Wilson pulled off his overcoat and thumped it energetically, beat his slouch hat on the table, wiped his face with his handkerchief, and having thus made a little improvement in his personal appearance, he hurried out into the hall to look for his gun, which he had laid at the foot of the ladder before entering the room. He did not expect to recover it, and consequently was not much disappointed when he found that it was gone. Knowing that Coulte or Pierre had taken charge of the weapon, he did not waste time in looking for it. He stopped long enough to shake his fist at the woods where the two men had disappeared, and to utter the fervent hope that the thief would be knocked heels overhead by the gun the first time he fired it; and then jumping down the steps drew a bee-line across the clearing toward the canebrake where he had left his horse. He carried his coats on his arm, ready to drop them and put himself in light running order in case he saw Pierre or Bayard Bell and his cousins approaching; and not until he reached the cover of the woods did he regard his escape as accomplished. He found the horses near the place where he had camped the night before, and when he had saddled and bridled both of them, he mounted his own steed and rode off at a gallop, followed by Chase’s nag, which kept close behind. Taking the shortest course to Mr. Gaylord’s house, which lay through the thickest part of the woods, he went at a break-neck pace, leaping his horse over logs and fences, dashing through thickets of briers and cane that seemed almost impassable, and came at last to the bayou on the banks of which he had halted with his companions the day before to eat his lunch. As he turned down the stream toward the ford, his attention was attracted by a commotion in the bushes on the opposite shore, and in a few seconds Walter Gaylord and Phil Perkins dashed into view. They pulled up their horses when they discovered Wilson, and after gazing at his black face and hands for a moment, Perk called out:

“Now just listen to me and I’ll ask you a question; have you turned chimney-sweep?”

“No,” replied Wilson. “I’ve been in a chimney; but I didn’t stop to sweep it out. I’d like to talk to you fellows a few minutes.” He had been impatient to find Walter and his friends, but now that he was in their presence he wished that the interview might have been postponed a little longer. He did not feel at all uneasy concerning the reception he was likely to meet at their hands, for he knew that they were young gentlemen, and above taking a cowardly revenge on any one; but he was ashamed of the manner in which he had conducted himself toward them, and did not want to be obliged to look them in the face.

“Well, here we are,” replied Walter. “What have you got to tell us? Have you seen anything of Featherweight?”

“No—that is—yes; I have heard of him. I have a long story to tell you, and there are some things in it that will astonish you. I hope you don’t bear me any ill will for what happened yesterday, and for the other mean tricks I have done you?”

“No, we don’t,” replied Walter readily.

“Now I’ll just tell you what’s a fact,” chimed in Perk; “we’ve got nothing against you or any of your crowd; and if you will only be friendly with us, we’ll meet your advances half way.”

The boys turned their horses’ heads down the stream, and when they reached the ford Walter and Perk crossed over to Wilson’s side, and, to show that they meant all they had said, shook hands with him as heartily as though they had always been on the most friendly terms. Their manner put Wilson at his ease at once; and without any preliminary words he began and told the story of the adventures that had befallen him during the last twenty-four hours. To repeat what he said would be to write a good portion of “The Sportsman’s Club in the Saddle” over again. He did not know where Featherweight was, for he had not seen him; and neither could he tell what had happened to Chase, for during the short time that they were besieged in Coulte’s house, he had not been allowed an opportunity to talk to him; but he remembered the hint his companion had given him of Featherweight’s condition, and repeated his words to Walter and Perk.

“I have not the least idea where you ought to go to find Fred,” said Wilson, in conclusion; “but this much I do know—that he is in a terrible scrape, and that he is on board some vessel. Chase knows all about him, for he has seen him and talked with him. Now, my advice, if you will allow me to offer it, is this: assist me in rescuing Chase, and he will tell you where to find Fred Craven; and, more than that, he and I will stand by you through thick and thin, and do all we can to help you. What do you say?”

Walter and Perk did not say anything immediately, for they were so astonished at the story they had heard that it was a long time before they could speak. They could hardly believe it possible that all the events that Wilson had described had taken place in their immediate neighborhood, and that, too, without their knowledge; and they would have been still more amazed if they had known that only a part of the story had been told them. What would they have thought if they had known that Mr. Bell was the leader of the smugglers of whom Walter had read in the paper the day before; that his vessel was hidden in a little cove not more than two miles from the place where they were then standing; that Featherweight was stowed away in the hold, waiting to be carried to Cuba; and that when he arrived there he was to be shipped as a foremast hand on board a strange vessel and sent off to Mexico?

“Isn’t it the strangest thing in the world that Chase should have been mistaken for me?” cried Walter, as soon as he could speak. “Of course we’ll stand by him. How shall we go to work? Suggest something, one of you.”

“Now, just listen to me a minute and I’ll tell you what I would do,” exclaimed Perk. “Wilson, you said that Coulte is going to take Chase down the bayou in the pirogue, didn’t you? Well, let’s go home and get the Banner, and be ready to catch him when he comes out.”

“Perhaps he wouldn’t stop when we told him to,” said Wilson.

“We’d make him. We’d run over the pirogue and sink her. He’d stop then, wouldn’t he?”

“But we’d waste too much time in following that course,” said Walter. “We’re six miles from home, and it would take two hours to go there and get the Banner under way. By that time it would be pitch dark. It is forty miles to the village, and ten more along the coast to the bayou, so that we would have to run fifty miles while the pirogue was running about one fifth as far. Another thing,” added Walter, looking up at the clouds, “it’s going to be a bad night, and I don’t care to trust my yacht outside in a gale.”

Walter was in earnest when he said this, and it would have been hard work for any one to have made him believe that he was destined to spend, not only the greater portion of that night, but the whole of the succeeding week on the Gulf, while the wind was blowing, the sleet flying, and the waves running as high as his mast-head. But he did it.

“I think the best plan would be,” he continued, “to ride at once for the bayou and cut a tree across it—you know that the stream is very narrow for a long distance above its mouth—so that Coulte can’t sail out with the pirogue. If we can keep him in the swamp until morning, we can get help and capture him. What do you think of that, Wilson?”

“I like your plan the best,” was the reply. “We need not go a step out of our way for an axe, for we can get one at Coulte’s house.”

While the boys were discussing the matter, the clear, ringing blast of a hunting-horn echoed through the woods. Perk sounded his own horn in reply, and presently Eugene and Bab galloped up. Their appearance was most opportune, and saved Walter the trouble of riding in search of them. They were surprised to see Wilson—they were obliged to take two looks at him before they recognised him—and Eugene at first scowled at him, and acted very much as though he would like to settle up some of the little accounts he held against him; but when Walter, after telling him that he had brought news of Featherweight, repeated the story of his adventures, and described the plan they had just decided upon, Eugene changed his mind, and extended a most cordial greeting to Wilson, in which he was joined by Bab.

Of course there were a thousand and one questions to be asked and answered, and during the ride to the bayou the Club kept Wilson talking continually. They compelled him to tell his story over and over again, and each time expressed their astonishment and indignation in no measured terms. They all gave it as their opinion that Featherweight had somehow managed to fall into the hands of the smugglers, and that he was detained by them: but, of course, they could not determine upon any plans for his release until they knew where he was confined, and that could not be ascertained until they had rescued Chase.

In half an hour the boys reached Coulte’s plantation, and after reconnoitering the premises to make sure that none of the family had returned, they dismounted in front of the porch and went into the house to secure the axe, and to look at the room in which Chase and Wilson had been besieged. Everything in and about the apartment—the shattered door, the hole in the floor of the loft, the broken furniture, the empty shelves in the cupboard, and the huge cakes of mud in the fire-place, which Wilson had knocked off while he was coming out of the chimney, bore testimony to the truthfulness of his story. The members of the Club were interested in everything they saw, and would have overwhelmed Wilson with questions, had not Walter reminded them that the longer they lingered, the longer they would be separated from Featherweight. The mention of the secretary’s name brought them to their saddles again; and in a few minutes more they had left the old Frenchman’s house behind them, and were galloping through the woods toward the bayou.

CHAPTER XIII.
PERK TAKES A BATH.

As soon as they had left the clearing, Walter, who led the way and acted as commander of the expedition, changed his course, and instead of going directly toward the bayou, held his way through the woods parallel with the stream, and about a mile distant from it. He was afraid that if he and his companions followed the bank of the bayou they might stumble upon Coulte before they knew it, and he hoped by this course to avoid meeting him altogether. Their object was to get ahead of him, and reach the mouth of the bayou first, and that, too, without giving the old Frenchman any reason to believe that he was pursued. If the latter knew that there was some one on his trail, he might remain in the swamp, or try to reach the Gulf by some other route; in which case they would lose the opportunity of rescuing Chase.

For the next ten miles the boys rode at a full gallop, and never once drew rein until they arrived on the bank of the bayou about a mile above its mouth. This was the narrowest part of the stream, and they had selected it as the best point at which to intercept the pirogue; but, to their great delight, they found that the wind had anticipated their designs, and that it would not be necessary to use their axe at all. A large poplar, which leaned over the bayou, having been uprooted, had fallen into the water, the top resting near one shore and the butt on the other. If they had felled the tree themselves they could not have placed it in a better position for blockading the bayou. It lay so close to the surface of the water that the smallest canoe could not go under it, and was so high that a vessel of the size of the pirogue could not be easily dragged over it. The only way that Coulte could pass would be to take the pirogue ashore and carry it around the obstruction; but that was a thing that Walter and his friends did not intend to allow him to do. He did do it, however, and not one of the Club made the least effort to prevent him.

The boys dismounted near the tree, and Perk, after hitching his horse, sprang upon it and walked out over the water to see if he could discover any signs of the pirogue. It was already dark—so dark that he was obliged to exercise considerable caution in moving along the log. The trees threw a deep shade into the water on each side of the bayou; but there was a bright streak in the middle, extending up and down the stream as far as his eyes could reach, and Perk was certain that he saw something in it. He listened, and distinctly heard a rushing sound such as a boat makes when passing rapidly through the water. He was all excitement in a moment.

“Keep close there, fellows,” he whispered, addressing himself to his companions on the bank. “We’re just in time. They’re coming as sure as the world. And like a steamboat, too,” he added, mentally. “I hope they will strike the tree and smash their old pirogue into kindling-wood.”

Perk being afraid to return to the bank lest he should be discovered by the men in the pirogue, stretched himself out at full length on the log and kept his eyes fastened on the approaching vessel. In a few seconds she began to loom up more distinctly through the darkness, and Perk was astonished at the amount of canvas she carried and the manner in which she was handled. Her huge sail extended up into the air until it seemed to reach above the tops of the trees, and, although Pierre and Coulte had seated themselves as far back in the stern-sheets as they could get, her bow, instead of riding gracefully over the waves, was forced down into them by every gust of wind that filled the canvas. It was plain that Coulte and his son were in a great hurry, and that they thought more of speed than they did of their own comfort or the safety of the vessel.

“They’ve more faith in that old tub than I would have if I was in her,” soliloquized Perk. “If she labors so badly here in the bayou, where the water is comparatively smooth, and the wind hasn’t half a chance at her, what would she do if she was out in the Gulf? But she’ll never get out there. She’s going to smash herself into a million pieces.”

The boys on the bank, who had by this time discovered the pirogue, thought so, too. She continued to approach the log at almost railroad speed, and Perk held his breath in suspense, and even clasped his arms around the tree as if he feared that the concussion might knock him off into the water; but Pierre, who handled the helm, was on the watch, and when the pirogue had arrived within ten feet of the obstruction, he discovered the danger and with one sweep of his arm escaped it.

“Whew!” whistled Coulte, clenching his teeth tightly on the stem of his never-failing pipe, and holding fast to the stern-sheets with both hands; “somedings wrong again!”

“Yes, of course there is,” replied Pierre. “Haven’t things been going wrong with us ever since we began to meddle with this business? Here’s a log extending clear across the bayou, and I came within an inch of running into it. We’ll have to go ashore and pull the boat around it.”

While this conversation was going on the pirogue, which had been thrown up into the wind, was drifting down the stream broadside on, and now brought up against the log directly in front of the place where Perk lay. Coulte and his son both saw him there, but did not take a second look at him, supposing him to be a huge knot on the body of the tree. While Perk was waiting to be discovered, and expecting it every moment, a brilliant idea occurred to him. He looked over into the pirogue, which was bobbing up and down with the waves scarcely two feet from him, and just then a figure, which was stretched out in the stern of the boat, raised itself to a sitting posture and said, in a frightened voice:

“I hope there is no danger. Remember that I am tied hand and foot, and that if we are capsized I can’t swim a stroke.”

“Lie down, and hold your tongue,” replied Pierre, savagely. “Small loss it will be to us or anybody else, if you do go to the bottom!”

In obedience to Pierre’s order Chase—for it was he who spoke—tried to lie down again, and was a good deal astonished to find that he could not do it. A pair of arms were suddenly thrust out of the darkness, strong fingers fastened into his collar, and in a twinkling Chase found himself lifted bodily out of the pirogue and thrown across the log. He looked up and saw a dark form kneeling beside him, which quickly jumped to its feet and catching him up in its arms, started with him toward the bank. It was Perk, who highly elated with the exploit he had performed, called out to his companions on shore:

“Now just listen to me a moment, and I’ll tell you what’s a fact: I’ve got him.”

It was so dark that Walter and his friends could not see what was going on at the middle of the bayou. They were at a loss to determine whether Perk had got hold of Chase, or Coulte, or Pierre; but knowing by the tones of his voice that he was highly excited over something, they sprang upon the log and ran toward him. “Hold fast to him, whoever he is,” cried Walter. “We’re coming.”

“I’ll do it,” replied Perk. “I’ve got him, as sure as I am an inch high.”

“Have you?” exclaimed a gruff voice. “Then bring him back here and give him to me.”

There was a shuffling of feet and other indications of a brief struggle on the log, and angry exclamations from Perk, two or three savage blows that were plainly heard by the boys on the bank, and then a loud splashing in the water, followed by a hoarse, gurgling sound, as if some one was gasping for breath. The boys stood transfixed with horror, fully aware that a desperate fight was going on before them in the darkness, but not knowing which way to turn or what to do to assist their friend. The rapidity with which this state of affairs had been brought about utterly bewildered them, and for a moment they stood speechless and motionless.

“Don’t desert me, Perk,” cried Chase, his voice coming from the water. “I am helpless.”

“Never fear,” was Perk’s encouraging reply. “It isn’t my style to desert a fellow when he’s in trouble. Let go his collar, Coulte, or I’ll pull you overboard.”

“Whew! Whew! Everydings is going wrong again,” exclaimed the old Frenchman; and the boys knew from the tones of his voice and the manner in which he spoke that he was struggling desperately with some one. “Ah! oui! everydings. Leave go, Meester Perkins.”

“Now just listen to me a moment and I’ll tell you what is a fact: let go yourself, or come out of that boat.”

“Take that! and that!” shouted Pierre; and then came the sound of heavy blows on the water and a cry of distress from Perk.

All these things happened in much less time than we have taken to describe them. It was probably not more than half a minute from the time that Perk lifted Chase out of the boat until the fight was over, but during that time his triumph had been turned into utter defeat. When Walter and his friends reached the middle of the log the pirogue had disappeared, and there was no one in sight.

Perk had begun to exult over his victory a little too soon. His plan for releasing Chase was a bold one, and the suddenness with which it was carried into execution struck both Pierre and his father dumb with astonishment. They saw the object, which they imagined to be a knot on the tree, spring into life and action, seize their prisoner by his collar and pull him out of the boat, and they never made a move to prevent it. It was not until they heard the sound of Perk’s voice and saw him jump to his feet and run along the log toward the bank, that they seemed to realize what was going on. Then Pierre aroused himself, and after a short fight, during which he received one or two blows from the boy’s hard fist that made him see stars, succeeded in catching him by the ankle and pulling him off the log.

Perk’s sudden immersion in the cold water almost took his breath away, and made him feel for a moment as if every drop of blood in his body had been turned into ice; still he retained his presence of mind and all his courage, and as soon as he arose to the surface, he caught the helpless Chase by the collar, and lifting his head above the water struck out for shore. But Coulte had by this time recovered himself, and he, too, seized Chase and held fast to him. Both boys struggled hard to break his hold, but finding that the old Frenchman hung on like grim death, Perk laid hold of his hair and exerted all his strength to drag him overboard—an undertaking that he would have quickly accomplished had not Pierre snatched up an oar and struck him a severe blow with it. That did the business for Perk. With a cry of pain he released his hold of Chase’s collar, and, as he sank slowly out of sight in the water, Coulte pulled his prisoner into the boat, while Pierre seized the helm and pulled away for the opposite side of the bayou.

“Where are you, Perk?” shouted Walter, running up and down the log, and looking in vain for his friend. “Sing out.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed Wilson, pointing to a dark object which just at that moment arose from under the log, and floated slowly down the stream.

“It’s a head!” cried Bab, with blanched cheeks.

“And Perk’s head, too!” gasped Eugene. “I would know that long black hair of his anywhere.”

Fortunately, Walter was not in the least excited or dismayed; if he had been, Perk might have drifted on down the stream, and sunk for good before any effort was made to assist him. While the others stood with their necks outstretched, their mouths wide open, and their eyes almost starting from their sockets, staring hard at the object in the water, and wondering if it was really a human head, or only a piece of driftwood, Walter had hurriedly divested himself of both his coats, kicked off his boots, and taken a header from the log. The object was still bobbing about in the waves, and floating slowly down the stream, and a few swift strokes brought Walter close up to it. It was Perk’s head, sure enough. The brave young fellow was struggling feebly, but with a very poor prospect of extricating himself from his dangerous situation, for the blow that Pierre dealt him had taken away all his strength, and his heavy clothing, which hung upon him like so many pounds of iron, weighed him down in the water until nothing but the top of his head could be seen above the surface.

Walter was quick in his movements, knowing that there was not an instant to be lost, but cautious also. Having learned by experience that it is a dangerous piece of business to trust one’s self within reach of a drowning person, he swam up behind his friend, and, watching his opportunity, seized him by the back of the neck, lifted his head above the water, and held him off at arm’s length. Perk kicked and thrashed about wonderfully, beating the water into foam, making blind clutches at the empty air, and trying hard to turn about, so that he could take hold of Walter; but the latter held his arm as stiff as an iron bar, and having secured a firm hold of Perk’s long hair, he compelled the latter to keep his back toward him, and held him in that position while he carried him toward the shore.

In the mean time the old Frenchman and his son were not idle. Taking advantage of the confusion that prevailed among the Club, they filled away for the shore, took down the sail, dragged the boat around the obstruction, launched it again on the other side, and resumed their voyage toward the Gulf—Pierre expressing great astonishment at the whole transaction, and swearing lustily at the delay that had been occasioned, and at the wind which continued to increase in fury as night came on; Coulte wondering at the recklessness Perk had displayed in attacking them single-handed, and feeling his head, which still ached from the effects of the strong pulls the boy had given at his hair; and Chase, encouraging himself one moment with the hope of a speedy rescue, and the next holding his breath in dismay, when he thought of the dangers yet to be encountered.

Poor Chase was in a miserable condition. His hands and feet were still bound, his clothes were dripping with water that was almost cold enough to freeze, and he was exposed to the full force of the wind, every gust of which seemed to cut him to the bone. But, after all, he did not mind this so much as he did the voyage into the Gulf, which, unless something happened to prevent it, would be commenced in less than ten minutes. Suppose the boat should go down, what chance had he for his life? He tried to induce his captors to release him, assuring them that there was no possible chance for him to escape now that they were so far from the shore; but not only did they refuse to grant his request, but they would not even permit him to see what was going on around him. As soon as the pirogue was once more fairly under way, Coulte forced him to lie down on the bottom of the boat, and threw a blanket over his head. This, in some measure, protected him from the wind and the spray, but he would much rather have been exposed to the full fury of the gale, if he had only been allowed the free use of his eyes. To be blindfolded, so that he could not see when danger approached, was positive torture to him.

The journey to the island was by this time fairly begun, and it continued four long hours. The wind blew even harder on the Gulf than Chase had imagined, the waves rolled higher, and the voyage was quite as perilous as he had expected it would be. Nothing but the greatest skill and the most watchful care on Pierre’s part, kept the pirogue right-side up. He had his hands full in minding the helm, and Coulte had as much as he could do to bail out the water as fast as it came in. It began to gain at last, and Chase was glad of it, for it was the means of securing his release.

“Whew! I don’t can shtand dis no longer,” panted the old Frenchman, after he had used his bucket until every bone in his old body ached with fatigue. “Meester Shase must help, or we goes to ze bottom.”

“Untie him then,” growled his son. “I guess there’s no danger now that he will jump overboard and swim ashore.”

The pirogue was rolling and pitching in the most alarming manner, and Coulte, not having his sea-legs on, found it a matter of some difficulty to work his way back to the stern where Chase was lying. During the time that he was employed in freeing the prisoner’s hands and feet, short as it was, the water gained rapidly; and when Chase sprang up and seized the bucket, it was almost knee deep in the bottom of the pirogue.

As soon as Chase found himself at liberty his courage all returned. Having been brought up on board a yacht, like all the rest of the Bellville boys, he was not very much afraid of a gale, although he could not help being appalled at the scene that was now presented to his gaze. The sky was clearing up a little to windward, and there was light enough for him to see that the water was in a frightful commotion. One moment the pirogue would be riding on the top of a wave, which to a landsman would have looked as high as a mountain; the next she would sink down into an abyss that appeared to be almost bottomless, and the huge billows would come rolling after her, seemingly on the point of engulfing her every instant. Chase looked at the waves and then at his captors to see what they thought about it, and he was satisfied that if they could have put the boat about without danger of swamping her, and gone back to the shore, they would have done it gladly. She was now running before the wind, and consequently was comparatively safe; but an attempt on the part of her crew to bring her about and to beat back to the main land, would have resulted in her destruction. She must go on, for she could not turn back. Pierre and Coulte both knew that as well as Chase did. The old Frenchman was literally shaking with terror, while Pierre was as white as a sheet.

When Chase had noted these things, he went to work with his bucket, and for two hours scarcely paused to take breath. At the end of that time Pierre began to keep a sharp lookout in front of him, knowing that if he had not missed his course he ought to be somewhere near the island. Presently Chase discovered it looming up through the darkness, looking a thousand-fold more gloomy and uninviting than it had ever before appeared in his eyes, and then he too began to be uneasy, lest the pirogue should be dashed upon the beach and broken in pieces by the surf. But the good fortune that had attended them during the voyage had not yet deserted them, and in spite of the wind and the waves Pierre succeeded in piloting the boat between two high points, and running her ashore in a little cove where she was effectually protected from the fury of the gale.

CHAPTER XIV.
CHASE TURNS THE TABLES.

When Chase, who was the first to spring ashore, had drawn the bow of the pirogue out of the water, he took a turn up and down the beach and looked about him. This was not the first time he had visited the island. He had often been there in company with Wilson and Bayard Bell and his cousins, and he knew every tree and stump on it. It was a favorite shooting and fishing ground of his, and he thought it a fine place to camp out for a night or two; but he had never wanted to live there. He was thinking busily while he was walking up and down the beach, and revolving something in his mind that made his heart beat a trifle faster than usual. He did not want to remain there alone, and he was determined that he would not. He would return to the village if he could that very night; but if he was obliged to stay, Coulte and Pierre should stay with him.

The cove in which the pirogue landed, and which was large enough to receive and shelter a vessel of a hundred tons burden, was surrounded on three sides by a high bluff thickly covered with bushes from base to summit. In these bluffs were two or three caves in which cooking-utensils, old-fashioned weapons, and rusty pieces of money had been found, giving rise to the supposition that the island had at one time been the harboring-place of the noted Lafitte. The story-tellers of the village declared that some thrilling scenes had been enacted there. Whether or not this was true we cannot tell; but this we do know: that before Chase set his foot on the mainland again, he saw as much excitement and adventure there as he wanted, and even more than enough to satisfy him.

“Well,” exclaimed Pierre, who seemed to be greatly relieved to find himself on solid ground once more, “we did it, didn’t we? We’re here at last.”

“I’d rather be somewhere else,” replied Chase. “Do you know, Pierre, that I shall be hard up for bread while I stay here? The corn-meal in that bag is thoroughly soaked with salt water.”

“The bacon is all right,” returned Pierre. “When you got tired of living on that you can catch a wild duck.”

“By putting salt on its tail, I suppose,” interrupted Chase. “I don’t see how else I am to catch it.”

“Take this lantern and axe and look around and find something to start a fire with,” continued Pierre. “We’ll have to stay here with you until the wind goes down, because we can’t beat up against it in the pirogue. Even if we could, I wouldn’t try it. I’ve seen enough of the Gulf for one night.”

“I believe you,” said Chase to himself. “If I can make things work to my satisfaction you’ll never sail that pirogue back to the village. As soon as you are asleep I’ll run her around under the lee of the island, and stay there until the wind goes down and the sea falls, and then I’ll fill away for home. If I can’t do that, I’ll take possession of the eatables, knock a hole in the pirogue, and get out of your way by intrenching myself in the ‘Kitchen.’ By doing that I can make prisoners of you and your father as effectually as though you were bound hand and foot.”

Chase was so highly elated over his plans for turning the tables upon his captors, and so sure that one or the other of them would operate successfully, that he allowed a smile to break over his face. Pierre saw it, and interpreted it rightly. It put an idea into his head, and he determined to watch Chase as closely now as he had done before.

“I want to ask you a question,” said Pierre, while Chase was trying to light the lantern with some damp matches Coulte had given him. “Did those fellows we had the fight with at the log know that we were going to take you to this island?”

“Of course they did; Wilson told them. He was there with them, because I heard his voice. They’ll come over here with an officer or two as soon as the wind dies away a little, and they will be looking for you as well as for me. What good will it do you now that you have brought me here? It seems to me that by doing it you have made your situation worse instead of better. You are prisoners here the same as I am.”

Chase knew by the expression which settled on his face that he had started a train of serious reflections in Pierre’s mind. Leaving him to follow them out at his leisure he picked up the lantern, shouldered the axe, and after looking about among the bushes for a few minutes, found a dry log from which he cut an armful of chips with which to start the fire. He worked industriously, and by the time that the old Frenchman and his son had unloaded the pirogue and hauled her out upon the beach, he had a roaring fire going, and a comfortable camp made behind a projecting point of one of the bluffs. He then returned to the canoe to bring up the blankets belonging to the outfit with which Pierre had provided him; and when he had spread them and his coats out in front of the fire to dry, he went to work to cook his supper and prepare his bed. Neither of these duties occupied a great deal of time. All he had in the way of eatables was the bacon, a few slices of which he cut off and laid upon the coals; and for a bed he scraped together a few armfuls of leaves, and deposited them at the roots of a wide-spreading beech which extended its limbs protectingly over the camping-ground. When Pierre and his father came up he was sitting before the fire in his shirt sleeves, turning his bacon with a sharp stick.

“What made you locate the camp so far away from the boat?” asked the former, looking suspiciously at his prisoner.

“Why, you don’t want to watch her all night, do you? I selected this point because it is sheltered from the wind. Don’t you think it a good idea? If you want any supper help yourselves; only touch that bacon lightly, for it is all I shall have to eat until I see home again.”

“What’s got into you all of a sudden?” asked Pierre, who could not understand why his prisoner, who had heretofore been so gloomy and disheartened, should suddenly appear to be much at his ease. “What trick are you up to?”

“I don’t know that I am particularly jolly—I feel much better than I did a few hours ago,” replied Chase. “I am dry and warm now; and another thing, I know that I shall not be obliged to stay here as long as I at first feared. I’ll be taken off before to-morrow night, and then you had better look out for me. I’ll show you—”

Chase was going on to say that he would show Pierre and his father, and Bayard Bell and every one else who had had a hand in his capture, that there was a law in the land, and that they could not waylay peaceable young fellows and shut them up in smuggling vessels and starve them and carry them off to desert islands with impunity; but Pierre glared at him so savagely that he thought it best to hold his peace.

Coulte and his son were not slow to follow the example set them by their captive. If one might judge by the numerous slices of bacon they cut off and laid upon the coals, the fright they had sustained during the voyage to the island had not injured their appetites in the least. They helped themselves most bountifully, and while their supper was cooking pulled off their coats, and spread the blankets and other articles that composed the cargo of the pirogue, in front of the fire to dry.

The meal was not as good as some Chase had eaten on that same island, but it served to satisfy the cravings of his hunger, and when the last piece of bacon had disappeared he spread one of his coats upon his bed of leaves, drew the blanket over him, thrust his feet out toward the fire and closed his eyes—but not to sleep. Tired, and almost exhausted, as he was, that was a thing that did not enter his head. He had better business on hand, and that was to watch Coulte and Pierre. They ate their bacon very deliberately, smoked two or three pipes of tobacco, and then arose and walked out on the beach. This movement was enough to arouse the suspicions of the prisoner, who, as soon as they were out of sight and hearing, sprang to his feet and looked around the point of the bluff to see what they were going to do.

“There’s one of my plans knocked into a cocked hat,” said Chase, as he watched the proceedings of the two men; “but I have another in reserve, and I know it will work. I am afraid I have done something to excite their suspicions.”

He certainly had. The smile that Pierre had seen on his face had made him alert and watchful, and he and his father thought it best to put it out of Chase’s power to leave the island without their knowledge. They went straight to the pirogue, and after turning it bottom upward, moved it close to a tree at the base of the bluff, and made it fast with a chain and padlock. Not satisfied with this, they carried the sail and oars into the bushes and concealed them there; and when they came out they shouldered their guns and returned to the camp. They looked at their prisoner as they walked past him, but he lay with a blanket over his head, apparently fast asleep.

Coulte and Pierre were ready to go to bed now, and the captive was quite willing that they should do so. They began snoring lustily almost as soon as they touched their blankets, but Chase, being cautious and crafty, and unwilling to endanger the success of his scheme by being too hasty, for a long time made no movement. Being convinced at last that they were really asleep, and not trying to deceive him, he threw the blanket off his head and slowly arose to his feet. His first move was to pull on his overcoat and boots; his next to secure possession of the meat and axe; and his third to light the lantern with a brand from the fire. He looked wishfully at the guns which Pierre and his father had taken care to put under their blankets before lying down, but he could not secure them without arousing one or the other of the men. However, it was some consolation to know that the weapons would be of very little use to their owners. They had not more than two or three charges of dry powder between them, for the large flask that Pierre carried had been thoroughly soaked during the voyage to the island.

Having lighted his lantern Chase rolled up his blankets and put them under his arm, picked up the meat, shouldered the axe, and, thus equipped, walked rapidly around the bluff toward the place where the pirogue lay. He spent some time in searching among the bushes for the sail, and having found it at last he pulled it out of its hiding-place, and bent his steps toward the interior of the island. After walking about a hundred yards he entered a little gulley, which seemed to run up the side of the bluff, and a short distance further on his progress was stopped by a perpendicular cliff, which arose to the height of forty or fifty feet. By the aid of his lantern he closely surveyed the face of this cliff, and having at last discovered some object of which he appeared to be in search, he rested the mast, which was rolled up in the canvas, against a projecting point of the cliff; and after making sure that the lower end was placed firmly on the ground so that it would not slip, he ran his arm through the ring in the lantern and began to climb up the sail. When he arrived at the top he pushed aside the bushes, disclosing to view a dark opening, which appeared to run back into the cliff. Thrusting his lantern into it he surveyed it suspiciously for a moment, as if half afraid to enter, and then clambered up and crept into the opening on his hands and knees. After working his way along a dark and narrow passage he found himself in a cave about twenty feet long and half as wide, which was known among the village boys as “The Kitchen”—so called from the fact that it was here that the cooking utensils had been found—and this Chase intended should be his hiding-place and his fortress as long as he remained on the island. It promised to answer his purpose admirably. It was so effectually concealed that a dozen men might have searched the island for a month without discovering it, and it could be easily defended in case of an attack. The bluff in which it was located was perpendicular on all sides, and the only way one could get into it was by making use of a ladder or pole, as Chase had done.

Chase raised his lantern above his head, and surveyed the cave with a smile of satisfaction. In one corner were the remains of a fire which he and his companions had built the last time they camped there, and over it was a narrow crevice extending to the tops of the bluff, and answering all the purposes of a window and chimney. In the opposite corner was a supply of wood sufficient to cook his meals for three or four days, and in another was a pile of leaves that had more than once served him for a bed. His camp was all ready for occupation, and he had nothing to do but to bring up the outfit he had left at the foot of the bluff. This required two journeys up and down the sail. He brought the meat first, the blankets next, and after stowing them away in the cave was ready to carry out the second and most dangerous part of his programme. He tied the lantern to the bushes at the mouth of the cave so that its rays would shine down into the gulley below, divested himself of his coat, and sliding down the sail to the ground, shouldered his axe and started back for the beach. He left the axe by the pirogue, and approached the camp on tip-toe to look at Coulte and his son. They were still sleeping soundly, and Chase, lingering long enough to shake his clenched hand at each of them, and to mutter something about their being astonished when they awoke in the morning, hurried back to the pirogue and caught up his axe. “Turn about is fair play, Pierre,” said he, as he swung the implement aloft. “You have had things all your own way this far, and now I’ll manage affairs for awhile. I’ll teach you to think twice before you tie a boy hand and foot again and take him to sea in a dugout.”

Whack! came the axe upon the pirogue, the force with which it was driven sinking it almost to the handle in the soft wood, and opening a wide seam along the whole length of the little vessel. Another blow and another followed; but just as he raised his axe for the fourth time he heard an exclamation of wonder, and looked up to see Pierre and Coulte standing at the foot of the bluff.

“Ah! whew!” exclaimed the latter, comprehending the state of affairs at once.

“Ah! oui!” replied Chase, exactly imitating the old Frenchman’s way of talking; “somedings is wrong again, and dis times it is somedings pooty bad. Whew!”

“What are you about there?” demanded Pierre.

“O, nothing,” answered Chase, bringing his axe down with greater force than before; “only I am tired of seeing this old boat lying around. You don’t want to use her any more, do you? You’ll go back to the village in style, you know. The people there think so much of you that they’ll send a yacht after you.”

Pierre uttered something that sounded very much like an oath, and came down the beach with all the speed he could command; but Chase, as active as a cat, darted into the woods and was half way up the gulley before the clumsy smuggler had taken a dozen steps. It was dark in the bushes, and the noise he made in running through them guided his enemies in the pursuit; but he succeeded in climbing up the sail, encumbered as he was with the axe, and pulled it up after him. He did not have time to remove the lantern before Coulte and Pierre came up. The former, as usual, expressed his astonishment and rage by loud whistles, while Pierre looked about for some means of ascending the bluff. Knowing himself to be in a safe position, Chase was disposed to be facetious.

“I say, Pierre,” he exclaimed; “what will you give me if I will pass the sail down to you? That’s the only way you can come up here, seeing that you have no axe to cut a pole with.”

“I’ll give you something you won’t like when I get my hands on you,” hissed Pierre, between his clenched teeth. “Come down from there.”

“Do you want me to come now, or will you wait till I do come? You won’t go back to the village to-morrow and leave me here all alone, will you? You’ll stay, like a good fellow, till the yacht comes, won’t you? If you want anything to eat in the mean time, you can catch a wild duck, you know.”

Pierre and his father were too angry to reply. They conversed a while in low tones, and then started down the gulley toward the beach. When they had disappeared, Chase blew out his lantern, and sitting down in the mouth of the cave with his axe in his hand, waited to see what they were going to do.

While these events were transpiring on the island, others, in which Chase would have been deeply interested could he have been made acquainted with them, were taking place on the main shore.

We left the Sportsman’s Club in great confusion. They saw the pirogue when she filled away for the mouth of the bayou, but they were too deeply interested in Perk’s welfare to pay any attention to her. The latter was in good hands, and before the pirogue was fairly out of sight he was safely landed on the bank, where he lay gasping for breath and almost benumbed with the cold.

“Start a fire, somebody,” exclaimed Walter, as soon as he had dragged his friend out of the water; “and the rest of you come here and help me rub some life into this fellow. Pierre shall suffer for this.”

When Walter uttered these words he uttered the sentiments of the entire party. Perk was a favorite with them all—even Wilson liked him now, after his daring attempt to rescue Chase—and they did not intend to see him abused. They worked for him like troopers—Wilson and Eugene kindling a fire, and the others stripping off his clothes and rubbing him with all their might. Fortunately there was not much the matter with him. The blow he had received was not serious, and after he had been relieved of his wet clothing and stretched out on a pile of overcoats before a roaring fire, he began to recover himself. The boys considered it a good sign when he cried out that he was all right, but kept on chafing him most unmercifully until they had got him on his feet.

The next thing was to dress him warmly to prevent him from taking cold, and that was quickly done; each boy, with the exception of Walter, who was as wet as a drowned rat, readily surrendering up to him some portion of his own dry clothing. In half an hour Perk was himself again; and after giving his companions a vivid description of his fight with Pierre and Coulte, he inquired what was to be done now? “It isn’t too late yet to try the plan I proposed,” said he. “Let’s go home and get the Banner and Uncle Dick, and pursue them at once. We know that they are going to Lost Island, so of course it will be no trouble to find them.”

“I’m in for that,” shouted Eugene, who was always delighted with the idea of a cruise, no matter how bad the weather was. “Let’s take a vote on it.”

“We can stop at the village and tell Mr. Craven that Fred is missing,” said Bab.

“And I will have something to say to my father and Mr. Chase,” chimed in Wilson. “Of course some of them will accompany us, and, with their assistance, we can capture Coulte and Pierre, if we find them.”

“We’ll do that anyhow,” replied Eugene; “especially if Uncle Dick goes with us. He can manage them both. It’s just gay, outside, to-night. The white-caps are running, and we’ll have a chance to see how the Banner will behave in a gale. I wish Featherweight was here. He does so enjoy a sail when the water is rough.”

It was wonderful how the members of the Club missed the Secretary at every turn. They were very lonesome without him, and now that there was a prospect of their going on a cruise, they wanted him more than ever. He was the life of the Club at all times, and more particularly while they were on shipboard. He was fond of the water, and took to a boat as naturally as though he had been born on board of one. With the exception of Walter, who had no superior among boys of his age anywhere, he was the best sailor at the Academy, and so skilful was he that his friends used to say that he could make his yacht walk squarely into the wind’s eye. He was a wonderful fellow to carry sail, and would keep every inch of his canvas spread long after vessels larger than his own had begun to haul it down. This made the students afraid of him; and when the yacht-club was getting ready to go on its annual cruise, Featherweight sometimes found it hard work to raise a crew for his vessel. But, after all, he was fortunate, and always brought his yacht back to the village in just as good trim as she was when she went out. The Club, while regretting his absence, and telling one another that he was losing a great deal in not being there to accompany them on their cruise, little imagined that he was destined to feel as much of the Gulf-breeze that night as any of them.

“I can see that you are all in favor of Perk’s plan,” said Walter; “so there’s no need of taking a vote on it. Let’s put out the fire and be off. No lagging behind, now.”

The Club were fifteen miles from Mr. Gaylord’s house. For half the distance their course lay along a bridle-path which ran through the thickest part of the woods, and the deep shade cast by the trees made it so dark that they could not see their hands before them. The way was obstructed by logs and thickets of briers and canes, and the branches of the trees hung over the path, and struck them violently in the face as they passed. It was not a pleasant road to travel in the day-time, and still less so on a night like this, and with such a leader as Walter Gaylord, who was quite as dashing and reckless a rider as Featherweight was a sailor. He kept Tom in a full gallop, which he never once slackened until he bent from his saddle to open the gate that led into the carriage-way.

CHAPTER XV.
THE REVENUE CUTTER.

“Now fellows,” said Walter, as they rode along the carriage-way, “let’s divide the work, so that there may be no delay. Eugene, put the horses in the stable and feed them. Bab and Wilson, go down and pull the Banner out of the bayou, loosen the sails, and get everything ready for an immediate start. While you are doing that, Perk and I will go in and get on some dry clothing, and tell father and Uncle Dick what has happened. When we come down to the boat we’ll bring a couple of baskets of provisions with us.”

As soon as the boys reached the house they sprang from their saddles, and hurried off to perform the work assigned them. Ten minutes afterwards, when Walter and Perk, none the worse for their cold bath in the bayou, joined the rest of the Club on board the yacht, they found her all ready for sea. The hatches had been thrown open, the cabin unlocked, the binnacle lighted, the lamps hoisted at the catheads, the sails were loose and flapping in the wind, and the little vessel was held to the bank by a bow and stern line, both ends of which were made fast on deck so that they could be cast off without going ashore.

“Fellows, I am afraid that you have done all this work for nothing,” exclaimed Walter, as he and Perk sprang over the rail and deposited their baskets of provisions on deck. “Uncle Dick has not got back yet, and neither has father.”

The expression of disappointment that settled on the faces of the yacht’s crew, as well as the exclamations they uttered, showed that this was anything but a pleasant piece of news. Uncle Dick was just the man for the occasion. He would have entered heartily into their scheme—he was interested in everything his young friends did—and he would have carried it out successfully, too.

“They are still out looking for Featherweight,” continued Walter, “and haven’t been home since morning. I told mother where we are going and what we intend to do, and she says that when they return she will send them after us in the Lookout.”

The Lookout was Mr. Gaylord’s yacht. When the season closed she had been left at the village for repairs; and although the work on her was all completed, she had not yet been brought home. The boys would have been glad to make the cruise with her instead of the Banner, for she was a much swifter boat; but it required a crew of ten men to handle her, and that was a larger force than they could raise.

“Shall we wait for Uncle Dick, or go without him?” asked Walter, in conclusion.

“Let’s go now,” exclaimed Eugene. “There’s no knowing what we may lose by an hour’s delay. I’d as soon trust myself on the Gulf with you as with Uncle Dick.”

The other boys expressed the same unlimited confidence in their young commander, and urged an immediate departure; and Walter, who, like all modest young fellows, had a poor opinion of his abilities, turned to Perk, whom he had selected to act as his assistant, and rather reluctantly ordered him to get the yacht under way.

The members of the Club were in their element now, and if Featherweight had only been with them they would have been as happy as boys could well be. They loved their horses, and were quite at home in the saddle; but a staunch, swift vessel was what they most delighted in. The Banner suited them exactly. She was small—not more than one-fourth the size of the smuggling vessel—but she had been built under Walter’s own supervision, with an eye to comfort and safety rather than speed, and the boys knew that they could trust her anywhere.

In the forward part of the vessel, where the forecastle would have been located if she had had one, was the galley. It was a small apartment, of course, but it was well fitted up, and provided with everything in the shape of pots, pans, and kettles that any cook could possibly find use for. A door in one side of it opened directly into the cabin, which occupied the whole of the after-part of the vessel, no space being taken up with state-rooms. It was carpeted, and furnished with a small writing desk and chairs in abundance. Two lockers, one on each side, extended the whole length of it, and in them were stored away the hammocks in which the crew slept, the dishes, knives, forks and other things belonging to the table, and there was also plenty of space for the Club’s hunting and fishing accoutrements. The top and sides of the lockers were upholstered, and they were supplied with pillows so that they could be used as lounges or beds.

Under the hatchway, which opened into the cabin from the deck, was suspended a long, wide board, painted and varnished like the rest of the furniture. This was the table. When in use it was lowered into the cabin and kept in position—not by legs, like ordinary tables, but by polished iron rods which came down from the beams overhead. If that table could have found a tongue it would have told some interesting stories of the glorious times the Club and their friends had had while seated around it—of the quantities of roast duck, venison, oysters, catfish, quails, and other good cheer that had been placed upon it by old Sam, the cook, to be swept off by the hungry young yachtsmen; of the jokes that had been passed, and the funny things that had been said after the cloth was removed, and oranges, raisins, almonds and lemonade brought on; and of the speeches that had been made, the stories that had been told, and the hearty applauding blows that had been showered upon it by the Club as Featherweight finished singing one of his favorite songs. And not only the table, but everything else in the cabin was associated in the minds of the Club with some exciting cruise or some pleasing event. It was no wonder that they liked to be there, for a more cosy and comfortable apartment could not have been found anywhere.

In the hold of the schooner were stowed away the water-butts, the seven tons of stone-coal that served her for ballast, extra sails and ropes, two large anchors with cables complete, a chest of carpenter’s, calker’s, and sail-maker’s tools, an abundance of fuel for the galley—in fact everything that the little vessel could possibly need during a voyage could be found here. Walter, besides superintending the building of the yacht, had provided the outfit himself, and consequently there was nothing wanting. Everything was kept in the best order, too. There was never a rope out of place, or a drop of paint or grease on the deck. She was a model yacht. We have been thus particular in describing her because she is an old favorite of ours; and, as we shall have a good deal to say about her and her exploits, we want everybody to know how she looks.

“All hands stand by to get ship under way,” shouted Perk, repeating the order Walter had given him.

The boys sprang at the word, and in five minutes more the mainsail, foresail and jib had been run up, and the yacht began to careen as she felt the wind, as if impatient to be off. Eugene went to the wheel, Wilson and Bab cast off the lines, the Banner raised herself almost on her side, and taking a bone in her teeth, went tearing down the bayou at a terrific rate of speed.

“Now, I’ll tell you what’s a fact,” said Perk, pulling his collar up around his ears and moving back into the standing-room to get out of the reach of the spray which was dashing wildly about the bows, “this feels natural. It is perfectly delightful. Wouldn’t she stand a little more, Commodore—just an inch or two? We want to make good time, you know.”

Walter looked up at the masts and thought she would bear the topsails; but just as he was on the point of telling Perk that he might have them given to the wind, he recollected that Eugene was at the helm. Knowing that he was a very careless, and even reckless fellow, and that he would almost as soon carry away a mast or capsize the boat as to luff an inch, the young captain said he thought he would make the run with the canvas he had already hoisted.

“Well, then,” said Perk, “as the work is over until we reach the village, Eugene and I can sail her. You and Bab and Wilson consider it your watch below and turn in. I’ll call you when we come in sight of the wharf.”

Walter thought this good advice. He went down into the cabin and closing the door, thus shutting out all sounds of the wind and the waves, arranged a bed on the lee locker, and stretched himself upon it. Bab and Wilson came down one after the other, and before the yacht had left her anchorage a mile behind, all three were sleeping soundly. When Eugene came in to call them about one o’clock the lights on the wharf were in plain sight.

There was only one berth at the wharf in which a vessel could lie with safety during a high wind, and it was already occupied by a little schooner which was evidently getting ready to begin her voyage that night; for her crew were busily engaged in loading her. Walter would have been astonished had he know what consternation the sudden appearance of his yacht produced in the minds of at least three of that schooner’s company. A foremast hand, who was assisting another in rolling a hogshead of hams up the gang-plank, ceased his work the instant his eyes rested on her, and leaving his companion to himself, dived down into the hatchway. Two men who were walking up and down the quarter-deck, arm in arm—one dressed in broadcloth and the other in rough sailor garments—stopped and gazed at her with mouth and eyes wide open. They conversed a moment in low, hurried tones, and then the man in broadcloth beat a hasty retreat down the companion ladder; while the other pulled his tarpaulin down over his forehead, turned up the collar of his pea-jacket, and having by these movements concealed every portion of his face except his eyes and whiskers, thrust his hands into his pockets and sauntered up to the rail.

“Schooner ahoy!” shouted Walter, as the Banner dashed up.

“Hallo!” was the reply.

“I’d like to tie up alongside of you for about five minutes.”

“Can’t do it,” answered the master of the schooner, for such he was. “We’re going to sail immediately.”

“All right. When you are ready to start, I’ll get out of your way. Will you stand by to catch a line?”

The captain of the schooner, although he heartily wished the yacht a hundred miles away, could not well refuse to listen to so fair a proposition as this. He caught the line as it came whirling over his head, and made it fast on board his vessel; and in ten minutes more the Banner was lying alongside the schooner, and Walter and Wilson were walking up the street as fast as their legs could carry them—one to call on Mr. Craven, and the other to find his father and Mr. Chase. The rest of the Club remained on board to watch the yacht. Perk and Bab paced the deck, talking over the exciting events of the day, and wondering what else was in store for them, while Eugene clambered over the rail and went on board the schooner. He took his stand at the forehatch and looked down into the hold, where some of the crew were at work stowing away an assorted cargo, and the first thought that passed through his mind was, that for a vessel of her size she had very little capacity. What would he have thought if he had known that there was another hold under the one he was looking into; that it was filled with a variety of articles that had that very afternoon been brought from New Orleans in wagons, and which were to be smuggled into Cuba; and that in a dark corner among those articles Fred Craven lay, still bound as securely as he was when we last saw him? If Chase had been there he could have told some strange stories about that schooner; but as none of the crew of the yacht had ever seen her before (the reason was that she always left and entered port during the night), they took her for just what she appeared to be—a trader.

While Eugene stood looking down into the hold, the master of the schooner, a short, thick-set, ugly-looking man, with red whiskers and mustache, came swaggering up and tried to enter into conversation with him. He wanted to know whose yacht that was, what she had come there for, where she was going, why Walter and Wilson had been in such haste to get ashore, and asked a good many other questions that Eugene did not care to answer. He could see no reason why he should tell the man the Club’s business; and the latter, finding that he could get nothing out of him, turned on his heel and walked off.

In half an hour Walter and Wilson returned, accompanied by Mr. Chase and Mr. Craven. Wilson’s father was out of town, and consequently he had not seen him. They were overwhelmed with astonishment at the stories the boys had told them, and Eugene thought as he looked into Mr. Craven’s face and glanced at the butt of the navy revolver which protruded from the inside pocket of his coat, that he wouldn’t like to be in Pierre’s place if Fred’s father ever met him. They were impatient to get under way. They hurried across the deck of the schooner—passing directly over the head of one of the boys they were so anxious to find, and so close to him that he heard the sound of their footsteps—and springing over the yacht’s rail lent a hand in hoisting the sails, and obeyed Walter’s orders as readily as any of the crew. The master of the schooner saw them as they stepped upon the deck, and pulled his collar up closer around his face; and when the yacht veered around and filled away for the Gulf, he hurried below to talk to the man in broadcloth.

Under a jib and close-reefed main and foresail, the Banner made good weather of it when she reached the Gulf. She skimmed over the waves like a bird, and, guided by Bab’s careful hands, never shipped so much as a bucket of water. As the lights in the village began to fade away in the distance, other lights came into view in advance of them—a red and a green light. Then the boys knew that they were not alone on the Gulf, for those lights were suspended from the catheads of some approaching vessel. Like old sailors, they began to express their opinions concerning the stranger. She was a sailing-vessel, because if she were a steamer they would see the lights in her cabin windows. She was not bound to New Orleans, for she was not headed that way—she was coming toward them. She was going to the village, and was, most likely, some small trader like the one they had left at the wharf.

“Better keep away a little, Bab,” said Walter. “We don’t care to go too close to her in this wind.”

Bab altered the course of the yacht a point or two, and in a few minutes the position of the lights changed, showing that the vessel in front of them had altered her course also, and that she intended to pass close to the yacht whether her captain was willing or not. Believing from this that the stranger had something to say to him, Walter brought his trumpet out of the cabin and walked forward. The lights continued to approach, becoming more and more distinct every moment, and presently a trim little schooner hove in sight and came up into the wind within hailing distance. Walter also threw the yacht up into the wind, and waited for the stranger to make known his wants.

“Schooner ahoy!” came the hail out of the darkness.

“Ay, ay, Sir!” replied Walter through his trumpet.

“What schooner is that?”

“The yacht Banner, from Bellville, bound for Lost Island. What schooner is that?”

“We want to send a boat aboard of you,” shouted the voice, without replying to Walter’s question.

“Very good, sir. What schooner is that?”

Still no reply. The stranger evidently did not care to tell who and what she was. Walter was amazed at this want of courtesy, and wondering why a vessel that he had never seen before should want to send a boat aboard of him, sprang down from the rail and looked at the schooner through his night-glass. All he could make out was that her hull was long and narrow and sat low in the water, that her masts were tall and raking, that her sails looked much too large for her, and that taken altogether she was a very handsome vessel, and plainly a swift sailer. While Walter was looking at her, her boat came into view. It was crowded with men, and as it approached within the circle of light thrown out by the lanterns that Perk and Eugene held over the side, Walter saw that they were dressed in the uniform of the revenue cutter service, and that they were all armed. Even the two officers who sat in the stern-sheets wore their swords. Walter, more bewildered than ever, looked toward Mr. Craven for an explanation; but the blank look on that gentleman’s face showed that he did not understand the matter any better than Walter did. Before either of them could say a word, the revenue officer boarded the yacht, followed by some of their men—the former staring at Walter and his crew with an air of surprise, and the sailors looking all around as if expecting an attack from some quarter.