The last red embers of the sunset died out, and from horizon to horizon the sky was ablaze with stars. Even the boys, wet, hungry, and exhausted, could not be blind to such magnificence.

"Good evening to study astronomy, Perce!"

"Never saw a finer! But I'd want a steadier foundation than this for my telescope."

As on the previous night, the sea was aglow with phosphorescence. Every wave was crested with silver. Buoy and tugging dory kept the water alive with light as they rose and fell. Leeward the long shoal broke in glittering foam.

Spurling gazed silently down into the eddying tide.

"Runs fast, doesn't it?" said Percy.

"Yes; it's the ebb out of Fundy. Comes piling down over Cashe's at a two-knot rate. When the flood begins it'll run just as hard the other way. That's what makes the shoal so dangerous. There's only from four to seven fathoms over the ledge at low water, and that's little enough in a storm."

"Were you ever down here before?"

"No; but I've heard Uncle Tom Sprowl tell about the place dozens of times. Once, in particular, he was here in a schooner, hand-lining. It was almost calm, just a light east wind blowing, when they anchored an eighth of a mile to weather of the shoal. Pretty soon the decks were alive with fish. It kept breezing on all the time, and the ledge broke higher and higher; but they were having such good luck they hated to leave. So they hung to it till it got too rough for a small boat, and the breaker was twenty or thirty feet high. There was a big cod or haddock on every line, when all of a sudden the cable parted and they began to blow down on the ledge. It took some lively work to save the schooner and themselves. They got sail on her just in time to skin by the end of the breaker. Uncle Tom's been out in some pretty bad storms, but he's always said the time he parted his cable on Cashe's was the closest shave he ever had. See that shark!"

Ten yards off, just under the surface, appeared the glittering outlines of a great fish. It moved leisurely, its projecting fin making a silver ripple.

"Twelve feet, if he's an inch! I'd hate to fall overboard while he's around."

"Think he's a man-eater?"

"Don't know! But I'd rather let somebody else find out. There's another! I've heard fishermen say the sea round here's alive with 'em. I haven't a doubt but those two fellows that chased us to-day are somewhere about. Once they get after a boat, they'll follow it till the cows come home. Guess I'll let Ole Bull give us a few notes!"

He pulled his handkerchief out of the intake tube. Presently the voice of the whistle was echoing across the sea. After a half-dozen screeches Spurling stopped up the tube again.

"That'll do for now! We'll give him another chance in ten minutes."

Up and down went the buoy, pitching and reeling dizzily. An occasional wave-crest buried the boys to the waist.

"No place for a man with a weak stomach, hey, Perce," said Spurling. "You couldn't have stood this two months ago."

Percy was gazing intently southward.

"What's that white spot?" he asked, suddenly, pointing to a glittering patch fifty or sixty yards square.

"School of herring! Now look out for some fun! Something's liable to be after 'em any minute."

Hardly had the words left Jim's mouth when a great white streak moved rapidly toward the schooling fish.

"Whale!" shouted Spurling, excitedly. "Watch out!"

With a tremendous rush the huge, gleaming body shot suddenly clear of the water. For an instant it hung suspended, ten feet above the surface. Then, with a mighty splash, it dropped back, right amid the herring. The glittering school dispersed in a thousand directions, and the monster moved slowly off to the south.

"Biggest whale I ever saw," observed Jim. "Fully seventy feet long! Well, he's had one good meal. Wish we could say the same! Hungry, old man?"

"Yes; but more thirsty."

"Stick to it! Somebody's likely to show up at any time to-morrow and take us off."

"But if they don't—"

"We'll have to hang on till they do."

Percy could hardly stand upright. His joints ached. His eyelids sagged heavily for want of sleep. He would have given anything if he could have lain down. But that was impossible. Something of his father's doggedness enabled him to set his teeth and stand clinging to the bails.

Their plight was bad enough, but it might have been much worse. Percy shivered a bit as he looked at the wallowing dory and the breaker beyond it.

The buoy could not drift. It could not founder. It afforded them a safe refuge from wind and sea; but it could not give them food or drink.

Particularly drink. Every atom in Percy's body, every corpuscle in his blood, seemed to be crying out for water. It did not seem as if he could endure it. He was almost desperate enough to quench his thirst from the sea. But, no! Men who did that went crazy. He moistened his dry lips with his tongue. If only he could have had a full dipper from the spring behind the camp! And he had turned up his nose because it was brackish!

"Wish I had some of Filippo's hot biscuits!" said Jim. "I can taste 'em now."

"Don't, Jim! It makes me feel worse. How long can a man stand it without eating and drinking?"

"There was a fisherman out of Bass Harbor, last October, who went in a power-boat to Clay Bank after hake. His engine played out and he got blown off by a northwester. For over five days he didn't have a thing to eat or drink. Then he got back to Mount Desert Rock. That's the longest I ever heard of."

Five days! And they had not yet gone two. Percy became silent again.

The night dragged painfully. With mortal slowness the Great Bear circled the Pole Star. Jim was acquainted with the principal constellations, and he ran them over for Percy's benefit. Gradually, however, their conversation lagged. You cannot feel much interest in astronomy when your eyes feel as if they were being pressed down by leaden weights and your stomach is absolutely empty.

Percy's body drooped over the bails. Though the position was horribly uncomfortable, he had all he could do to prevent himself from going to sleep, even despite the occasional screeches of the whistle. With an immense effort he stiffened himself upright. Jim was gazing down into the water.

"It's going to moderate before long," he remarked, casually.

Percy came wide awake in an instant.

"How can you tell? It's blowing as hard as ever."

"I know that. But the tide doesn't run so strong against the buoy. Just as it always makes up before the wind comes, so it begins to go down before the wind lessens. I believe the gale'll blow itself out by the middle of the forenoon."

The news seemed too good to be true; but it dispelled Percy's drowsiness. He pried his eyes open and stared around.

The waves were still running high and breaking in fiery sparkles. The silver sharks unwearyingly kept their silent vigil about the rocking buoy. Up the eastern horizon was stealing a faint pallor, harbinger of the approaching dawn.

Lighter and lighter it grew. The gulls, which had been floating on the water all night, began to take wing and fill the air with their grating cries. The phosphorescence died out of the sea. Another day had begun.

Raising his right hand, Spurling turned its open palm toward the north.

"What did I tell you?" he exclaimed. "The wind is going down."

Even Percy could see that it was not blowing so hard. The water, too, had grown much smoother, and the roar of the breaker was not so loud.

"It'll be calm as a mill-pond in a few hours," remarked Jim. "By noon there ought to be some fishermen out here. They always start from Portland on the end of a norther, and run for this buoy to make their grounds from. All we've got to do now is to hold on and wait."

He pulled in the dory and looked her carefully over.

"Bow split open, as I thought," said he. "But apart from that she isn't damaged any. A little work'll make her as good as new. And in the stern is that box with the piston-rod in it. I'd have hated to lose that, after all this fuss. Things might have turned out a good deal worse, eh, Perce? But the next time I'll know enough to hang up at Seal Island."

Jim's cheerfulness was contagious. Percy felt better. Though he was still tormented by hunger and thirst, the thought that relief might soon come gave him courage to endure them. Jim let the dory slip back to the end of her painter.

"Might as well take an Indian breakfast."

He buckled his belt a hole tighter.

"Not a sail in sight yet! We could lie down in the dory and go to sleep, if she wasn't full of water. But, as things are, we'll have to make ourselves as comfortable as we can right here. Let's hope it won't be for long!"

The gale weakened to a brisk breeze. The sea fell rapidly to a long, lazy swell, on which the buoy rocked drowsily. The warm sun inclined the boys to sleep; but they fought it off and scanned the horizon with eager eyes. Seven o'clock. Eight. Nine. Ten. And still no sign of a sail.

At half past ten a smoke-feather rose in the east.

"Yarmouth boat on her way to Boston," said Jim. "She'll pass too far north to see us."

He was right. The steamer's course kept her on the horizon, several miles off. Before long she vanished to the west. Half past eleven went by, and no fishermen appeared. Percy began to fear that Jim was mistaken, after all.

"Here comes our packet," remarked Spurling, quietly.

A tiny saw-tooth of canvas was rising out of the sea, miles northwest. As it grew larger it developed into a schooner under full sail, heading straight for the buoy.

"She sees us," said Jim.

Percy felt like dancing for joy. Nearer and nearer came the schooner. The boys could see her crew staring curiously at them from along her rail. Fifty yards off she shot up into the wind and prepared to launch a boat. They could read the name on her starboard bow.

"The Grade King," spelled Spurling. "I know her. She's a Harpswell vessel. Come out to seine herring. Bet she left Portland early this morning. Her captain's Silas Greenlaw; he used to sail with Uncle Tom. He'll use us O. K."

A dory with two men in it came rowing toward the buoy.

"How long've you fellows been hanging on here?" shouted a red-sweatered, gray-haired man in the stern.

"Since six last night. We blew down from Tarpaulin Island in the norther. Don't you know me, Captain Greenlaw?"

"Why, it's Jim Spurling, Tom Sprowl's nephew!" exclaimed the astonished captain. "So the gale blew you down from Tarpaulin, eh? Well, all I've got to say is that you were confounded lucky to hit the buoy and not the breaker. How long since you've had anything to eat or drink?"

"Forty-six hours since we've had a swallow of water, and about twenty since we finished our last hard bread."

"Well, well! You must be hungry and thirsty! Come right aboard and we'll see what we can do for you."

Gladly the boys cut the lashings that bound them to the bails. The whistle gave a screech of farewell as they tumbled stiffly into the boat. The solid deck of the Gracie felt good beneath their feet.

"You can have all the water you want, boys; but you'd better go light on food at first," cautioned the captain.

It seemed to Percy as if he could never get enough to drink. Gradually, however, his thirst was quenched. He began to realize that he had not slept for two days and a half.

"I'd like to carry you right back to the island," said Captain Greenlaw, "for your friends must be worrying. But there are lots of herring here, and I've got to get a load first. That may take two or three days. I'll land you at Tarpaulin on my way home. Better turn in and sleep."

The boys were shortly wrapped in a heavy, dreamless slumber. It seemed to them as if they had just closed their eyes when they were shaken awake again.

"Here's the cutter!" exclaimed the captain. "They got a wireless to hunt you up. Going to run in to Rockland, and can land you at Tarpaulin this evening. What do you say?"

Tired though they were, Jim and Percy were only too glad of a chance to get home speedily. So they were transferred to the Pollux, and their leaking dory hoisted aboard. Swung in hammocks in the seamen's quarters, they were soon slumbering dreamlessly again.

At eight that night the Pollux stopped off the island. The dory, made sound and tight by the ship's carpenter, was dropped overboard, and the boys rowed into Sprowl's Cove.

Their appearance transformed the gloom that overhung Camp Spurling into the wildest joy. Budge, Throppy, and Filippo burst out of the cabin and raced headlong down the beach, waking the echoes with their shouts of welcome. Even before the dory grounded they tumbled aboard and flung their arms about the castaways. No brothers, reunited after deadly peril, could have given one another a warmer greeting.

Jim freed his hands at last, stooped, and picked up a package which he tossed out on the gravel. There was a suspicious moisture in his eyes.

"There's the piston-rod!" said he in a rather choky voice. "I guess we'll get our set all right day after to-morrow."

XX

SQUARING AN ACCOUNT

It was almost noon the next day before Jim and Percy rolled out of their bunks in Camp Spurling. One of Filippo's best dinners satisfied the last cravings of their appetites; but for a week they felt the strain of their forty-seven hours in the dory and on the buoy.

"When did you reach the Pollux, Throppy?" asked Jim.

"I didn't reach her at all. When you didn't show up that night I wirelessed Criehaven, and the operator there hit the cutter thirty miles to the westward the next forenoon. She began hunting for you right away, but it wasn't until twenty-four hours later that she found you on the Gracie King. We picked up a message from her some time after she took you off the schooner. Perhaps it didn't relieve our minds!"

Jim drew a long breath as he glanced round the cabin.

"Seems good to be here! Not a bad old camp, is it, Perce?"

"Never saw a hotel I'd swap it for," replied Percy, promptly.

Two mornings later Budge and Percy started in the sloop for Vinalhaven after a load of herring. Jim did not accompany them, as he had decided to spend a forenoon hauling and inspecting the lobster-traps. The Barracouta ran in alongside Hardy's weir at nine o'clock and took aboard thirty bushels of small fish. She then went around to Carver's Harbor to purchase supplies and fill her tank with gasolene.

It was Percy's first visit to the town since July 4th, the occasion of his disastrous encounter with Jabe. In actual time, his defeat lay only a few weeks back; but, measured by the change that had taken place in himself, the period might well have been years in length.

Percy was treading hostile ground, and he knew it. Prudence might have counseled him to remain on board the Barracouta while Budge was making his purchases. Instead, he chose to stroll carelessly along the main street. At a corner he passed a group of small boys, who recognized him at once.

"It's the fresh guy Jabe licked on the Fourth," he heard one mutter in a low tone. "Let's have some fun with him!"

"Sh!" exclaimed another. "Jabe's over in Talcott's grocery. We'll get 'em together again!"

Never interrupting his leisurely saunter, Percy passed out of hearing. But his heart was beating a little quicker and he was conscious of a tightening of nerves and muscles. Weeks of secret, painstaking preparation were drawing to a climax.

Half-turning his head, he saw a barefooted urchin dash across the street and into a store on the other side. Percy began to whistle cheerfully as he strode along, alive to all that was taking place behind him. Crossing the street, he was able to glance back without appearing to do so; and he was just in time to see a stout, freckle-faced, bullet-headed youth shoot out of the store and come hurrying after him, with an eager crowd of small fry trailing behind.

Still feigning unconsciousness of the approaching peril, Percy proceeded, whistling blithely. Through a gap between two buildings he had caught sight of a barn standing alone, some distance ahead and well to one side of the main street; its door was open, revealing a broad stretch of empty floor. He quickened his pace, and presently turned down the short street leading to the structure. Jabe and his retinue were less than fifty yards behind, and gaining rapidly. As Percy turned the corner they broke into a run.

At that same instant young Whittington also began to sprint at top speed; and he kept up this pace as long as he felt sure the building on the corner concealed him from his pursuers. The second the sound of their approaching feet became audible he dropped into his former gait. He was now almost opposite the open door of the barn.

His ears told him that Jabe and his crew had also swung into the cross-street.

"Hey, there!" shouted a voice, roughly.

Percy halted at once and wheeled about with affected surprise. A side glance into the barn told that its mows were well filled and that its floor was strewn with hayseed. Standing at ease, he awaited the approach of his foes.

Jabe dashed up on the run. Five feet from Percy he came to a sudden stop and pushed his bulldog jaw out belligerently.

"Well," he growled, scowling darkly, "I've got you at last just where I want you. You can't cry baby now and run to that big, black-haired fellow. I'm going to lick you good!"

Percy stared at his enemy in mild wonder.

"What for?" he queried, innocently.

But the outward calm of his tones and manner did not betray, even remotely, what was going on beneath. His heart was pumping like an engine, the blood coursed hotly through his arteries, and all over his body his wiry muscles had tensed and knotted. Nine weeks of vigorous life in the open, combined with systematic exercise, taken with the possibility in view of some time squaring his account with Jabe, had made of him an antagonist that even an older, heavier boy might well hesitate to tackle.

Of all this Jabe was ignorant. He saw before him the same fellow he had mastered on the evening of the Fourth, a little browner and clearer-eyed, possibly a little straighter and stouter, but still the same foe his fist had sent to the ground. Jabe knew of no reason why he could not easily repeat his victory, and he burned to do so in the presence of his admirers. Percy's harmless query roused him to unreasoning anger.

"What for?" he mimicked. "What for? Why, because I always intend to finish what I begin; and I had you only half-licked when they pulled me off. Now I'm going to polish you up to the queen's taste. Hustle into that barn!"

Percy allowed himself to be herded through the open door; it might have been noticed, however, that he was careful not to turn his back to Jabe, and that he stepped springily, with his feet well apart. Once inside, he slid his sole over the hayseed that covered the floor; it was no slipperier than the carpet of needles in that glade of the evergreens where he had practised daily with his improvised punching-bag since the second week in July. A quick glance about photographed on his brain the details of the arena in which he was so soon to play the gladiator.

Jabe misunderstood the glance, and it increased his eagerness to begin the fray.

"Afraid, are you?" he sneered. "Looking for some way out? Well, there isn't any besides this door. Line up across it, boys, and trip him if he tries to bolt before I get through with him. The rat's cornered at last, and now he's got to fight. Peel off that coat, Mister! Move quick. I don't want to stop here all day!"

Percy deliberately drew off the garment, folded it into a neat bundle, and laid it, with his cap, on a barrel in a corner of the floor. He had on a closely fitting black jersey, trousers held up by a belt, and rubber-soled tennis sneakers. This costume was not accidental. It had been donned that morning with an eye to possibilities and in accordance with previous solitary rehearsals. Thus far, events could not have suited him better if he had planned them.

His deliberate motions increased Jabe's anger.

"You'll move faster than that when I get after you," he sneered, "or it'll be over so quick that there won't be any fun in it. Now put up your fists, for I'm going to lick you within an inch of your life! Guard that door, boys!"

His grinning satellites lined up across the opening, two deep, eyes and mouths wide open. In the front rank Percy recognized the imp who had burnt his coat, Jabe's brother, whose chastisement had started the trouble. The lad was dancing up and down with pleasurable anticipation.

"Lick him, Jabe!" he shrilled. "Lick him, Jabe!"

Swinging his clenched fists windmill fashion, Jabe made a savage rush across the echoing floor. Percy waited until his foe was almost upon him, then agilely leaped to one side. Carried on by the momentum of his charge, Jabe swept by and smashed against the wooden partition with a violence that set the hayseed sifting down from the loaded mow. Whirling about, he came back with increased rage.

The boys yelled encouragement to their champion, their voices blending in a chorus, topped by his brother's high-keyed falsetto:

"Lick him, Jabe! Lick him, Jabe!"

Baffled in his first attempt, Jabe needed no applause to incite him to his best efforts. His fists rose and fell like flails as he spurned the flooring in a second onslaught upon his nimble foe. Again Percy, standing motionless until his assailant was almost within arm's-length, avoided his attack; and again Jabe brought up against the other wall with a force that made the boards rattle.

Percy stood untouched a few feet away, smiling slightly, as his opponent gathered himself for another rush. The sight of his enemy, cool and unruffled, made Jabe furious.

"Why don't you fight, you coward?" he cried. "If only I can reach you just once, it'll be all over!"

He hurled himself forward like a missile from a catapult. His right fist grazed Percy's cheek. Roused from his policy of inaction, Percy shot in a stinging blow that found its mark under Jabe's right ear and sent him staggering. The fight was now fairly on.

To and fro across the slippery hayseed the antagonists battled, raising a cloud of dust. The floor echoed hollowly under their quick tread.

From the outset Percy knew that he had not a single sympathizer. But instead of discouraging him, that fact nerved him to do his utmost. He kept himself well in hand and did not waste an effort. If he could continue to side-step Jabe's quick rushes, and let the latter tire himself out, the fight was as good as won.

It was a very different battle from that on July 4th. Jabe was as good as before, but no better; while Percy had improved at least a hundred per cent.; he had more skill and his nerves and muscles were far stronger. His rubber soles, too, gave him an advantage that he was not slow to improve. They assured him firm footing on the slippery floor and enabled him to turn quickly, as without trying to strike he contented himself with eluding Jabe's mad charges and sledge-hammer blows.

The audience that blocked the door had grown silent. Things were not going according to schedule. After the first few rushes they had realized that their hero was getting the worst of the encounter.

Ten minutes had gone by. Jabe was breathing hard, while Percy was fresh as ever. His cool smile maddened his antagonist and made him less skilful. In one of his onsets he had slammed his doubled fist against the wooden partition and split his knuckles; the pain and the running blood made him wild with rage.

Confident at first of easy victory, he had finally realized that Percy was playing with him, that he had met his master in the boxing-game. His face had shown in turn anger, surprise, alarm, and at last positive fear. But one thought possessed his mind, to win at any cost, by fair means or foul. His rushes, which had slackened, grew more violent. He came at Percy head down; he tried to crowd him into a corner, to throw his arms around him, to overpower him by sheer, brute strength.

Percy realized that in a rough-and-tumble he would be no match for Jabe. In legitimate boxing he had shown himself his foe's superior; and he was not particularly anxious to emphasize that fact by blacking Jabe's eyes or "bloodying" his nose. He would have been willing to let the matter stand where it was or allow Jabe to wear himself fruitlessly down to exhaustion. But such a course was neither feasible nor safe. Jabe would never voluntarily acknowledge that he was beaten. Besides, there was always the chance of something happening to put Percy at his mercy; and Percy knew only too well what that mercy would be.

His only safety was to force a clear-cut decision.

"It's a case of knock-out," he decided. "No use to bruise him up. Might as well have it over quick!"

Savagely, though somewhat wearily, yet with undaunted determination, Jabe rushed him and struck out with his left. For the first time in the battle Percy launched in with all his strength. He cross-countered with his right on the point of Jabe's jaw.

It was the wind-up. Jabe hit the hayseed in a heap. For a few seconds he lay motionless, then struggled to a sitting position.

"Got enough?" asked Percy.

Jabe took the count.

"I'm licked," he acknowledged; and there were tears in his voice.

"Can I do anything for you?"

"No; I'll be all right in a little while."

Percy put on his coat and cap and started toward the door. As he passed Jabe the latter stretched out his hand.

"You can fight," he conceded, grudging admiration in his tones.

Percy grasped the bunch of stubby fingers.

"So can you," he returned. "If you'd been to the masters I've had, I wouldn't care to mix it with you."

The boys opened a way for him respectfully as he passed through the door. He was breathing a little quicker than usual, but he had not received a scratch. Going back to the wharf where they had landed, he found that Budge had been waiting for him almost fifteen minutes.

"What makes you so late, Perce?" he hailed. "We want to ship these groceries and start for Tarpaulin before noon."

Percy began passing the boxes and bags down aboard the dory.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he apologized. "But I've just been settling an account with an old friend."

Then he told Lane of his encounter with Jabe.

"Now," continued he, "I'll tell you why I've been up into the woods every afternoon with that sweater of rockweed. I made it into a tight bundle and hung it on a springy limb to use for a punching-bag. It wasn't very ornamental, but it served the purpose. I've been training for this fight ever since the Fourth; had a feeling I'd get another chance at him. It's over now, and I hope everybody's satisfied. I am, at any rate."

"So that's the reason of your daily pilgrimages," laughed Lane. "You certainly have been faithful enough to deserve to win. But what if you'd never run across Jabe again? Wouldn't you have felt that you'd thrown away your time?"

"Not a bit of it! That bout every afternoon has kept me in first-class shape. But now the great event has come off, I'm going to break training and give the rockweed a rest."

The Barracouta was back at Tarpaulin before three o'clock. A remark dropped by Budge roused the curiosity of the others, and Percy was obliged once more to recount the story of his fight with Jabe.

"Well," said Jim, when he had finished, "they say a patient waiter is no loser; but I guess it depends a good deal on how you spend your time while you're waiting—eh, Perce?"

That night, after dark, when the boys were preparing to turn in, Filippo stepped out to the fish-house for some kindling. He came back on the run.

"Fuoco!" he panted.

The others trooped out hastily. On the southern horizon flamed a ruddy light. Spurling gave a cry of alarm.

"Boys, it's a vessel on fire!"

XXI

OLD FRIENDS

Touched by the live wire of human sympathy, Camp Spurling came wide awake in an instant. Out there, four miles to the south, men were perhaps battling for their lives. Jim issued his orders like bullets.

"Come on, boys! We'll take the Barracouta. Fetch a five-gallon can of gas from the fish-house, Perce! Budge and Throppy, launch that dory!"

Dashing into the cabin, he quickly reappeared.

"Thought I'd better get one of those first-aid packets! Somebody may be burnt bad. Now, fellows! Lively!"

The dory was barely afloat when Percy came staggering down the beach with the heavy can. Spurling swung it aboard, and all but Filippo jumped in.

"Start your fire again!" shouted back Jim to the Italian. "Make some coffee! And be sure to have plenty of hot water! We may need it."

Soon the sloop was under way and heading out of the cove.

"Lucky you thought of that fresh can of gas, Jim," said Budge. "The tank's pretty near empty. We'd have been in a nice fix if the engine had stopped about a mile south of the island."

"Take the tiller, Perce!" ordered Spurling.

Vaulting up out of the standing-room, he grasped the port shroud and fastened his eyes on the fiercely blazing vessel. The flames had run up her masts and rigging, and she stood out a lurid silhouette against the black horizon. It was evident that she was doomed.

"She's gone!" was Jim's comment as he dropped back into the standing-room. "Hope her crew got off all right. There isn't much we can do to help; but at any rate we ought to go out and tow in her boats."

"What is she? Fisherman?" asked Throppy.

"Most likely! And not a very big one. Shouldn't wonder if she'd had a gas explosion in her cabin; I've heard of a good many such cases. Hope nobody's been burnt bad!"

There were a few minutes of silence as they gazed on the spectacle of destruction. The Barracouta, driven to her utmost, steadily lessened the distance. Brighter and larger grew the fire; every detail on the fated craft stood sharply out against the pitchy background.

"Here come two boats!" exclaimed Lane.

Sure enough, they were clearly visible, more than two miles off, rising and falling on the swell, their oars flashing in the light from the conflagration. The crew had abandoned the hopeless fight and were saving themselves.

"Keep her straight for 'em, Perce!" directed Jim.

Whittington obeyed. Soon the Barracouta was within hailing distance of the dories. In the now diminishing light from the distant fire the boys could see that both were crowded with dark figures.

"Must be at least twenty-five aboard the two," commented Stevens.

"Yes," returned Spurling. "These fishermen carry big crews. Ahoy there! What's the name of your vessel?"

"The Clementine Briggs, of Gloucester," replied a man in the bow of the foremost dory. "Running in to Boothbay from Cashe's with a load of herring. The gas exploded and set her on fire. We tried to put it out, but it was no use. Just got clear with our lives and what we stood in."

"Anybody hurt?"

"Couple of men got their faces burnt, but not very bad. Lucky it was no worse. But the old schooner's gone. Pretty tough on Captain Sykes, here, for he owned most of her and didn't have much insurance. Fisherman's luck!"

"Want a tow in to the island?"

"Sure!"

"Well, toss us your painter, and tell the other boat to make fast to your stern."

In a very short time the Barracouta was headed back for Tarpaulin, with the two heavily loaded dories trailing behind her. Delayed by her tow, she moved considerably slower than when coming out. A strange silence hung over the two dories. For fishermen, their crews were unusually quiet, sobered, evidently, by the catastrophe that had overtaken their schooner.

"Wouldn't those men who were burnt like to come aboard the sloop?" inquired Spurling. "Perhaps I can give 'em first aid."

"No," returned the spokesman. "One of 'em's Captain Sykes, here in this dory with the handkerchief over his face. He isn't suffering much, but his cheeks got scorched, so I'm talking for him. The other man is in the next boat. The only thing for 'em to do is to grin and bear it; but just now they're not grinning much, 'specially the captain."

Silence again. The sullen, red blaze on the distant vessel was dying down against the horizon. The flames had stripped her to a skeleton. Her hempen running rigging had been consumed; sails, gaffs, and booms lay smoldering on her decks; above the hull only her masts and bowsprit were outlined in fire against the blackness behind.

Lacking anything better to do, Jim began counting the men in the dories. He made thirteen in each. Most of them sat like graven images, neither speaking nor stirring. They had not even turned their heads to look at the perishing schooner. He could not understand such indifference to the fate of the craft that had been their home.

Sprowl's Cove was right ahead. Filippo opened the cabin door and stood framed within it, the light behind him casting a cheery glow down the beach. Louder and louder the bank behind the lagoon flung back the staccato of the exhaust. Presently the sloop nosed into the haven, the engine stopped, and Throppy went forward to gaff the mooring.

The dories were cast off and rowed to the beach. By the time the boys got ashore all the men had landed. Jim, who had been watching them quietly, noted that most of them disembarked clumsily, more like landlubbers than sailors. They separated into two groups of very unequal size. One, numbering six, including the men with handkerchiefs over their burnt faces, withdrew from the others and began to talk in low tones, with earnest, excited gestures. The remaining twenty clotted loosely together, awkward and ill at ease, still preserving their mysterious silence.

Before Jim had time to offer his unexpected guests anything to eat or drink, Filippo bustled hospitably down the beach to the larger group.

"Will you have caffè? It is hot and eccellente."

They stared at him without replying. By the light from the open door Jim could see that they were dressed like landsmen and that their clothes did not fit well. Their faces were darkish, they had flat noses, and their close-cropped hair was straight and black.

Before Filippo could repeat his question a man from the smaller group hurried up and pushed himself abruptly between the silent score and their questioner.

"No!" said he, brusquely. "We don't want anything. We had supper just before the fire."

His tone and attitude forbade further questioning. Filippo, abashed by the rebuff, returned rather shamefacedly to the cabin. The speaker remained with the group, as if to protect them from further approaches. To Jim his attitude seemed to be almost that of a guard. It deepened the mystery that already hung about the party.

It was now past eight o'clock, and naturally some provision would soon have to be made for passing the night. Jim pondered. Twenty-six guests would prove a severe tax on their already cramped accommodations. Still, the thing could be arranged; it must be. The smaller group of six could be taken into the camp. Six of the silent twenty could be stowed away aboard the sloop; while the remaining fourteen must make what shift they could in the fish-house. Jim proposed this plan to the sentinel.

The man disapproved flatly.

"No!" was his decided reply. "We've got to get away to-night."

"To-night?" echoed Jim in amazement. "Why, man alive, you can't do that! It's fifteen miles to Matinicus, and you're loaded so deep it'd take you almost until morning to row there. And even if you made it all right, you wouldn't gain anything, for the boat for Rockland doesn't leave until the first of the afternoon. Besides, this wind's liable to blow up a storm. Of course you could row ten miles north to Head Harbor on Isle au Haut, walk up the island, and catch the morning boat for Stonington; but you'd have to pull most of the way against the ebb, and when this wind gets a little stronger it's going to be pretty choppy. I wouldn't want to risk it. Better stop with us to-night and let us make you as comfortable as we can; and to-morrow you can start for any place you please."

The man shook his head stubbornly.

"How far is it to the mainland?" he asked.

Jim could hardly believe his ears.

"The mainland!" he exclaimed. "A good twenty-five miles."

"Well, we've got to be there before morning."

"You're crazy, man! Twenty-five miles across these waters in the night, with thirteen men in each dory! You'd never make it in the world. You can't do it."

"Well, maybe we can't," retorted the other, impatiently, "but we're going to. There's more ways to kill a cat than by choking her to death with cream."

He walked back to the smaller group, and soon they were in heated, but indistinct, argument. Jim noted that the men with handkerchiefs over their faces seemed now to have no difficulty in bearing their share of the conversation. Captain Sykes, in especial, was almost violent in his gestures.

Presently they seemed to have reached an agreement. The spokesman walked back to Jim and came directly to the point.

"What'll you take to set the crowd of us over on the mainland near Owl's Head before daylight?"

Jim was equally direct.

"No number of dollars you can name. I don't care to risk my boat and twenty-five or thirty lives knocking round the Penobscot Bay ledges on a night like this. But I'll be glad to take you all over to Matinicus to-morrow for nothing."

"That won't do. We've got to reach the mainland to-night. I'll give you fifty dollars. Come, now!"

Jim shook his head.

"Seventy-five! No? A hundred, then! What d'you say?"

"No use!" replied Jim. "I told you so at first."

The stranger eyed him a moment, then stepped aside to parley again with the others. The colloquy was even more spirited than before. Captain Sykes swung his arms like a crazy man. He pointed to the sky, then to the sea, then to the voiceless score, huddled together, sheep-like, on the beach. Back came the speaker again, a nervous decision in his manner.

"If you won't set us over yourself, what'll you sell that sloop for? Give you two hundred dollars!"

Reading refusal in the lad's face, he raised the bid before Jim had time to open his lips.

"Three hundred! We've some passengers who must get to a certain place at a particular time, and they can't do it unless we can land 'em before daylight to-morrow. Say four hundred!"

"That sloop isn't for sale."

"Wouldn't you take five hundred for her?"

"No; nor a thousand!"

Jim's jaws came together. Back in his brain was forming a suspicion of these fishermen who raised their bid so glibly. Why were they so eager to reach the mainland that night, and why did the twenty have no voice in the discussion? He scrutinized them searchingly.

"What are you staring at?" demanded the man, angrily.

Jim did not reply. Percy passed by on his way to the cabin. He had been using his eyes to good advantage. He nudged Jim.

"Those fellows are Chinamen," he whispered. "I've seen too many of 'em to be mistaken."

His words crystallized Jim's suspicions into certainty. The whole thing was plain now. The crew of the Clementine Briggs (if, indeed, that was her name) were no fishermen, but smugglers of Chinese!

He remembered a recent magazine article on the breaking of the immigration laws. Chinamen would cross the Pacific to Vancouver, paying the Dominion head-tax, and thus gaining admission into Canada. A society, organized for the purpose, would take them in charge, teach them a few ordinary English phrases, transport them to New Brunswick, and slip them aboard some fast schooner. The captain of this vessel would receive three hundred dollars a head for landing his passengers safely here and there at lonely points on the New England coast, whence they could make their way undetected to their friends in the large cities. Thus were the exclusion laws of the United States set at naught.

The destruction of the schooner had made it necessary for her passengers to be landed somewhere as secretly and as quickly as possible. Twenty men at three hundred dollars a head meant six thousand dollars. That explained the anxiety of the six white men to reach the mainland that night. They were criminals, breaking their country's laws for money.

Jim decided that they should never make use of the Barracouta.

The spokesman dropped his conciliatory mask and turned away defiantly.

"All right, young fellow! You've had your say; now we'll have ours."

"Throppy," said Jim in a low tone to Stevens, who was standing with Lane beside him, "these men are smugglers. Call the cutter!"

He had time for nothing more. As Stevens slipped quietly back into the cabin there was an angry outburst among the group on the beach.

"I've done my best, Cap," protested a voice. "He won't listen to reason. Now take that rag off your face and handle this thing yourself. It's up to you."

There was a sudden rush of enraged men toward Lane and Spurling. As they came, two wrenched the handkerchiefs from their faces, revealing to the astounded boys the features of the would-be sheep-thieves of the first of the summer, Dolph and Captain Bart Brittler!

The latter was white with rage. His voice rose almost to a screech.

"No more fooling! We need that sloop and we're going to have her! Will you sell her?"

"No."

"Then we'll take her!"

Brittler's hand shot into his pocket as if for a revolver.

"Stop there, Cap!" warned Dolph's voice. "No gun-play! 'Tisn't necessary. We can handle 'em."

He flung himself suddenly on Spurling; another man leaped upon Lane. Though taken completely by surprise and almost hurled backward, Jim quickly recovered his balance. A sledge-hammer blow from Dolph's fist grazed his jaw as he sprang aside. He returned it with interest, his right going true to its mark; down went Dolph, as if hit by a pile-driver. He lay for a moment, stunned.

Strong and active though Jim was, he could not bear the brunt of the entire battle. Lane's assailant had proved too much for him; they were struggling together on the gravel, the older man on top. Percy and Filippo came running; but their aid counted for little. A stocky smuggler turned toward them. A single blow from his fist sent the Italian reeling. Percy lasted longer; but his skill was no match for the brute strength of his foe. His lighter blows only stung his antagonist to fiercer efforts. Little by little the boy's strength failed and his breath came harder. He slipped on a smooth stone; with a sudden rush his foe pinioned his arms and held him struggling.