding the shoal onto the Point, when the trotting of a rapidly approaching horse came to them from the rear.

“Suppose we conceal ourselves, and take a look,” suggested Macloud. “Here is a fine place.”

He pointed to some rocks and bushes that lined the roadway. The next instant, they had disappeared behind them.

A moment more, and the horse and buggy came into view. In it were two men—of medium size, dressed quietly, with nothing about them to attract attention, save that the driver had a hook-nose, and the other was bald, as the removal of his hat, an instant, showed.

“The thieves!” whispered Croyden.

“Yes—I’ll bet a hundred on it!” Macloud answered.

“Greenberry Point seems far off,” said the driver—“I wonder if we can have taken the wrong road?”

“This is the only one we could take,” the other answered, “so we must be right. I wonder what that jay’s doing?” he added, with a laugh.

“Right, you are!” said Croyden, lifting himself from a bed of stones and vines. “Right, you are, my friend! And if I had a gun, I’d give the Coroner a job with both of you.”

Macloud looked thoughtful.

“It would be most effective,” he said. “But could we carry it off cleanly? The law is embarrassing if we’re detected, you know.”

“You’re not serious?” said Croyden.

“I never was more so,” the other answered. “I’d shoot those scoundrels down without a second’s hesitation, if I could do it and not be caught.”

“A trifle unconventional!” commented Croyden. “However, your idea isn’t half bad; they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to us.”

“Exactly! They won’t hesitate—and, what’s more, they have the nerve to take the chance. That is the difference between us and them.”

They waited until they could no longer hear the horse’s hoof-falls nor the rumble of the wheels. Then they started forward, keeping off the road and taking a course that afforded the protection of the trees and undergrowth. Presently, they caught sight of the two men—out in the open, their heads together, poring over a paper, presumably the Parmenter letter.

Macloud only nodded in acquiescence.

The men finished with the letter. Hook-nose went on to the Point, and stood looking at the ruins of the light-house out in the Bay; the other turned and viewed the trees that were nearest.

“Much comfort you’ll get from either,” muttered Croyden.

Hook-nose returned, and the two held a prolonged conversation, each of them gesticulating, now toward the water, and again toward the timber. Finally, one went down to the extreme point and stepped off two hundred and fifty paces inland. He marked this point with a stone.

Bald-head pointed to the trees, a hundred yards away, and shook his head. More talk followed. Then they produced a compass, and ran the additional distance to the North-east.

“Dig! damn you, dig!” exclaimed Macloud. “The treasure’s not there.”

“You’ll have to work your brain a bit,” Croyden added. “The letter’s not all that’s needed, thank Heaven! You’ve stolen the one, but you can’t steal the other.”

The men, after consulting together, went to the buggy, took out two picks and shovels, and, returning to the place, fell to work.

After a short while, Bald-head threw down his pick and hoisted himself out of the hole. An animated discussion followed.

“He’s got a glimmer of intelligence, at last,” Croyden muttered.

The discussion grew more animated, they waved their arms toward the Bay, and toward the Severn, and toward the land. Hook-nose slammed his pick up and down to emphasize his argument. Bald-head did likewise.

“They’ll be doing the war dance, next!” laughed Macloud.

“‘When thieves fall out, honest men come by their own,’” Croyden quoted.

“More honest men, you mean—the comparative degree.”

“Life is made up of comparatives,” said Croyden. “What’s the matter now?” as Bald-head faced about and stalked back to the buggy. “Has he quit work so soon?”

“He has simply quit digging a hole at random,” Macloud said. “My Lord, he’s taking a drink!”

Bald-head, however, did not return to his companion. Instead, he went out to the Bay and stood looking across the water toward the bug-light. Then he turned and looked back toward the timber.

From the Point, he retraced his steps leisurely to his companion, who had continued digging, said something—to which Hook-nose seemingly made no reply, save by a shovel of sand—and continued directly toward the timber.

“Has he seen us?” said Croyden.

“I think not—these bushes are ample protection. Lie low.... He’s not coming this way—he’s going to inspect the big trees, on our left.... They won’t help you, my light-fingered friend; they’re not the right sort.”

After a time, Bald-head abandoned the search and went back to his friend. Throwing himself on the ground, he talked vigorously, and, apparently, to some effect, for, presently, the digging ceased and Hook-nose began to listen. At length, he tossed the pick and shovel aside, and lifted himself out of the hole. After a few more gesticulations, they picked up the tools and returned to the buggy.

“Have they decided to abandon it?” said Croyden, as they drove away.

“Hum!” said Macloud. “So you’re coming back are you? I wonder what you intend to do?”

“I wish we knew,” Croyden returned. “It might help us—for quite between ourselves, Macloud, I think we’re stumped.”

“Our first business is to move on Washington and get the permit,” Macloud returned. “Hook-nose and his friend may have the Point, for to-day; they’re not likely to injure it. Come along!”

They were passing the Marine Barracks when Croyden, who had been pondering over the matter, suddenly broke out:

“We’ve got to get rid of those two fellows, Colin!”

“Granted!” said Macloud. “But how are we to manage it?”

“We agree that we dare not have them arrested—they would blow everything to the police. And the police would either graft us for all the jewels are worth, or inform the Government.”

“Yes, but we may have to take the risk—or else divide up with the thieves. Which do you prefer to do?”

“Neither!” said Croyden. “There is another way—except killing them, which, of course, would be the most effective. Why shouldn’t we imprison them—be our own jailers?”

“Too much risk to ourselves,” he said. “Somebody would likely be killed in the operation, with the chances strongly favoring ourselves. I’d rather shoot them down from ambush, at once.”

“That may require an explanation to a judge and jury, which would be a trifle inconvenient. I’d prefer to risk my life in a fight. Then, if it came to court, our reputation is good, while theirs is in the rogues’ gallery.”

“Where would you imprison them?” asked Macloud, dubiously.

“That is the difficulty, I admit. Think over it, while we’re going to Washington and back; see if you can’t find a way out. Either we must jug them, securely, for a week or two, or we must arrest them. On the whole, it might be wiser to let them go free—let them make a try for the treasure, unmolested. When they fail and retire, we can begin.”

“Your last alternative doesn’t sound particularly attractive to me—or to you, either, I fancy.”

“And the way out, according to your notion, is to be our own jailers, think you?” said Macloud. “Well, we can chew on it—the manner of procedure is apt to keep us occupied a few hours.”

They took the next train, on the Electric Line, to Washington, Macloud having telephoned ahead and made an appointment with Senator Rickrose—whom, luckily, they found at the Capital—to meet them at the Metropolitan Club for luncheon. At Fourteenth Street, they changed to a Connecticut Avenue car, and, dismounting at Seventeenth and dodging a couple of automobiles, entered the Pompeian brick and granite building, the home of the Club which has the most representative membership in the country.

Macloud was on the non-resident list, and the door-man, with the memory for faces which comes from long practice, greeted him, instantly, by name, though he had not seen him for months.

“Yes, Mr. Macloud, Senator Rickrose just came in,” he said.

“How are you, old fellow?” he said to Macloud, dropping a hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you for a long time—and, Mr. Croyden, I think I have met you in Northumberland. I’m glad, indeed, to see you both.” He touched a bell. “Take the orders!” he said, to the boy.

“Senator!” said Macloud, a little later, when they had finished luncheon. “I want to ask a slight favor—not political however—so it won’t have to be endorsed by the organization.”

The Senator laughed. “In that event, it is granted before you ask. What is it I can do?”

“Have the Secretary of the Navy issue us a permit to camp on Greenberry Point.”

“Where the devil is Greenberry Point?” said Rickrose.

“Across the Severn River from Annapolis.”

Rickrose turned in his chair and glanced over the dining-room. Then he raised his hand to the head waiter.

“Has the Secretary of the Navy had luncheon?” he asked.

“Yes, sir—before you came in.”

“We would better go over to the Department, at once, or we shall miss him,” he said. “Chevy Chase is the drawing card, in the afternoon.”

The reception hour was long passed, but the Secretary was in and would see Senator Rickrose. He came forward to meet him—a tall, middle-aged, well-groomed man, with sandy hair, whose principal recommendation for the post he filled was the fact that he was the largest contributor to the campaign fund in his State, and his senior senator needed him in his business, and had refrigerated him into the Cabinet for safe keeping—that being the only job which insured him from being a candidate for the Senator’s own seat. It is a great game, is politics!

“Mr. Secretary!” said Rickrose, “my friends want a permit to camp for two weeks on Greenberry Point.”

“Greenbury Point!” said the Secretary, vaguely—“that’s somewhere out in San Francisco harbor?”

“Not the Greenberry Point they mean,” the Senator replied. “It’s down at Annapolis—across the Severn from the Naval Academy, and forms part of that command, I presume. It is waste land, unfortified and wind swept.”

“Oh! to be sure. I know it. Why wouldn’t the Superintendent give you a permit?” turning to Macloud. “It is within his jurisdiction.”

“They are not familiar with the customs of the service,” explained Rickrose, “and, as I may run down to see them, just issue the permit to me and party. The Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee is inspecting the Point, if you need an excuse.”

“Oh, no! none whatever—however, a duplicate will be forwarded to the Superintendent. If it should prove incompatible with the interests of the service,” smiling, “he will inform the Department, and we shall have to revoke it.”

He rang for his stenographer and dictated the permit. When it came in, he signed it and passed it over to Rickrose.

“Anything else I can do for you, Senator?” he asked.

“Not to-day, thank you, Mr. Secretary,” Rickrose answered.

“Do you actually intend to come down?” asked Macloud, when they were in the corridor. “That will be bully.”

He shot a look at Croyden. His face was a study. Hunting the Parmenter treasure, with the Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee as a disinterested spectator, was rather startling, to say the least. The Senator’s reply reassured them.

“Next for a sporting goods shop,” said Macloud as they went down the steps into Pennsylvania Avenue; “for a supply of small arms and ammunition—and, incidentally, a couple of tents. We can get a few cooking utensils in Annapolis, but we will take our meals at Carvel Hall. I think neither of us is quite ready to turn cook.”

“I am sure, I’m content!” laughed Croyden. “We can hire a horse and buggy by the week, and keep them handy—better get a small tent for the horse, while we’re about it.”

They went to a shop on F Street, where they purchased three tents of suitable size, two Winchester rifles, and a pair of Colt’s military revolvers with six-and-a-half inch barrels, and the necessary ammunition. These they directed should be sent to Annapolis immediately. Cots and blankets could be procured there, with whatever else was necessary.

They were bound up F Street, toward the Electric Station, when Macloud broke out.

“True enough!” said Croyden, “but where is the man who is trustworthy—not to mention willing to take the risk, of being killed or tried for murder, for someone else’s benefit? They’re not many like you, Colin.”

A man, who was looking listlessly in a window just ahead, turned away. He bore an air of dejection, and his clothes, while well cut, were beginning to show hard usage and carelessness.

“Axtell!” Macloud observed—“and on his uppers!”

“There’s our man!” exclaimed Croyden. “He is down hard, a little money with a small divide, if successful, will get him. What do you say?”

“Nothing!” replied Macloud. “It’s up to you.”

Axtell saw them; he hesitated, whether to speak or to go on. Croyden solved the question.

“Hello! Axtell, what are you doing here?” he said, extending his hand.

Axtell grasped it, as a drowning man a straw.

“You’re kind to ask, Mr. Croyden! Mighty kind in one who lost so much through us.”

“You were not to blame—Royster’s responsible, and he’s gone——”

“To hell!” Axtell interrupted, bitterly. “May he burn forever!”

For a moment, Axtell did not answer—he was gulping down his thoughts.

“I am,” he said. “I’ve just ten dollars to my name. I came here thinking the Congressmen, who made piles through our office, would get me something, but they gave me the marble stare. I was good enough to tip them off and do favors for them, but they’re not remembering me now. Do you know where I can get a job?”

“Yes—I’ll give you fifty dollars and board, if you will come with us for two weeks. Will you take it?”

“Will I take it?—Well, rather!”

“What you’re to do, with Mr. Macloud and myself, we will disclose later. If, then, you don’t care to aid us, we must ask you to keep silence about it.”

“I don’t want to know anything!” said Axtell. “I’ll do my part, and ask no questions—and thank you for trusting me. You’re the first man since our failure, who hasn’t hit me in the face—don’t you think I appreciate it?”

“Very good!” said Croyden. “Have you any other baggage?” nodding toward a small bag, which Axtell had in his hand.

“No.”

“Then, come along—we’re bound for Annapolis, and the car leaves in ten minutes.”

That evening, in the seclusion of their apartment at Carvel Hall, they took Axtell into their confidence—to a certain extent (though, again, he protested his willingness simply to obey orders). They told him, in a general way, of Parmenter’s bequest, and how Croyden came to be the legatee—saying nothing of its great value, however—its location, the loss of the letter the previous evening, the episode of the thieves on the Point, that morning, and their evident intention to return to the quest.

“Now, what we want to know is: are you ready to help us—unaided by the law—to seize these men and hold them prisoners, while we search for the treasure?” Croyden asked. “We may be killed in the attempt, or we may kill one or both of them, and have to stand trial if detected. If you don’t want to take the risk, you have only to decline—and hold your tongue.”

Croyden held out his hand.

“We’ll shake hands on that, Axtell, if you please,” he said; “and, if we recover what Parmenter buried, you’ll not regret it.”

The following morning saw them down at the Point with the equipage and other paraphernalia. The men, whom they had brought from Annapolis for the purpose, pitched the tents under the trees, ditched them, received their pay, climbed into the wagons and rumbled away to town—puzzled that anyone should want to camp on Greenberry Point when they had the price of a hotel, and three square meals a day.

“It looks pretty good,” said Croyden, when the canvases were up and everything arranged—“and we shan’t lack for the beautiful in nature. This is about the prettiest spot I’ve ever seen, the Chesapeake and the broad river—the old town and the Academy buildings—the warships at anchor—the tout ensemble! We may not find the treasure, but, at least, we’ve got a fine camp—though, I reckon, it is a bit breezy when the wind is from the Bay.”

“I wonder if we should have paid our respects to the Superintendent before poaching on his preserves?” said Macloud.

“Hold on!” exclaimed Macloud. “On that score, we’ve got some rank ourselves to uphold.”

“What!” said Croyden.

“Certainly! the Chairman of the Committee on Naval Affairs, of the United States Senate, is with us. According to the regulations, is it his duty to call first on the Superintendent?—that’s the point.”

“Give it up!” laughed Croyden. “However, the Superintendent has a copy of the letter, and he will know the ropes. We will wait a day, then, if he’s quiescent, it’s up to us.”

“Great head!” laughed Macloud. “You should have been a diplomat, Croyden—nothing less than an Ambassadorship for you, my boy!”

Croyden smiled.

“A motor boat would be mighty convenient to go back and forth to Annapolis,” he said. “Look at the one cutting through the water there, midway across!”

It came nearer, halted a little way off in deep water, and an officer in uniform swept the tents and them with a glass. Then the boat put about and went chugging upstream.

“We are about to be welcomed or else ordered off—I’ll take a bet either way,” said Macloud.

“Welcomed!” Croyden responded. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t have despatched an officer—it would have been a file of marines instead. You haven’t lost the permit, Macloud!”

“You don’t seem very sure!” Macloud laughed.

Presently, the officer appeared, walking rapidly down the roadway. As soon as he sighted the tents, he swung over toward them. Macloud went a few steps forward to meet him.

“Is this Senator Rickrose?” the Lieutenant inquired.

“No,” said Macloud. “Senator Rickrose isn’t coming until later. I am one of his friends, Colin Macloud, and this is Mr. Croyden and Mr. Axtell.”

“Very glad to meet you, gentlemen!” said the Lieutenant. “The Superintendent presents his compliments and desires to place himself and the Academy at your disposal.” (He was instructed to add, that Captain Boswick would pay his respects to-morrow, having been called to Washington to-day by an unexpected wire, but the absence of the Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee rendered it unnecessary.)

Then they took several drinks, and the aide departed.

“So far, we’re making delightful progress,” said Croyden; “but there are breakers ahead when Hook-nose and his partner get in the game. Suppose we inspect the premises and see if they have been here in our absence.”

They went first to the place where they had seen them conceal the tools—these were gone; proof that the thieves had paid a second visit to the Point. But, search as they might, no evidence of work was disclosed.

“What does it mean?” said Croyden. “Have they abandoned the quest?”

“Not very likely,” replied Macloud, “with half a million at stake. They probably are seeking information; when they have it, we shall see them back again.”

“Suppose they bring four or five others to help them?”

“They won’t—never fear!—they’re not sharing the treasure with any one else. Rather, they will knife each other for it. Honor among thieves is like the Phœnix—it doesn’t exist.”

They went out to the extreme edge, and stood gazing across the shoals toward the ruins.

“What do you make the distance from the land?” Croyden asked.

“About one hundred yards—but it’s very difficult to estimate over water. It may be two hundred for all I can tell.”

“It is exactly three hundred and twenty-two feet from the Point to the near side of the ruins,” said Croyden.

“Why not three hundred and twenty-two and a half feet!” scoffed Macloud.

“I measured it this morning while you were dawdling over your breakfast,” answered Croyden.

“Hitched a line to the land and waded out, I suppose.”

“Not exactly; I measured it on the Government map of the Harbor. It gives the distance as three hundred and twenty-two feet, in plain figures.”

“I said you had a great head!” Macloud exclaimed. “Now, what’s the rest of the figures—or haven’t you worked it out?”

“Then, with the point moved in six hundred and sixty-five feet Parmenter’s beeches should be only eighty-five feet from the shore line, instead of seven hundred and fifty!” Macloud reflected.

“Just so!” said Croyden.

“But where are the beeches?” asked Axtell.

“Disappeared!” Croyden replied. “As the Point from year to year slipped into the Bay, the fierce gales, which sweep up the Chesapeake, gradually ate into the timber. It is seventy years, at least, since Parmenter’s beeches went down.”

“Why shouldn’t the Duvals have noticed the encroachment of the Bay, and made a note of it on the letter?” Macloud asked.

Macloud nodded. “I reckon that’s reasonable.”

“Next let us measure back eighty-five feet,” said Croyden, producing a tape-line.... “There! this is where the beech tree should stand. But where were the other trees, and where did the two lines drawn from them intersect?”...

“Yes, now you have it!” said Macloud—“where were the trees, and where did the lines intersect? I reckon you’re stumped.”

“Let us try some more assuming. You had a compass yesterday, still got it?”

Macloud drew it out and tossed it over.

“I took the trouble to make a number of diagrams last night, and they disclosed a peculiar thing. With the location of the first tree fixed, it matters little where the others were, in determining the direction of the treasure. It is practically the same. The objective point will change as you change the position of the trees, but the direction will vary scarcely at all. It is self-evident, of course, to those who understand such things, but it was a valuable find for me. Now, if we are correct in our assumption, thus far, the treasure is buried——”

He opened the compass, and having brought North under the needle, ran his eye North-by-North-east. A queer look passed over his face, then he glanced at Macloud and smiled.

Macloud laughed!

“Looks as if wading would be a bit difficult,” he said dryly.

Croyden produced the tape-line again, and they measured to the low bluff at the water’s edge.

“Two hundred and eighty-two feet to here,” he said, “and Parmenter buried the treasure at three hundred and thirty feet—therefore, it’s forty-eight feet out in the Bay.”

“Then your supposition is that, since Parmenter’s time, the Bay has not only encroached on the Point, but also has eaten in on the sides.”

“It would seem so.”

“It’s hard to dig in water,” Macloud remarked. “It’s apt to fill in the hole, you know.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Croyden retorted. “I’m not responsible for the Bay, nor the Point, nor Parmenter, nor anything else connected with the fool quest, please remember.”

“Except the present measurements and the theory on which they’re based,” Macloud replied. “And as the former seem to be accurate, and the latter more than reasonable, we’d best act on them.”

“At least, I am satisfied that the treasure lies either in the Bay, or close on shore; if so, we have relieved ourselves from digging up the entire Point.”

“You have given us a mighty plausible start,” said Macloud.

“It is Hook-nose back again,” said Macloud. “Come to pay a social call, I suppose! Anything about for them to steal?”

“Nothing but the shooting-irons.”

“They’re safe—I put them under the blankets.”

“What the devil do they want?”

“Come to treat with us—to share the treasure.”

“Hum! they’ve got their nerve!” exclaimed Croyden.

By this time, they had been observed by the men in the buggy who, immediately, came toward them.

“Let us get away from this place!” said Croyden, and they sauntered along landward.

“And make them stop us—don’t give the least indication that we know them,” added Macloud.

As the buggy neared, Macloud and Croyden glanced carelessly at the occupants, and were about to pass on, when Hook-nose calmly drew the horse over in front of them.

“Which of you men is named Croyden?” he asked.

“I am,” said Geoffrey.

“Well, you’re the man we’re lookin’ for. Geoffrey is the rest of your handle, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I think I have, in more ways than your name. Where can we have a little private talk?”

“We can’t!” said Croyden, stepping quickly around the horse and continuing on his way—Macloud and Axtell following.

“If you’d rather have it before your friends, I’m perfectly ready to accommodate you,” said the fellow. “I thought, however, you’d rather keep the little secret. Well, we’ll be waiting for you at the tents, all right, my friend!” and he drove ahead.

“Macloud, we are going to bag those fellows right now—and easy, too,” said Croyden. “When we get to the tents, I’ll take them into one—and give them a chance to talk. When you and Axtell have the revolvers, with one for me, you can join us. They are armed, of course, but only with small pistols, likely, and you should have the drop on them before they can draw. Come, at any time—I’ll let down the tent flaps on the plea of secrecy (since they’ve suggested it), so you can approach with impunity.”

“This is where we get killed, Axtell!” said Macloud. “I would that I were in my happy home, or any old place but here. But I’ve enlisted for the war, so here goes! If you think it will do any good to pray, we can just as well wait until you’ve put up a few. I’m not much in that line, myself.”

“I can’t,” said Macloud. “But there seem to be no rules to the game we’re playing, so I wanted to give you the opportunity.”

As they approached the tents, Hook-nose passed the reins to Bald-head and got out.

“What’s to do now?” asked Macloud. “They’re separated.”

“Leave it to me, I’ll get them together,” Croyden answered.... “You wish to see me, privately?” to Hook-nose.

“I wish to see you—it’s up to you whether to make it private or not.”

“Come along!” said Croyden, leading the way toward the tent, which was pitched a trifle to one side.... “Now, sir, what is it?” as the flaps dropped behind them.

“You’ve a business way about you, which I like——” began Hook-nose.

“Never mind my ways!” Croyden interrupted. “Come to the point—what do you want?”

“There’s no false starts with you, my friend, are there!” laughed the other. “That’s the thing—bang! and we are off. Good!—we’ll get to business. You lost a letter recently——”

“Not at all,” Croyden cut in. “I had a letter stolen—you, I suppose, are the thief.”

“I thought as much!” said Croyden. “Well, let me tell you there won’t be any arrangement made with you, alone. You must get your pal here—I don’t agree with one. I agree with both or none.”

“Oh, very well, I’ll have him in, if you wish.”

Croyden bowed.

“I do wish,” he said.

Hook-nose went to the front of the tent and raised the flap.

“Bill!” he called, “hitch the horse and come in.”

And Macloud and Axtell heard and understood.

While Hook-nose was summoning his partner, Croyden very naturally retired to the rear of the tent, thus obliging the rogues to keep their backs to the entrance.

“Mr. Smith, this is Mr. Croyden!” said Hook-nose.

“I’m glad to make your acquaint——” began Smith.

“There is no need for an introduction,” Croyden interrupted curtly. “You’re thieves, by profession, and blackmailers, in addition. Get down to business, if you please!”

“Rather a good bargain for you,” said Croyden. “We supply the information, do all the work and give up half the spoils—for what, pray?”

“For our silence, and an equal share in the information. You have doubtless forgot that we have the letter now.”

“And what if I refuse?” Croyden asked.

“You’re not likely to refuse!” the fellow laughed, impudently. “Better half a big loaf than no loaf at all.”

“But if I refuse?” Croyden repeated.

“I see what’s in your mind, all right. But it won’t work, and you know it. You can have us arrested, yes—and lose your plunder. Parmenter’s money belongs to the United States because it’s buried in United States land. A word to the Treasury Department, with the old pirate’s letter, and the jig is up. We’ll risk your giving us to the police, my friend!” with a sneering laugh. “If you’re one to throw away good money, I miss my guess.”

Croyden affected to consider.

“Anything else you are moved to exact?” said Croyden. His ears were primed, and they told him that Macloud and Axtell were coming—“Let us have them all, so I can decide—I want no afterthoughts.”

“You’ve got them all—and very reasonable they are!” laughed Hook-nose.

Just then, Macloud and Axtell stepped noiselessly into the tent.

Something in Croyden’s face caused Hook-nose’s laugh to end abruptly. He swung sharply around—and faced Macloud’s leveled revolver—Axtell’s covered his pal.

“Hands up! Both of you!”—Croyden cried—“None of that, Hook-nose!—make another motion to draw a gun, and we’ll scatter your brains like chickenfeed.” His own big revolver was sticking out of Macloud’s pocket. He took it. “Now, I’ll look after you, while my friends tie up your pal, and the first one to open his head gets a bullet down his throat.”

“Hands behind your back, Bald-head,” commanded Axtell, briskly. “Be quick about it, Mr. Macloud is wonderfully easy on the trigger. So, that’s better! just hold them there a moment.”

“Now, lie down and put your feet together—closer! closer!” Another pair were snapped on them.

“Now, I’ll do for you,” Axtell remarked, turning toward Hook-nose.

With Croyden’s and Macloud’s guns both covering him, the fellow was quickly secured.

“With your permission, we will search you,” said Croyden. “Macloud, if you will look to Mr. Smith, I’ll attend to Hook-nose. We’ll give them a taste of their own medicine.”

“You think you’re damn smart!” exclaimed Hook-nose.

“Shut up!” said Croyden. “I don’t care to shoot a prisoner, but I’ll do it without hesitation. It’s going to be either perfect quiet or permanent sleep—and you may do the choosing.”

He slowly went through Hook-nose’s clothes—finding a small pistol, several well-filled wallets, and, in his inside waistcoat pocket, the Parmenter letter. Macloud did the same for Bald-head.

“How long are you going to hold us prisoners?” asked Bald-head—“till you find the treasure? Oh, Lord!”

“As long as it suits our convenience.”

“And luck is with you,” Hook-nose sneered.

“At present, it is with us—very much with us, my friend,” said Croyden. “You will excuse us, now, we have pressing business, elsewhere.”

When they were out of hearing, Macloud said:

“Doesn’t our recovery of Parmenter’s letter change things very materially?”

“It seems to me it does,” Croyden answered. “Indeed, I think we need fear the rogues no longer—we can simply have them arrested for the theft of our wallets, or even release them entirely.”

“Arrest is preferable,” said Macloud. “It will obviate all danger of our being shot at long range, by the beggars. Let us put them where they’re safe, for the time.”

“But the arrest must not be made here!” interposed Croyden. “We can’t send for the police: if they find them here it would give color to their story of a treasure on Greenberry Point.”

“What if they don’t cross the Severn—what if they scent our game, and keep straight on to Baltimore? They can abandon their team, and catch a Short Line train at a way station.”

“Then the Baltimore police can round them up. I’m for chancing it. They’ve lost Parmenter’s letter; haven’t anything to substantiate their story. Furthermore, we have a permit for the Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee and friends to camp here. I think that, now, we can afford to ignore them—the recovery of the letter was exceedingly lucky.”

“Very good!” said Macloud—“you’re the one to be satisfied; it’s a whole heap easier than running a private prison ourselves.”

Croyden looked the other’s horse over carefully, so he could describe it accurately, then they hitched up their own team and he drove off to Annapolis.

In due time, he returned.

“It’s all right!” he said. “I told the Mayor we had passed two men on the Severn bridge whom we identified as those who picked our pockets, Wednesday evening, in Carvel Hall—and gave him the necessary descriptions. He recognized the team as one of ‘Cheney’s Best,’ and will have the entire police force—which consists of four men—waiting at the bridge on the Annapolis side.” He looked at his watch. “They are there, now, so we can turn the prisoners loose.”

“Choice! Choice!” said Croyden. “In the cuss line, you two are the real thing. Why didn’t you open up sooner?—you shouldn’t hide such proficiency from an admiring world.”

Whereat it flowed forth afresh from Hook-nose. Bald-head, however, remained quiet, and there was a faint twinkle in his eyes, as though he caught the humor of the situation. They were severely cramped, and in considerable pain, but their condition was not likely to be benefited by swearing at their captors.

“Just listen to him!” said Croyden, as Hook-nose took a fresh start. “Did you ever hear his equal!... Now, if you’ll be quiet a moment, like your pal, we will tell you something that possibly you’ll not be averse to hear.... So, that’s better. We’re about to release you—let you go free; it’s too much bother to keep you prisoners. These little toy guns of yours, however, we shall throw into the Bay, in interest of the public peace. May we trouble you, Mr. Axtell, to remove the bonds?... Thank you! Now, you may arise and shake yourselves—you’ll, likely, find the circulation a trifle restricted, for a few minutes.”

“Now, if you have sufficiently recovered, we will escort you to your carriage! Forward, march!”

And with the two thieves in front, and the three revolvers bringing up the rear, they proceeded to the buggy. The thieves climbed in.

“We wish you a very good day!” said Croyden. “Drive on, please!”