Front matter (continued 4)

The hunger pains had died away by the fourth day, but their thirst was terrible. A man may go for days upon water alone, but without it he can last only a short time under a warm sun. By keeping their bodies wet they eased themselves a little, but not much. The absorption through the skin was insufficient to do them much good. Time and again, they seemed to see a ship bearing down upon them and one or the other would cry out, but after a while they desisted. The sea was a heaving plain as far as the sight could reach, unbroken by a single object. The deep blue turned to a deeper steel-gray nearer the horizon in the calm, meeting the almost cloudless sky in a haze. There was no wind, but they must get away. To remain any longer on the house was to invite a terrible death. It might be the same thing in the boat, but they would at least feel that they were going somewhere, getting nearer to help and water.

It was water, always water. The liquid around them made the madness of thirst double. They had gazed down into the clear depths for hours, seeing visions of streams of fresh water, craving to plunge into them, the burning and all-consuming thirst in their throats waxing more and more intense. They had no longer any idea of hunger. The ship's bread they left untouched, for it was wet with salt water and the slightest bit of that liquid made them frantic. They could have just as well drunk pure alcohol.

Garfunkle was for starting off at once. He had become rational again, but his eyes held a certain light when they met the captain's that told of the madness in his brain. He always lowered them when Johnson looked at him, but he spoke always in a low, soft voice now, a sort of purring, and Johnson knew it was the purring of the famished tiger. Garfunkle was a big man and very powerful. He had risen to mate's berth as much by his physical abilities as mental. He was stripped to the waist, and his body, which he had kept wet, was burned to a bright red by the sun. The patch of hair on his broad chest showed in marked contrast to the surrounding skin. Johnson had kept his shirt on his back and saved himself the extra annoyance of the sun. He preferred to shiver a bit at night than to burn during the daytime.

When they had stepped the mast and made all ready for a start, they noticed some small fish swimming close to the edge of the float. The dorsal fin of a large shark lay twenty fathoms distant upon the surface of the sea, and they wondered at the carelessness of the fish who ignored it. They seemed quite tame, and Johnson took the piece of wood they had used to keep off the sharks, whittled the end into a fresh point and lay at full length upon the house, his idea being to spear a few of the small fry and take them along for food. He was quite weak and his brain was dizzy. The exertion of mending the boat was exhausting and he made many ineffectual attempts to strike the fish without looking up.

Suddenly he was aware of a feeling of danger. He turned and saw Garfunkle stealthily coming upon him with the upraised oar. There was a wild look in the mate's eyes, but he grinned when Johnson turned and began a soft speech, half incoherent. Johnson was lying down, but managed to draw the pistol he had kept in his belt. The mate smiled, put the oar back into the boat and suddenly shoved her clear of the house, springing into her and sitting down upon a thwart.

Johnson looked at him, dazed, half understanding, his brain reeling in the sunshine.

"Come back," he said calmly.

Garfunkle grinned at him and grasped the sheet, hauled it aft and put the oar over the stern for a rudder. There was no wind and the boat remained motionless. The mate began to scull away slowly.

"Come back," said Johnson in a low tone.

The mate turned his back upon him and as the boat's head payed off, kept her on her course to the westward.

"Come back," said Johnson again.

The boat drew slowly off. She was ten fathoms before Johnson realized that he was being deserted. Garfunkle sculled her slowly, the sail slatting with the roll of the sea.

Johnson still held the revolver. It came upon him suddenly that he was being left, that he was lost. The vision of the home ashore flashed before him, the green grass and white cottage, with his smiling wife and romping children. He was being left to die.

He drew the hammer of the revolver back and raised the weapon, letting the front sight stop full upon the middle of Garfunkle's back between the shoulders. He hesitated, and as he did so he remembered that the man had saved his life but a few days before. He would have drowned but for the rescuing grip which hauled him upon the house. He let the weapon sink until its muzzle touched the planks, and he put his left hand to his head to try to help his reeling brain to reason properly. No, he could not die. The vision of the home ashore came stronger to him. It was not for himself alone that he would live, but live he must, and would.

The sights of the pistol settled again upon the back of his mate. He was twenty fathoms distant and drifting slowly away. Johnson pressed the trigger.

The report jarred him. The puff of smoke disappeared at once into the air, and he saw Garfunkle look around and grin. Then the mate stood up, reeled, staggered, and plunged headlong overboard. He saw him no more.

Without waiting an instant Johnson swam toward the craft and managed to gain her. He had forgotten about the sharks, but nothing struck him. He took the oar the mate had dropped in the water alongside, and after he climbed aboard he trimmed the sheet and settled himself in the stern, making the oar fast in a becket. If he let go of it now he would not lose it. The sun was in the west and he headed away, steering as near as he could guess for the Bahamas.

The wrecking sloop Sea-Horse was coming along up the coast and the captain, Sanders, of Key West, noticed something floating upon the broad stretch of sea which looked like a small white boat. Boats were not met with so far off shore, and the object sat so low in the water and appeared without control that the skipper of the wrecker called his mate.

"What d'ye make of that, Bill?" said he, pointing to the white speck.

Bahama Bill, the huge negro diver and wrecker, looked long and intently at it.

"'Pears to me like it was er wrack, cap—what? Looks to be a stove-in boat, an' I reckon we might as well pick her up—maybe we kin fix her to be ob use wid a little paint and putty. Ennyways, we kin sell her to some dub in Miami en clar enough fo' de trouble—what yo' say, cap?"

"Oh, let her head up to it if you want to," said Sanders. "I don't like running out of my line when I'm in a hurry, but if you want her, get her. I reckon we might pass her off for a few dollars—stand by the main sheet."

"Ship's boat—yassir, dat's a ship's boat fo' shuah, cap," said the giant mate as the wrecking vessel drew nearer. "Must be some ob de wrack hereabouts—we better lay by en take a look eround, yassir."

"Let her luff a little," called Sanders to the man at the wheel. "Steady—so, let her go, jest so—steady—Good God! What—There's a man in her—"

"Stand by de jib sheet," roared Bahama Bill. "Yo' kin let her come to when yo' ready, sah—I'll stand by toe ketch him, sah."

The huge mate leaned far over the side of the Sea-Horse and with a mighty grip seized the floating small craft by the gunwale. She was half full of water, but he sprang into her and passed up her painter to a man on deck while the wrecking sloop plunged and bucked into the sea, her sails slatting and switching as she lay right in the wind. In a moment the mate had lifted the body and passed it aboard and the half-sunken small boat was dropped astern.

They poured water between his sun-baked lips and upon his swollen, livid tongue. In a few hours the corpse showed signs of life, but the blue-black face was motionless for days, and they had reached Jacksonville before the man's features relaxed enough for him to speak. He could not make himself understood, and it was three weeks later, when he was able to sit up in the cot at the seaman's hospital, before he could tell of his affair.

He was discharged as cured and went to his home. He had heard nothing from his wife and supposed she had heard nothing concerning him. When he entered the gate he noticed that all was silent about the place. A neighbour accosted him and asked who he was, but he was put out at the delay and refused to tell his business. Then the man told him how the news had come in that he had gone down in his ship nearly a month ago and that his wife had failed and died within a week.

He listened silently, and when the man finished he went into the house.

They found him dead that evening with a bullet-hole between the eyes.

"Crazy with grief," said the neighbours who knew his home life. The doctor who examined him thought differently.

"There is absolutely nothing abnormal about him," said the physician. "He looks like a man who has gotten tired out—clean exhausted with the futility of some great effort—look at his face."

X

On the Great Bahama Bank

Stormalong Journegan was a Conch, a native of the Bahamas. He stood six feet four inches upon his thin spindle-shanks, and it is doubtful if he ever weighed more than one hundred pounds; no, not even when soaking wet. He was thin.

He lit up for the night, wiped the bar free from the gin and bitters spilled there by a drunken customer, and then turned to survey his room, waiting for the whistle of the liner. It was the night the ship was due, the giant New York mail liner, ten thousand tons and not less than three hundred passengers. All of these would be thirsty, for the weather is always warm in Key West in the early spring.

Journegan was a "spouter." That is, he had been with a religious bunch of reefers, and he was free to make use of the Scriptures—too free entirely to suit the orthodox ecclesiastics of Key West. Over the sign of "The Cayo Huesso" the legend ran thus: "As it was in the beginning, it is now," showing that Journegan was not a reformer at all, but believed in the Bible and the true creed. And the worst of it all was that he was accurate in his quotations; not only accurate, but invincible and gifted with that terrible weapon—an unfailing memory.

"Why do you use such blasphemy?" asked a divine, shocked at the sign and its motto.

"I was taught that there creed by a better man than you, suh, and he said: 'As it ware in the beginning, it is now, an' ever shall be, world without end. Amen.' I heard ye say them same words onct when I 'tended meetin'. What ye got agin' 'em, hey?"

"Nothing at all—nothing at all."

"Then cl'ar out. Git erlong. Don't come makin' no trouble fer me. I don't ask ye to drink—git away."

"Yes, sir," went on Journegan, turning to an approaching customer. "It's the same now as it always ware—same as it ware in the beginning—always shall be just the same—human nature never changes, not at all. There'll always be the bad, and always be the good. The bad are the strong gone wrong. The good are the weak tryin' to make good; sometimes they're strong too, but very seldom. Strength and goodness don't go together except in rare cases, but when a good man's strong, he's sure nuff strong.

"Ye see, we've all got a livin' to make. We hire men to study religion for us and pay 'em to preach it out of pulpits—yes, sir, actually pay 'em to git up and preach about th' Gospel as if you or me couldn't read or write! What's the sense? What's the sense of paying a man for doing something you can do yourself just as well? If salvation depends on a fellow's ability to translate the Gospel, then it's a mighty poor Gospel for poor folk—but it don't. It's a good livin' they make preachin', and I for one don't take no offense at a feller chargin' for his talk; not that he knows any more than you or me—'cause he can't know a blame bit more—but we've all got to live, an' the feller what talks has to live, too. Let him live by talk. Let me live by sellin' things. I don't ask no favours, but I don't want no guy what jest talks an' talks fer money to come around an' bother me—that's all; yes, that's erbout all, I reckon."

You will see that Journegan was very popular with the strong men who worked and very unpopular with the men who preached.

"Your head is as long as your body," admitted Captain Smart, entering the gilded hall. "What you say goes, Stormalong—gimme a drink."

"Goin' to meet the ship?" asked Journegan.

"Yep, I'm goin' back in her if I get the chance," said Smart. "I've been on the beach here a week now. Dunn settled up his wrecking bill with that fellow 'Bahama Bill' and Captain Sanders and their gang, and that lets me out. I'm out a good berth. She was a fine yacht."

"'Twasn't your fault you lost her, I heard tell," said Journegan, with a leer.

"I did all I could," admitted Smart, "but I lost her, just the same. There is no excuse for the loser, you know."

"Yep, I knows well enough," said Journegan slowly, as if thinking over something. "'Peared to be leakin' badly all o' a sudden-like, hey?"

"Yes, started to leak during the blow, or just before it. A bit of hard luck you may say."

"Well, you'll know more about the reef if you stay here a while."

There was some strange meaning in Stormalong's tone, and it was not lost on Smart.

"You are the second man who has said something to that effect," said the seaman. "Now, what the devil do you mean by it?"

"Oh, nothing much. No use getting worked up by what I said. You don't know much about the ways of folk along the reef and bank. That's all—there goes the whistle of the liner."

A deep-toned siren roared out over the quiet waters of the reef, sounding far away to sea, and seemed to be coming from some distant point to the southward. Smart recognized it as the call of his ship, the ship he had left months before for the sake of a woman.

He drank off his liquor and started for the dock, making his way along the white roadway and joining the throng of Conchs who lazily walked toward the shore to see the great liner make her landing. She was a new ship, a ship of huge tonnage for a Southern liner, and it was a treat to watch her officers dock her. Slowly she came drifting in toward the land, her mighty engines sending the white coral water moving gently from her stern.

Her giant bows came near the landing. A tiny figure flung a filmy line through the air, a line so small in proportion to her great bulk that it seemed but a spider-web. But behind it followed a great hawser, and a dozen lazy black men hauled it ashore and threw the loop over a pile-end.

Then a shrill whistle sounded, and the deep rumble of the engines told of the backing strain. She swung alongside the wharf finally and made fast her stern and spring-lines. Then a gangway shot out, and the captain came quickly down, followed by a swarm of passengers.

As the ship was to stop only a half-hour at Key West, her commander had to make a quick clearance and entry, taking on some fifty passengers who were in the cigar business and who made Key West an important stop on that account. They were all through first-class to New York. Smart joined Captain Flanagan while he walked briskly toward the customhouse. The skipper shook his hand warmly, and asked how he came to be down there. Then followed the story of the wreck of a yacht, and the tale of an officer out of a berth, all of which Flanagan listened to with waning interest. The old, old story was uncommonly dull to him. He was powerless to do anything, and he spoke forth.

"It's no use of talking about it any more, Smart. You know the rules of the company as well as I do. You know there are other men waiting to step into berths, and when a man steps out like you did it's up to him to stay out and give the rest a chance. How would you like to have a man come back into a ship and block you for perhaps twenty years? No, it won't do, even if I could do it. You are out. Stay out, unless you want to start in again at the foot, as a third mate."

"No, I can't drop to that position at my age," said Smart sadly. "I'm holding a master's ticket, and if you can't take me on as a second at least, why, all right, I'll have to ship somewhere else."

"I'm mighty sorry, old man," said Flanagan, "but you know it's not my fault. It's the rules of the company, and if I took you on to New York you would be dropped as soon as we landed. I can give you a passage up, if you want it. Here's a key to the stateroom—take it."

"No, you don't. If I stay ashore, I stay right here. Don't worry about me. I'll try to make good. I know I was a fool, but sometimes we all play the fool. Good-bye, and good luck. How does the ship run?"

Flanagan was gone. The light of Stormalong's shone out brightly in the distance. Smart kept his eyes upon them for a long time, and wandered about the streets. The warning whistle of the liner blew for a farewell, and as the sound roared out upon the night the seaman turned away and went up the street.

II

Captain Smart was in a particularly uncomfortable mood. He had left the liner for a woman, a woman whom he desired and whom he thought worth any sacrifice. Later he discovered that she was selfish to the core. He had expected companionship, love, and sympathy. He had found cold, calculating animalism: a brutality all the more horrible for its refinement, for its servitude to wealth and position. Yes, she had told him plainly just how she felt about it, and had made it perfectly plain that she would mate only with some one who could place her in surroundings which she desired, not what she would get as the wife of a seaman, a captain of a ship. And he could not blame her. No, it was manifestly not her fault. It was the fault of the society in which she had been brought up. It had stifled the woman in her and developed the snob to an extent that would admit of no choice on the part of either.

He had seen his mistake, and the loss of the yacht upon which she was a guest had given him a chance to complete the affair, to get away from all the familiar surroundings. Now he was "on the beach."

"On the beach," to a sailor means without a ship and without money. Smart had neither ship nor money, but he had a strong constitution and high spirits, and the lights of Stormalong's were still burning brightly down the long, smooth road.

He entered and noticed that the tables were full. A company of men were playing cards at the farthest end of the saloon, and he made his way toward them. A game of poker always fascinated him, and he hung over the back of a player, watching his cards and noting the manner he threw away a high pair to fill a flush.

"Would ye like to set in?" asked Stormalong, who had come over to get an order for drinks.

"I wouldn't mind setting in for a short time," Smart nodded. "No all-night séance for me, and quit when you want to."

"Gents," began the saloon-keeper, "this is Captain Smart, of the schooner—ah, well, never mind that, hey? Well, Smart was chief officer of the ship just gone out. He's got the dough, and kin play a keard or two, if you give him a chance."

"Set right in here, cap," said a thick-set, sunburnt man whose calling was manifest in his face. "I'm a reefer, an' run a sponger, but I reckon I kin play with yer."

"You make five—just right for luck," was the greeting of another, a thin, eagle-nosed fellow who declared that his name was Smith—Wilson Smith.

A man with a thick growth of beard nodded to him across the board, and a squat, twinkling-eyed little fellow, with the hue of the tobacco factory upon him, held out his hand. "My name's Jacobs—traveller for the Garcias'—glad to meet you."

The cards were dealt round afresh, and Smart took up his hand. For some time nothing occurred to distract the attention of the players from the game, but gradually their talk and the clink of money as they made change attracted the crowd.

Smart was aware of a huge form just behind him, and, glancing up, he looked right into the face of Bahama Bill, the black mate of the wrecking-sloop Sea-Horse. A huge grin was upon the black man's ugly face, and he laid his enormous hand upon Smart's shoulder. "Huh, how yo' is, cap? Thought you'd gone away fo' sho. Stopped to teach 'em how toe play de game, huh? Yah, yah, ya-a-a!"

"Stormalong," broke in Wilson Smith, "I don't want to appear rude, but I draw the colour line sometimes, especially at keards. If the big nigger standing behind us will sit down or move along, it'll facilitate the game some."

Bahama Bill heard the remarks, but, being in a white man's saloon, he said nothing. He showed his teeth in a mirthless smile, a smile which boded no good for the man who had spoken and who was evidently a stranger to him.

Stormalong motioned to the wrecker to sit down, and Bill did so without comment. He was well known and fairly well liked, and his record allowed him some privileges which were not accorded to men of his race. Being part owner as well as mate of the wrecking-sloop made him a person of more or less note. Therefore Stormalong furnished him with unlimited rum, which he paid for from a wad of bills which made the observers gaze with surprise. Mr. Dunn, the owner of the yacht which Smart had lost, had been trimmed very cleanly. The salvage on her had been large for so small a vessel, owing to the valuable silverware, furnishings, and other fittings.

III

The game progressed slowly, but Wilson Smith began to win little by little. Smart suddenly found he held three aces. He raised the limit before drawing, and discarded two cards, hoping to draw another ace. Jacobs, the cigar man, came in, and Smith raised it one better, which Smart made good, the other two men dropping out.

Bahama Bill had drunk several glasses of rum by this time, and he again appeared to fix his attention upon the game, but not so as to attract attention, standing well back of all but keeping his eyes fixed in a steady gaze upon the thin-faced man's cards.

The cards were dealt, and Smart drew a pair of queens, filling, and thus holding a strong hand. Jacobs drew one card, and quietly slipped it into his hand. His face was emotionless, and he puffed lazily at his cigar, complacently cocked up at a high angle in his jaws. Smith drew four cards, and, after conning his hand carefully, bet a dollar.

Jacobs raised, and Captain Smart came upon him for the limit. Wilson Smith, to the surprise of all, raised back the limit. The cigar man was game, and came again. Smart holding an ace-full, could not, of course, let it pass him, so he again raised it.

"We all bein' so mighty peart about our hands—let's throw the limit off," suggested Smith.

"I'm more'n willin'," agreed Jacobs. "What d'ye say, cap?"

"I haven't much money"—Smart hesitated—"and just came in the game to pass the time, but if the rest are willing, I'll stay."

Wilson Smith looked around approvingly. "I'll make it fifty dollars better than what there's in it." He drew a cigar from his pocket and lit it with an easy air.

"I'll have to make it two hundred better," Jacobs protested grimly. "I hate to gamble, but I can't let a hand like this pass me."

"Oh, I haven't any money like that." Captain Smart's brows were raised in surprise. "Fifty is all I can show."

"Well, I'm sorry about that," said Jacobs. "Of course we'll give you a show, but the limit was put off on purpose to let us play keards."

Smart was aware of a heavy hand upon his shoulder. He turned, and found Bahama Bill standing close to him.

"Take dis hear, cap." And Bill thrust an enormous roll of bills unto his pile upon the table. "I'll stand by toe see yo' through."

Wilson Smith looked up again, and then called for Stormalong Journegan.

"Journegan," said he, "this is the second time I have had to speak to you about being annoyed. If it happens again there'll be trouble."

"Play poker," came a voice from the crowd.

Smart gazed about him for a moment. It was evident that the mate of the Sea-Horse had an object in putting up his cash. He was quick-witted enough to see that it was best to go ahead without making any comment. He could stop after this hand.

Bahama Bill drew back at a sign from Journegan, but still fixed his gaze upon Smith's hand. It seemed as though he had seen the hands of the men, and was betting upon the best. Smart could think of no other reason for the money being left him, and he felt certain that he would win. Bill was just backing the hand he had seen to be the winner.

As long as that was the case he would go the limit. He counted out five hundred dollars and laid it upon the table. Then he picked up his cards again and skimmed over the squeezers, waiting for the end.

Jacobs drew out the amount to make good, and the thin-faced man felt in his pocket for his roll. He bent over in doing this, and as he did so he held his cards close to his breast in his left hand. He was still fumbling in his trousers pocket with his right when a black hand suddenly reached over his shoulder and drew forth a complete "hold-out" from under his waistcoat where his hand pressed. The movement was so quick, so powerful, and so disconcerting, that for an instant there was a silence, and the fellow threw up his head. The next moment he had drawn his gun, a long, blue-barrelled revolver of heavy pattern, and had swung it up over his shoulder and fired like a flash of lightning into Bahama Bill.

Instantly there was an uproar, and above the noise of the struggling mass of men there sounded the bull-like bass of the mate of the Sea-Horse: "I got yo' fer sho, Skinny Ike—I got yo'."

IV

Captain Smart grabbed what money he could get hands upon, and while thus engaged the cigar man dealt him a powerful blow over the shoulders with a chair. It had been meant for his head, but instead it landed upon the heavy muscles Smart had earned by hard work hauling lines. He gave a yell, and sprang upon his assailant. Just then Stormalong Journegan opened with his gun, and the quick firing drowned all other sounds.

Through the smoke of the fight Smart saw his man, and smote him with all his power upon the jaw. The fellow went down and out. Many of the bystanders had been with the crooks, probably a gang of six or more, and these fell upon Smart and Bahama Bill.

Smart found himself fighting two quick, agile fellows who struck at him with weapons he could not distinguish. The rest piled upon the giant mate while Journegan fired upon the bunch, taking care not to hit any one, for he had no desire to ruin his business. His lead, however, went so close that one man got a clip that knocked him over. The room filled with smoke, and the uproar was loud enough, but suddenly Smart was aware of the giant Conch struggling to his feet and swinging out right and left with two mighty fists, sending men tumbling about like chips before a storm. Just beneath him the thin-faced man, Wilson Smith—dubbed "Skinny Ike" by Bill—lay in a heap.

"Come on, yo' muckers, come on an' git yo' medicine," he bawled. Then he picked up the prostrate man, and, taking him by the shoulders, used him as a flail, swinging him about his head and knocking every one in his path into a state of submission. The men around Smart fled in confusion, and in a moment Bahama Bill and the captain stood alone in the end of the room, the rest of the onlookers making good their escape to the street. Journegan stood behind his bar and grinned down the barrel of his empty gun.

"Air ye hurted much, Bill?" he asked.

"Hurt!" roared the giant mate. "What'd hurt me here, anyway, 'cept yo' blamed rum, hey?"

"Well, if you want to make a gitaway now's the time, I reckon, for this place'll be pulled to-night sure—an' that in a mighty few minutes."

Bahama Bill dropped the limp form of Wilson Smith. The man was not seriously hurt, only horribly bruised. The rest were either insensible from blows or unable to rise from the smash of the thin fellow's body upon them, for the mate had stove them hard enough to break ribs and arms with his human whip. Some of the gang essayed to sit up and take notice after the mate ceased to speak. One had the temerity to draw a gun, which Bill unceremoniously kicked out of his hand.

"I reckon we'd better be goin' 'long, cap," said the big black. "This place'll be pulled by the marshal inside o' ten minutes. Take up w'at dough you sees; I'll kerlect it off'n you later."

"Didn't you git a plug?" asked Journegan.

"Oh, yas; jest a little hole in de shoulder—dat's nothin'. Come on, cap."

Smart hesitated a minute. "Where do we go?" he asked.

"Aboa'd de Sea-Horse—an' to sea as fast as we kin git her movin'. Ought toe been gone befo' dis, but when I see dat Skinny settin' in to skin yo' I jest naterally had toe take a hand. Whatcher s'pose I handed yo' dat money fer?"

"But I haven't done anything wrong—nothing to run for," said Smart.

"Yo' try an' think straight a minute, cap. Yo' ain't got many friends here. Take my advice an' don't git pulled. De clink is mighty mean here. I don't know why I should take a shine toe yo' cap, but yo' shore did set in dat game ter win—an' yo' kin hit pretty straight, too."

"Gwan, before it's too late," said Journegan.

A rush of feet sounded in the street, followed by the hoarse voices of men nearing "The Cayo Huesso." The door of the saloon was suddenly burst open, and the marshal, with a posse of twenty men behind him, came into view.

"De window, cap," yelled Bahama Bill, and without waiting a moment he sprang through, carrying the sash and glass, shutters, and all with him. Through the opening Smart plunged instinctively, and as he did so he heard the sharp command to halt, followed by the crack of a gun. He had managed to get clear by a fraction of a second, and, landing upon his feet, started after the dark shadow which he knew was the black sailor making for the beach.

V

Down the road Captain Smart ran as fast as he could go, trying vainly to reach the tall form of the mate, who kept the lead easily until the lights of the harbour came into view. Then he slacked up and Smart came up with him.

"Dat sho was fun, hey?" laughed the mate, not the least winded from his dash for liberty. "Cost yo' a hundred dollars to git clear ef dey catch yo'. Dey don't run yo' in fer fun down here. Dat's de Sea-Horse. Git inter dat small boat—so."

"How about Journegan? Will they fine him for the fracas?"

"Oh, no. He stands in wid de gang—pays fer de trouble he makes. Journegan is a good man—he's all right."

"He was with the crooks, was he?" asked Smart.

"Oh, yes, he thought you had money—he has to stand in wid de gang. He was mad as er hornet at me buttin' in, but jest couldn't help it. I'll square him some day, an' he knows it. If he didn't know it, he'd 'a' plugged me when dey jumped me. I reckon he c'u'd 'a' done it, all right, for he's a mighty fine shot, dat Journegan. But I sho had it in fer Skinny Ike—he done me onct."

"Seems like a pretty tough bunch of men along the bank here, don't it?" said Smart. "Journegan hinted that there was something done wrong to Mr. Dunn's yacht—he said she must have leaked—what?"

Bahama Bill stopped rowing the small boat. They were half-way to the Sea-Horse, and lights were already showing along the shore, telling plainly that pursuit would be made in short order. The tide set them toward the vessel, but Bill gazed steadily at Smart through the darkness.

"Did Journegan say dat?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, and I would like to know what he meant by it."

"You know why he did all dat shootin'—all dat firin' to hit nobody? Dat was jest to get the place pulled—pulled before you made a gitaway, toe git your money. He knowed you an' me were enemies—knowed dat yo' had it in fer me, knowed dat I wrecked Mr. Dunn's yacht, an' dat yo' sho had no claim wid me—an' dat's where he made a mistake——"

"You wrecked the schooner?" cried Smart.

"Sho, cap, I dun wrecked her. Don't yo' remember de day—de night—I came abo'd, harpooned by a fool Yankee mate? Well, I was pullin' a seam dat night—dat's what made her leak——"

"You are a devil—the blackest rascal I ever met. You can take me ashore, I won't have anything more to do with you—turn about."

"Not a bit—no, suh. Yo' goes wid me dis trip, sho."

Smart hesitated not a moment, but sprang overboard and struck out for the shore, calling loudly for help.

Bahama Bill sat gazing after him for a moment, swearing deeply. Then he carefully shipped the oars, stood up, and the next moment plunged over the side after him. In a few rapid strokes he came up to the sailor. With one mighty arm he circled the swimmer, holding his arms to his sides as easily as though he were a child. With his other hand he struck out lustily for the sloop and gained her side, where two heads peered over looking at him.

"Pass a line, quick," he called.

A line dropped instantly over the side and fell within reach. Smart was quickly trussed and hoisted aboard and the mate climbed up after him.

"Put de mains'l on her—heave her short—jump!" bellowed Bahama Bill, at the same time casting off the gaskets from the boom and throwing the beckets off the wheel.

A Dutchman, Heldron by name, and a Conch called Sam, sprang to obey. The sail went quickly up with a clucking of blocks and snapping of canvas. Then in came the anchor, the three men hauling line with a will. One man loosed the jib while another sent it up with a rush, and just as the sweeping strokes of a pursuing oar fell upon their ears the Sea-Horse stood out the nor'west passage and to sea.

"Where's Sanders?" asked the mate.

"Oh, de cap'n, he dun take de mon' he get an' go to Tampa on de steamer this night. He say he goin' to do somet'in' to dem big hotels Mr. Flagler builds—dem dat run de gamblin'-houses. Won't be back fer a week."

"Cap," said Bahama Bill, casting Smart adrift, "yo' kin go below an' put dat money in de co'ner of de right-han' locker—no use yo' tryin' to swim away wid it. Yo' an' me is goin' to the Bank fer a bit o' work—dat's it, Sam, hook de boat as we come past—pass de painter aft, an' let her tow."

Smart saw that he was caught fair enough. To resist was only to make more trouble. He was broke, anyway, and without a berth. He might just as well try wrecking for a change—why not? Yes, he would go below and turn in without more ado. He had forgotten the money he had taken from the game at Journegan's, the money which belonged to the mate of the Sea-Horse. No wonder Bahama Bill had jumped in after him and brought him aboard. It was easy to see that in spite of all Bill's apparent carelessness he took no chances as he saw them. The Sea-Horse was standing out, and there was no chance of spending the night in the lockup. After all, it was pleasanter out here in the brisk sea air, even in the company of such men. He went slowly below.

"Turn in the po't bunk, cap," came the mate's big voice down the cuddy.

Smart did so, and he fell asleep while the wrecking-sloop rose and plunged into the short sea.

VI

"I reckon we're about dar, cap. Dem masts stickin' up yander air de fo' an' main' o' de brig Bulldog. We skinned her clean, took a share ob de salvage, an' cleared fo' town." Thus spoke Bahama Bill, resting one hand upon the wheel-spokes to hold the Sea-Horse and sprawling upon the deck. The sloop was approaching the edge of the Great Bahama Bank, and the shoaling water told of the coral bottom.

"Well, what are you going to stop here for, then?" asked Smart. Although he had decided to cast in his lot with Bahama Bill temporarily he was averse to wandering about on the old Sea-Horse for any length of time. He was anxious to hunt a berth as navigator upon some ship of size. Nassau was close at hand, not fifty miles away, and there were many ships stopping there.

"I'll tell yo', cap—I'll tell yo' jest what I want yo' to do fer me," said the big black. He rounded the sloop to, and Sam let go the anchor, while the Dutchman Heldron hauled down the jib.

The Sea-Horse dropped back with the sweep of the current and wind, until she lay just over the mainmast of a sunken brig, which stuck out of the water at a slant, the top coming clear some twenty feet to port of her. The wreck was lying upon her bilge and heeled over at a sharp angle, the partners of the mainmast being about ten feet below the surface.

"I heard yo' tell Stormalong Journegan you'd been down in a diving-suit, de kind dey use in de No'th—hey? Yo' know about rubber suits an' pumps?" He looked keenly at Captain Smart while the seaman told him that he had heard aright. He had been in suits, and helped others diving in them. He thought he knew something about air-pumps.

The mate went below forward, and shortly came on deck with a complete rubber diving-suit, helmet, and weighted shoes.

"I don't go in much fer dis kind ob divin'," said he, "but I dun paid a fellow a hundred dollars fer de whole suit. Show me how to work it, an' show me how dat pump works. Ef yo' do, we'll go halves—break even—on what I think is below in dis hear wrack. I knowed yo' must know something erbout divin'—dat is, erbout rubber divin', which ain't divin' at all, but dat's what I want ter know."

"I thought you said the wreck was finished with?" Smart commented.

"All de money, all de coin was got out ob her, yas, suh, dat's all straight, but dishar wrack ain't been under water more'n a few months, an' I been thinkin' dat maybe some hard work would tell on some cases of ammunition left in her."

"What did she have?"

"Rifles, money, and provisions for Vensuela—some ob dem revolutionists had de charter. Dey took up de rifles, and dey took up de money, but dey left a lot ob ammunition in her, sayin' it ain't no good. Well, suh, I got a hole in mah shoulder where one ob dem bullets came troo—yo mind de little fracas at Stormalong's. I dun sold a feller a dozen boxes ob dem ca'tridges, de onliest .45's in Key West. Dat's de reason I cum to know somethin' about dem. Ef dey kin mak' a hole in me, dey kin mak' a hole in mos' enny one, I reckon—hey, what?"

"I see," said Smart. "And that's the reason you wanted me to help you out? You want me to help dive for the goods. How much is there—and how were they put up? They won't stay for ever any good under water, you know."

"Dey were put up in tins too big to handle, goin' naked like I dives. De cases were mighty big, an' I don't care much erbout smashin' 'em up wid de 'tarnal things ready to go off. I knows where dey is—way back in de lazarette 'way back aft, an' I knows dat dere's erbout a millun ob dem."

Smart had been overhauling the suit and found it to be in fair condition. Evidently some hard-up diver had sold out to Bahama Bill, who always went naked as deep as three or four fathoms, and could stay long enough under to do the ordinary work required of divers upon vessels on the reef. He could make two or three minutes' work at short intervals, and being a mighty man, the strain told upon him very little indeed.

The rubber part of the suit was just about right for a man of Smart's build. It would not begin to go upon the giant frame of Bahama Bill. The great mate of the wrecker very well knew it, and he knew also that he could never get any of his men to go down in it. They knew nothing about such gear, and the very sight of it filled them with dread. It was up to Captain Smart to make the effort, if effort there was to be made.

In the meantime Bahama Bill would go down once or twice to locate the place in the wreck to work upon. It would require careful work not to explode the cases in blowing out a hole in the bilge to make an entry; further, it was impossible to think of going down the hatchway aft, for the distance was too great.

It was upon this vessel that the mate of the Sea-Horse had had trouble before, being chased into her by a shark and barely escaping with his life. He knew her pretty well, and could locate the ammunition in a couple of dives. After that Smart could take his time in four fathoms and work the stuff out to hoist aboard, using as little dynamite as possible.

"How about the pump?" asked Smart, after he had overhauled the suit.

The machine was brought on deck. It was dirty and much out of order, but after an hour's work he had it so it could be relied upon for the shallow water. For greater pressure than four fathoms he would not have cared to test it with himself upon the bottom.

While he was refitting it the mate stripped and stood upon the rail ready for the plunge. The water was clear and the bottom could plainly be seen, the varicoloured marine growths making it most beautiful.

Bahama Bill dropped outboard, and went down with a plunge so light that he hardly disturbed the surface. The others, watching, saw him swim rapidly down under the bends of the wrecked ship, leaving a thin trail of bubbles.

He was only down a few moments this dive, and came rising rapidly to the surface, his ugly face showing through the clear liquid, his eyes wide open and gazing upward.

"Gimme a piece ob chalk, Sam," he said, as he came into the air again.

A piece was handed him, and he went below again and marked the spot where the hole would be blown in the vessel's side, and in the meantime Smart donned the diving-suit.

The Dutchman Heldron had never even seen a suit of this kind before, and his messmate Sam gazed at it with a sort of superstitious dread.

"Yo' sure ain't goin' under in that outfit, cap?" he protested, as Smart put on the shoes weighing fully twenty pounds apiece. "Man, them slippers will sure hold you to the bottom!"

"I guess you dummies will have sense enough to haul me up when I pull the line and signal," remarked Smart. "Now, give me the helmet and screw down these bolts." He had the head-piece on by the time Bahama Bill came on deck and surveyed the proceedings.

"I'll have to trust you to tend the lines," said Smart to the black giant. "Remember, now, one strong pull and you haul me up—not quickly unless I give three quick pulls afterward. Two pulls is to slack away, one on the hose is to give me more air, and two to give me less. Understand?"

Bahama Bill wiped the water out of his bleary eyes and nodded. He apparently had some misgivings about the concern, but he was far too careless of human life to express them. He coupled up the air-hose and started the pump, and the whistling inside the helmet told of the wind coming in behind the diver's head.

Smart held the front glass ready, and after being satisfied that the machine was working, he had Sam screw it on and Captain Smart was cut off from the wrecker's crew, his face showing dimly through the thick glass plate. The heavy leaden belt was fastened tightly about his waist and he stepped over the rail on to the little side ladder, and so overboard, letting himself slowly down until he swung clear of the sloop's side. Then he was lowered away and went to the bottom, Bahama Bill slacking off the life-line and hose until he saw him standing upon the coral bank some twenty-five feet below the wrecker's deck.

Heldron turned the air-pump and Sam made fast the charge of dynamite, fixing the wires of a "Farmer's Machine" into the mercury-exploder and wrapping the whole tightly in canvas made fast with marline, the whole weighted so that it would sink quickly.

He lowered the charge, and saw Smart's hand go out and receive it. Then the diver disappeared under the bilge of the wreck, leaving a thin trail of boiling water just over his head to tell of the escapement of the air.

VII

Having fixed the charge where the mate had marked the surface of the wreck, Smart started to walk away. The light was strong in the clear water, and he gazed about him at the beautiful coral formations. The heavy growths took on many-coloured hues, and he walked out among them to admire them as one would the scenery on shore.

An albacore darted past like a flash of silver light. In the shadow of a huge sponge an enormous grouper took shelter, his eyes sticking out and gazing unwinkingly at the apparition of the man upon the bottom.

Smart went toward him and gave him a gentle poke, and in doing so gave the lines a sudden jerk. Instantly he was lifted off his feet and drawn upward, for Bahama Bill had felt the pull, and lost no time hauling his man aboard. Luckily the depth was not great, or the sudden change of pressure would have hurt.

Smart came to the side gesticulating wildly, and the more he waved his hands the quicker he was yanked up. In a moment the mate had him on deck, and was unscrewing the front glass.

"What's de matter, cap?" he asked anxiously, when the diver's face appeared.

"Nothing; you fellows make me tired!" said Smart. "Go ahead and fire the charge."

The spark was sent along the wire, and a dull crack sounded from below. The water rose in a boiling mass astern, and spread out, churning and bubbling. It was not a large charge, and it had not been necessary to move the sloop.

Smart started Heldron again at the pump, and screwed on the glass. Then, taking his tools and a line, he went back to the work below.

The hole blown in the wrecked hull was quite large for the amount of powder used, but the splintered edges made it necessary to be careful on entering, on account of the air-hose and line. A swirling of disturbed water still made the light bad, but Smart, feeling the edges with his hand, stepped within the darkness, and proceeded to explore the interior of the lost ship.

He climbed slowly upward, dragging his lines after him, and stumbling over a mass of timber which obstructed the way. He was in the after-part of the brig, the part where the dead wood, narrowing toward the stern-post, made a difficult passage to go through. He went along carefully, feeling for dangerous projections which might entangle his air-hose. The ammunition was supposed to be in the lazarette, under the cabin flooring, and he made his way in this direction.

Owing to the darkness, he was some time locating anything in the way of cases. Finally, however, he felt the square ends of boxes, and made haste to break one open. There were cans of tomatoes, or some kind of food, in the first one, and he felt along farther. Then he came in contact with a bulkhead. As it was inky dark below in the bilge of the sunken ship, he had to do all his work by means of the sense of touch alone. He couldn't see his own hand upon the glass of his helmet.

Something brushed against him and nearly upset him. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling, and a longing for the sunshine upon the sea floor of the Bank. He was not of a nervous temperament, and he knew that some sea denizen had evidently made the brig his home. Perhaps some spawning grouper or huge jew-fish.

Feeling along the bulkhead, he came upon a lot of small boxes. One of these he took under his arm and backed slowly out of the hole and into the clear water of the Bank. He laid the box upon the sea floor, and broke the covering with his hammer, hitting it lightly, the resisting power of the surrounding medium making it difficult even to strike at all. He tore away the fragments of the lid, and saw rows of cartridge-clips, the whole fixed and packed carefully. Making fast a line to the case, he signalled to hoist away, and brought his find to the surface.

The stuff proved to be all right. On breaking open a cartridge, the powder appeared dry, in spite of the long submergence, showing how carefully the ammunition had been put up. The dipping of the bullets into tallow had made the cartridges absolutely airtight, and they were as good as new.

The usual cost of ammunition was about two cents per cartridge wholesale. Half a million rounds would make quite a fortune, or something in the neighbourhood of ten thousand dollars to divide between himself and the black mate. Yes, it had been worth while, after all. Wrecking was not such a bad thing, if there was anything worth wrecking, and he wondered how the salvors of the brig had overlooked such a valuable asset. Even if he had to divide with the former owners—which he probably would not—he would have something worth going below for.

"Git de stuff—we'll ship him to Noo York," said Bill. "Ought to cl'ar a bit on dis hear deal. Dey's got de Winchester mark on dem, an' dat goes wid de agents, so do de Union ca'tridge. Git de stuff outen her, cap, fo' we cayn't stay here long—it's comin' on bad befo' dark, an' dere'll be too much sea to work ag'in fer a week."

Smart lost no time getting back to the lazarette of the brig. He took his line with him, and, after fastening it to some of the cases, he signalled to haul away.

Case after case he removed in this manner, and, after being below nearly an hour, he began to feel the effects of the pressure. He concluded to go up and rest for a short time before finishing the job. He hauled a lot of boxes together and lashed them firmly with a line, and signalled to haul away. He felt the pull, the tautening of the rope, and the cases slipped from under his hand. He straightened up and started to follow.

Then he felt the whole side of the ship suddenly fall toward him. It seemed like a mass of stuff, chest upon chest, toppling down upon him, and, before he could make even the slightest movement to get away, the whole pile of cases rolled over him like a great wave.

He was thrown upon his back, and a heavy weight rested upon the lower part of his body. He tried to move, and found himself jammed fast. Feeling nervously for his life-line and hose, he saw they were clear. He would not suffocate for awhile, anyway. He pulled lustily upon his life-line, and felt the strain of Bill's strength upon it, but it failed to move him. He was afraid the line would cut into his suit with the enormous strain.

He pulled the signal to slack away, but the men above were evidently excited, and they pulled all the harder. Then came a sudden slacking. He reached up and drew in the end of the life-line. It had parted near his helmet.

In the blackness of the sunken wreck Smart felt his nerve going. It was a bad place to have trouble. There was no other suit, no other machine or outfit for a man to go to his assistance. He might live for an hour longer, or perhaps even two, but the end seemed certain unless he could free himself from the mass of cargo which had so suddenly piled down upon him.

It had been one of those accidents which are likely to happen to any one working in the darkness of a ship's hold where the cargo is not known, or not located by previous knowledge of the ship's loading.

He had evidently unshipped some of the ammunition-cases, and brought a mass of boxes of both provisions and cartridges upon him like an avalanche. His right arm was free, but his left was crushed under some mighty weight, and hurt him painfully. The air still whistled into his head-piece, showing that Heldron was working the pump steadily.

Bahama Bill was a cool hand, a man used to desperate emergencies, and Smart felt that the giant mate of the Sea-Horse would do what he could to set him free. He knew the black diver to be a mighty swimmer. He had cause to remember that fact, but it was far away from the surface where he now lay, and it looked as if he would have to pass in, to die the terrible death of the lost diver.

His imagination held him thinking, in spite of the pain and weight upon him. He could breathe easily, and the numbing effect of the pressure made his sufferings less than otherwise. He tried again and again to shift some of the cases, straining until the stars flashed into the darkness before him. It was useless. He could not budge anything.

The minutes seemed hours, and he began at last to feel the drowsy effect of the air too long driven into his lungs. He saw the beach, the white coral sand—then he was again at Key West.

VIII

Upon the deck of the Sea-Horse the men gazed blankly at each other when Bahama Bill hauled up the life-line, parted far below. Heldron stopped pumping, and Sam gave an exclamation.

"Keep dat pump workin'; keep it goin', I tell yo'," snapped the black mate, turning upon his man.

Heldron instantly turned away again, rapidly, sending the air below.

"Name ob de Lord—now whatcher make wid dat?" said Bill, looking at Sam.

"Gone fer sure," said Sam. "I wouldn't go down in them lead shoes for no money. I done knowed something like this would happen."

"I t'ink I don't need to give no more air, den," said Heldron.

"You turn dat pump, yo' blamed Dutchman, or I'll turn yo' hide wrong-side out, yo' hear me," snarled the mate. "Gimme a heavy line, Sam; gimme something I can't break—jump, yo' Conch!"

"Goin' after him?" asked Sam, hauling the end of the mainsheet clear to the rail. "I don't think you kin get him. Better leave him down; them shoes is enough to hold him. I'd hate to lose the cap'n, but he's gone for sure!"

The huge form of the mate balanced for an instant upon the rail. He cleared enough line to take to the bottom, and had Sam stand with coils of it ready to pay out. Then down he went with the end of it, swimming strongly for the hole in the bilge of the brig. The opening showed before him, but he hesitated not a moment. He swam straight into the black hole, butting his head against the carlines under the half-deck, but keeping straight as he could for the diver by following the air-hose with his hand.

It was a long swim to the place where Smart lay. A full minute had been taken up before the mate felt the contact of the metal helmet. He passed the heavy line under it, but found his wind giving way under the strain. Quickly following the air-hose out, he struggled for the clear water, and came to the surface with a blow like a grampus. He had been down two minutes and a half.

Sam seized his hand and helped him aboard, where he lay upon the deck, bleeding, a slight trickle from the corner of his ugly mouth and from his nose.

"You can't make it, Bill," Sam declared. "Let the poor devil go. You done the best you could."

"I stop now wid de air, hey? Wat you says, Mr. Bill?"

Heldron's query aroused Bahama Bill. "If you slack up on dat pump, yo' dies a wuss death 'n Cap'n Smart," he said wearily, and in an even tone. It was evident that the strain had been hard on him, but he was game.

In a minute he sat up.

"I get him dis hear time," he growled, shaking himself and standing upon the rail again.

His giant black body twitched, the huge muscles under the ebony skin worked, flowing, contracting, and slacking up, making a wavelike motion, but showing the mighty power which lay in his frame. He was getting worked up to a nervous pitch, and the trembling was not from weakness. It was the gathering power in his thews which was beginning to work.

He flung far out, and dropped straight downward with a pitch-pole plunge, going furiously down like some monstrous sea-demon. Only a flash of his black body showed before he had turned the bend, and was following the air-hose into the hole.

This time he saved many seconds. He reached the form of Smart, and caught the end of the mainsheet about him, quickly slipping a hitch. Then he hauled himself out into the sunshine again, and came rising like a fish to the surface. In a moment he was back aboard the Sea-Horse, and then he spoke.

"Git on to dat line, yo', Sam ... git hold quick ... I got him ... give him de air, yo' Dutchman. ... An' now fer a heave what is a heave."

With a mighty effort the two men threw their whole weight upon the line. It held. Nothing gave for a moment. Bahama Bill, bracing his naked feet upon the rail, bent his mighty loins, and took a deep breath.

"Heave-ho!" he bellowed, and set his muscles to the strain.

Sam lifted with all his force. Almost instantly the two of them plunged backward, and fell over each other on deck. The line became slack, but before they could get to their feet, Heldron had left the pump and was hauling in hand-over-hand, and in a moment the form of Smart showed below the surface.

The black mate sprang to his feet and gave the Dutchman a cuff which sent him over the side, and, seizing the line, he hauled the limp form of the diver on deck quicker than it takes to tell it. In a moment he had the glass off the helmet, and was staring into the white face of the insensible seaman.

"Get somethin' to drink—quick," he said.

Sam rushed for a dipper of water, and, upon bringing it, was knocked over the head with it for his pains.

"Yo' bring me somethin'—quick—yo' understand," roared the mate. "I knows yo' got some forrads—now, then, jump!"

Sam quickly brought a bottle of gin, half-full. Smart had some of the fiery liquid poured between his lips. Then Heldron, who had scrambled back aboard, cursing and spluttering, came aft, and helped them to get off the suit.

It was half an hour afterward before the captain came around enough to tell what had happened. His left arm was badly mashed, but not broken. The heavy suit had not been cut through, and to this fact he owed his life. His legs were stiff and sore from the heavy weight which had lain upon them, but he was otherwise uninjured.

"I reckon yo'll be able to go down ag'in in a little while," said the mate. "We got most of the stuff, I reckon, but we might as well take all dat's dere."

"How many cases have we?" asked Smart.

"'Bout fifty—nearly a million rounds, an' all good."

"Well, that's all we'll get to-day," said Smart, "unless you want to take a try at it."

"Toe bad, toe bad," muttered Bahama Bill. "I'se sho sorry you's sech a puny little man, cap, but de wedder is gittin' bad, ennyways, an' I reckon we might as well make a slant fer Nassau."

"That'll about suit me, all right," said Smart.

XI

The Iconoclast

The wrecking-sloop Sea-Horse came smashing the seas headlong past Fowey Rocks, heading for the channel over the reef into Bay Biscayne. She had left Nassau the day before, and had made a record run across the Gulf Stream, carrying sail through a heavy head sea, which flew in a storm of white water over her bows and weather-rail all day, making the deck almost uninhabitable. Bahama Bill, otherwise known as Bill Haskins, wrecker and sponger, mate and half-owner, held the wheel-spokes, and sat back upon the edge of the wheel-gear, bracing one foot to leeward. Sam, a Conch, and Heldron, a Dutchman, both sailors and able seamen, lounged in the lee of the cabin-scuttle and smoked, their oilskins streaming water, but loosened on account of the warmth of the air. Captain Smart, late of the Dunn schooner wrecked just below Carysfort Reef, on a cruise to Boca Grande Pass for tarpon, sat in the doorway of the companionway and watched the giant mate of the Sea-Horse hold the flying sloop on her course with one powerful hand, while with the other he shielded his pipe from the spray.

Smart was thinking over the strange events which happened to bring him in contact with the wreckers: the loss of his schooner caused by the leak made by Bahama Bill; the loss of his position as officer on the liner he had left to take command of the yacht, and the strange fight in the saloon at Key West, which ended in his going with the giant black to keep out of trouble.

They had now just ridden out a bad spell of weather in Nassau, where they had laid up with cartridge-cases taken from the brig Bulldog, wrecked on the Great Bahama Bank, and they were hurrying to the nearest American port to discharge them to some dealer, and realize what profits they could. The ammunition was perfectly good and sound, in spite of being submerged under the sea for a long time, for the cases had been put up for tropical weather and made perfectly water-proof. They had several thousand dollars' worth aboard, and it would only be necessary to prove their fitness for use to realize upon them. To Miami they laid their course without delay, to get in touch with the express and railroad.

"Seems like we got to git thar to-night, sure," said the mate, sucking at his pipe.

"Looks like we'll make it easily," assented Smart. "I suppose you know the reef well enough to go in any time, hey?"

"Jest as well at night as daytime," said the mate.

"And when we get in—what then? Do you know any one who'll deal with us? Do you know who'll buy ammunition from you even at a twenty per cent discount?" asked Smart.

"I reckon we won't have to burn any of them ca'tridges, cap; not by a blamed sight. We might have to wait a spell fo' suah, but we kin sell 'em, all right."

"Got enough money to live on while we wait, hey?" asked Smart.

Bahama Bill scowled. Then he gave the captain a queer look.

"See here, cap," he said. "Yo' know Bull Sanders is skipper an' half-owner of this here sloop? Well, he's on a tear up the beach. If he comes back broke he'll want toe borrow off'n me—see? Well, I knows what that means. I jest naturally sent all the money abo'd to my Jule—yo' ain't married, cap, or you'd know what a wife means. 'Scrappy Jule' kin take keer of all de money I gets, an' yo' needn't make no moan toe dat. Jule is all right, an' if yo' got a right good memory, yo' suah remember she don't do no washin' fo' po' white folks."

"I suppose that means that the ten-spot I saved from the fracas in Journegan's barroom is all the cash aboard, then," said Smart.

He was thinking how strange it was for him to be associating with a self-confessed wrecker of the old school, the type which waited not for the elements, but made events happen with a rapidity which put even a stormy season to shame.

He would have liked to get away from the whole business, get away from men of Bahama Bill's class, but he could not help thinking that the giant black man had some cause, according to his way of looking at things, to do as he had done.

The yacht owner had insulted him, had made it an open question of hostility between them, and the wrecker had simply gone ahead and regarded the owner's feeling not at all, but caused by indirect means the loss of his vessel.

Bill had many good points. He had helped Smart out of a difficult situation in Key West, where the land-sharks had set out to trim him clean. He had put him in the way, almost in spite of himself, of making a few thousand dollars within a week or two, and had saved his life by diving into a dangerous wreck after him when caught in her shifting cargo.

Smart was in a strange position, almost dead broke, with several thousand dollars' worth of salvage due him from his efforts. He would be tied up with the sloop for several weeks, perhaps several months, until the sales were made and the salvage divided. To leave her would risk losing the share due him, for Bahama Bill would hardly stand for desertion until the affair was settled, no matter what the provocation.

They beat in over the reef, up the crooked, shallow channel into Biscayne Bay, and laid their course for the docks at Miami, where they arrived during daylight.

Two days were spent trying to make the sales of the cargo, but the dealers insisted on testing the powder from each and every case before paying, or taking it on, so there was a delay of at least two weeks staring them in the face. The crew having enough to eat minded the waiting not the least. The mate cared nothing as long as the ultimate end was in sight, for he had enough hog and hominy aboard to last twice as long.

The sloop lay off the docks in a scant seven feet of water, her keel just grazing the coral bottom, which was as plainly visible beneath her as though she were surrounded by clear air instead of the clearer water of the bay. The huge, fashionable hotel loomed high against the background of palms and cocoanuts, making an impressive sight, and also a comfortable abode for the rich tourists who filled it during this end of the season. Prices were high, and Smart spent much time watching the idle rich wandering about the beautiful gardens.

Several gambling-joints were in full blast, for it was always the policy of the eminent Florida philanthropist who owned the tourist accommodations on the east coast to build a church upon one side of his dominions, and then a gambling-hell upon the other. Both were necessary to draw the lazy rich.

Smart noticed several of the sporting gentry wandering about, but, having nothing to gamble with, he was forced to look on with little interest.

On the third day of their stay in harbour, a man sauntered down to the dock close aboard, and stood gazing at the Sea-Horse. He was perfectly dressed in the height of fashion, and he swung a light cane lazily while he gazed at the wrecker. He wore a thin moustache, and his high, straight nose seemed to hook over it to an abnormal extent. His eyes were a very light blue, so pale that they appeared to be colourless, but he had an altogether well-fed, well-satisfied look; one of seeming benevolence and kindliness, which attracted Smart's attention. Smart and the mate of the Sea-Horse were sitting upon the cabin-house in the shade of a drying trysail, and the stranger spoke to them.

"Sloop for charter?" he asked abruptly, in a high voice, which carried over the short distance of water with some force.

"What fo'?" asked Bahama Bill, without moving.

"Oh, we want to fish and shoot. I don't care for the yachts for hire; their owners don't seem to know where to go to get sport. I'd rather charter from a man who knows something of the reef to the southward, and you look as if you belong around here."

"Yo' sho' got a bad guesser in yo' haid, Mister Yankee," said the mate. "What make yo' think we belongs around here?"

Smart studied the man carefully while he was talking. He was a close observer, but he failed to place this suave, well-groomed gentleman in his vocation. He might be a gambler, a sport, or just a rich fellow wanting amusement. The latter seemed most likely, so Smart spoke up, hoping to land a few dollars while waiting for his share of the salvage.

"We'll charter for thirty dollars a day," he said reluctantly, and, as he did so, the black mate gave a grunt and grinned insultingly at the shore.

"Will you go anywhere we want?" asked the man.

"Sho' we will dat, perfesser," broke in Bahama Bill, unable to restrain himself at the thought of the graft. The idea of thirty dollars per day was good, and he slapped Smart a terrific blow upon the back in high good nature at the thought of it. "Sho', perfesser, we'll carry yo' toe hell—an' half-way back, fer thirty a day. Are yo' on?"

There was a slight sneer on the man's face when he heard the mate's manner, but he answered quietly, in the same far-reaching voice, that he would consider the vessel his, and that if one of them would come ashore for the money, he would bind the bargain by pay for the first day at once.

At the instant he stopped speaking Heldron the Dutchman came aft to where the mate sat. Bahama Bill at once seized him about the waist and hove him far out over the side.

"Git that money, yo' beggar," he laughed, as the sailor landed in the water with a tremendous splash. Sam, the Conch, snickered. "Yo' go after him, toe see he comes back," said Bill, and, making a pass at the man, sent him over also. They swam the distance in a few moments, much to the amusement of the gentleman on the wharf, who seemed to like the mate's energetic manner of doing things. The money was paid, and the men swam back aboard, climbing into the small boat towing astern, and coming over the taffrail none the worse in temper. There was good money for all in the deal, and they were pleased.

II

In about an hour the man returned with a friend, both of them loaded with fishing-rods and other parts of a gentleman's sporting outfit. They were rowed aboard by the mate, and announced that they were ready at once to get to sea. The mainsail was hoisted, and in a few minutes the wrecking-sloop was ready to stand down the channel.

Just at this moment the gentlemen, who had been arranging their fishing-rods and clothes upon the transoms in the cabin, came on deck and said that they had forgotten to bring any provisions for the cruise. The second man declared he had ordered a large box sent aboard, and asked with some anxiety if it had arrived.

"There ain't nothing come abo'd sence yo' left," said Bill surlily, annoyed at the delay. "We's got good grub abo'd here, an' enough fer a week."

"You will pardon me, my good fellow," said the second man, who was very tall and thin, with a lined face. "You know, or should know, I'm an invalid, and cannot eat the ordinary food which I love so well. It is for this that we have taken the boat. Won't you allow me the use of your crew to help carry the provisions aboard? We expect to be out for several weeks, and must have plenty of the kind of food I am forced to eat."

"Yo' don't look so very puny," said Bill; "but, o' co'se, if youse an invalid, yo' sho'ly wants toe git some soft feed. We eats hoag an' hominy abo'd here, an' I tells yo' it's mighty good hoag; costs me seven cents a pound."

The small boat was called away, and, with Sam and Heldron to help carry the provisions, the two gentlemen went ashore again.

Half an hour passed, and Bill was getting surly. The tide was falling, and the chances of hitting the reef were good. The wind dropped, and the surface of the bay was just ruffled by it. Far away to the southward the little hump of Soldier Key stood out above the surrounding reef, and the tall palms of Florida Cape seemed to be motionless.

"What the name o' sin d'ye think dem folks is doin'?" said Bahama Bill finally, rising from the quarter and gazing toward the shore. "I sho' likes toe make money easy, but when I gits de sail on dis hear ship, I likes toe see her go. Gittin' hot, an' de wind's dropped. I hate to run that channel on a fallin' tide without wind enough to drive her good an' strong over dem shoal places. Hello! what's dat?"

Smart looked up, and followed the direction of the man's gaze. A wagon was tearing down the street at a breakneck pace, and upon it were the two gentlemen who had chartered the sloop. Sam and Heldron sprang up from the dock to meet them as the vehicle drew up, and with a great show of haste all four men were struggling with a small but apparently very heavy box.

In a few moments, in spite of its weight, it was being lowered into the small boat, and Smart noticed that when all hands sprang in, she was nearly gunwale down with the cargo. The men rowed as though urged to their utmost, and in a few minutes the boat was alongside.

"Didn't want to keep you waiting," cried the tall, thin-faced man.

"No," said the man who had chartered the sloop, "we knew you would hate to be delayed, so we hurried." His benevolent expression beamed up at the mate, but Smart noted that every now and then his pale eyes shifted uneasily toward the dock, where the wagon was still standing unattended.

A line was cast over the side, and Bill took hold to hoist the box on deck. He gave a tug, and then stopped suddenly.

"What in thunder yo' got toe eat in dere?" he growled. "Dat's lead, sho' 'nuff lead, an' no mistake. We got sinkers enough abo'd here fer all de fishin' yo'll do dis spring. Sam! Heldron, yo' Dutchman! Cap'n, come, all hands git a hold an' h'ist away. Man, I nigh broke my pore ole back wid de heft ob dat box."

They all tailed on to the line, and hoisted the box on deck.

"Get it below," said the man with the moustache and pale eyes; "we'll give you a hand."

In a few minutes the weighty box, which appeared to be of wood, was landed safely below in the cabin. The gentleman opened a small bottle of liquor, and offered a drink all around. It passed until Bahama Bill came to it, and he silently uptilted the bottle and drained it to the last drop, flinging it up the companionway and overboard.

"Good!" cried the gentlemen together. "Now for the open sea. Let's try to find out how quick we can get from here to the end of the reef." And suiting the action to the words, they sprang up the companionway, followed by the mate, who was now in a better frame of mind.

"Git de hook off'n de groun'," bawled Bill. "H'ist de jib." And he hauled flat the mainsheet, and rolled the wheel over as the short cable came in and the anchor broke clear.

Smart hoisted the head-sails, and they filled away for the open sea.

Smart sat aft upon the taffrail, and the two guests settled themselves upon boxes which Sam brought out in place of chairs. Bill held the wheel, heading the Sea-Horse down the narrow channel. She moved slowly in the light air, and the thin-faced man stretched out his long frame and looked her over critically.

"Seems like she isn't very fast," he remarked to his pale-eyed companion.

Bahama Bill looked at him a moment, but said nothing.

"Pretty dirty sort of ship, hey?" said the thin fellow again, in a low tone.

The mate was about to make some reply, but Smart nudged him, and he relaxed into a scowl.

"Aw, well, I reckon we'll make it all right," said the pale-eyed man, his face beaming satisfaction and his high nose sniffing the salt air.

"With a decent boat, yes," said the other, "but this one's mighty rough. I never saw a more poorly rigged affair. Seems like she's rigged from the wrecks of other vessels. Don't look like she'll make six knots."

Bahama Bill grunted, but Smart nudged him again, and he said nothing. The yacht captain knew that gentlemen would not stand for rough talk from men of Bahama Bill's type, and he did not want to lose the charter. It meant plenty of money and comfortable living until he could get his salvage.

"Let them talk—don't butt in—say nothing," he admonished Bill, in a whisper.

The big mate heard, but seemed resentful. "What dey want toe knock my ship fo'?" growled the giant. "Ain't she a good sloop? Ain't she done her work all right every time? She's paid me good money, me an' Bull Sanders—no, I don't like no knockin' goin' on abo'd here."

"Cut it out, keep quiet—we get the money if you do," said Smart. "What good will it do you to get them angry, so they won't want to charter us again? Man! it's good money, thirty dollars a day—let it go at that."

The pale-eyed man looked at the mate. "It's about dinner-time, isn't it?" he asked. "We're mighty hungry, and if you can let the cook get to work, we'll be ready."

"Where's the soft grub fo' dat invalid?" growled Bahama Bill. "I thought he couldn't eat hoag an' hominy—Heldron, yo' Dutchman, git the fire started an' let the perfessers eat as soon as yo' kin."

They were well down the channel now, but Smart, on looking back, saw a small schooner making sail hastily. She started off, heading in their wake, and about a mile astern.

The passenger with the pale eyes watched her sharply for some moments, and the benevolent expression faded from his face. The thin man, the invalid, started up and gazed at her, but was pulled down again by his companion.

"That fellow astern," said the charterer, his high nose sniffing sneeringly at the schooner, "thinks he has a smart vessel, and bet us this morning that he could beat this old sloop to the Fowey Rocks. Don't let him come up on us whatever you do. I'll give you ten dollars extra to-day if you run him out of sight before dark."

"Looks like a smart vessel," said Bahama Bill, gazing aft. "I ain't much at racing, but give this sloop a good breeze, an' maybe you'll land yo' money."

The passengers ate their meal, and to the credit of the invalid be it said that he ate more of the "hoag" than his companion. He also put away an immense portion of the hominy, and his thin face seemed less wrinkled when he appeared on deck to take a look at the schooner.

Smart watched the following vessel, and saw that she was gaining. The expression of the pale-eyed man was even more sinister than before, and the quiet, urbane look gave way to one of ferocity. The high, thin nose seemed like the beak of some bird of prey, and the moustache bristled with anxiety and apparent vexation. The thin-faced invalid's expression was also one of evident concern, the lines of his face drawing tighter as the distance lessened between the two ships.

"Who's that fellow that looks like the marshal abo'd the schooner?" asked the mate.

"Oh, that's a friend of mine. He dresses up like that when he goes hunting or fishing. He used to be in the army, and he likes to wear the clothes like a uniform," said the thin-faced man.

"Speaking of the army," said the pale-eyed one, "that puts me in mind of that little Colt automatic-gun I have. They use them now in the service, and say they carry like a rifle. I believe I'll take a pop at Charlie just to scare him, hey? It won't hurt him at this distance, anyway."

"By all means," laughed the thin-faced man, "take a try at him. It'll scare him to death, I bet you."

Bahama Bill eyed the men curiously, but as it appeared to be none of his business whether they indulged in rough play, he said nothing. Smart was too engrossed to notice that the pale-eyed man had drawn a large automatic pistol, and was resting it upon the rail, until he had pulled the trigger. The sharp, whiplike report without any smoke startled him. The shrill whine of the projectile whistled over the water, and the man who stood upon the schooner's deck quickly disappeared. In a few moments the "cheep" of a rifle-bullet cut the air, and "spanged" with a thud into the mainmast, followed by a faint crack sounding over the sea.

The pale-eyed man fired six shots in answer now, and they came so quickly that there was hardly a second between the reports.

"What yo' doin', havin' a gun fight?" roared Bill. "What yo' mean by shootin' a fellow up what ain't doin' nothin' but sailin' after yo'? What's de lay? Sing out."

The pale-eyed man turned his gaze upon the giant mate, and, as he did so, he shoved another clip of cartridges into his weapon.

"Don't get excited," he said calmly. "My friend here is an iconoclast, a knocker. He objects to the simplicity of your ship, to her rigging, to her going qualities. He objected to the perfection of that schooner, also. He speaks out, and consequently gets into trouble. Now it's for you to show him that he's right; that, after all, racing is a game between men, not between ships, I'll make it fifty dollars if you keep that schooner just where she belongs."

"I'll run her out of sight befo' night, if de wind comes—hit looks like it's coming now, by the shake outside the reef—but dat's de United States marshal youse fired on, perfesser. I knows him of old, an' I got no use fer him. But watcher got in de box? Speak up, or I throws her into the wind."

"If you so much as alter the course of this sloop one point," said the thin-faced man quietly, from a place to leeward, where he had gone unobserved, "I'll fill you so full of lead that you'll make a hole in the bottom where you'll strike. Head her out over the reef, and then due east, until further orders."

While he spoke he rested a long-barrelled six-shooter of the heaviest pattern in the hollow of his arm, with its muzzle pointing directly at the heart of the giant mate. The man with the pale eyes sat upon the taffrail with his Colt automatic in readiness, and looked Smart and the two men over without a word. Speech was unnecessary. The iconoclast had done all that was needed to bring about a perfect understanding, and, as both men were armed with guns that admitted of some respect, the Sea-Horse held her way over the reef under all sail, while the freshening breeze heeled her gradually over until she fairly tore along through a calm sea, leaving a snowy, boiling wake astern.

III

Bahama Bill looked his men over. He feared neither gun nor knife when the time came for a fracas, but there was another consideration which moved him deeper than the threat of the thin-faced invalid. The marshal had libelled his vessel upon an occasion, for the payment of a small bill. Here he was forced, at the point of a gun, to run away, to carry the evident prey with him. It would exonerate him if caught, for he could prove that it was a matter he had no discretion in. He could, with all safety, put as much space between the two vessels as possible. All hands would swear that he was forced to do so.

The idea tickled him, and his huge, ugly mouth broadened out into a sinister grin as the Sea-Horse, racing along through the choppy water of the edge of the Gulf Stream, poked her short horn out over the foam, and tore away to windward.

The box in the cabin excited his curiosity, but he felt sure that it was of value, and that the men were trying to make a getaway with it. Smart was sitting quietly watching the affair, and being, like the mate, under the guns of the passengers, there was nothing to do but obey orders, or take the consequences.

"Seems like your health has improved wonderfully since you dined on the ship's grub," said the yacht captain, addressing the invalid, who held the revolver.

"The sea air is good for the health," assented that gentleman, his thin face lining up into something resembling a smile. "It'll be healthy for all of us out here in the broad ocean, free from all cares. Oh, the life on the bounding wave for me—isn't that so, Jim?" said he, referring to his companion.

The sharp "ping" of a bullet interrupted the answer, and it was found that to be perfectly safe it was necessary to remain under cover.

"Those bullets would go through the ship both ways and back again," said the invalid, as the rest snuggled down, "but of course it's well to keep out of sight. Better put everything you can on her, skipper," he added, addressing the mate, "if you want to keep clear. Let her go. Don't stop on our account. When we get an offing, I'll trust you to steer without trouble, and I'll put out a line to catch some supper. There ought to be fine fishing off the reef this time of year."

"Oh, I'm mighty feared ob those guns," said Bahama Bill, in a deep voice, which he tried to raise to a frightened treble. "I'll steer her all right toe any place yo' wants toe go. Lay de co'se, says me. I'll take youse dere if the hooker'll go."

"It's a pity you haven't some decent canvas aboard her," said the invalid.

"If you had some decent gear, we might show that fellow a clean wake. You seem to know your business, all right."

"If you want to make a getaway, you better stop knocking this sloop," said Smart.

"Dat's right, cap'n, ef dese perfessers want toe make good, dey better quit hittin' de Sea-Horse. I won't stand fer much ob dat foolishing," said Bahama Bill.

"The invalid is a regular image-breaker," said the pale-eyed man sympathetically; "don't mind the knocks, my good fellow. Tell me what other cloth you can put on the ship, and I'll see that it's spread. They're getting out everything that will hold wind astern of us."

This was the case aboard the schooner. The United States marshal, Tom Fields, had been told of the successful onslaught of "Thin Jim" and Dick Nichols, sometimes known as "the Owl" on account of his colourless eyes, upon the safe of the gambling establishment. This contained seven thousand dollars in cash, and nearly as much more in jewelry that had been accepted for gambling debts.

The two crooks, a pair of the most desperate and notorious cracksmen, had made good the haul in broad daylight, having first arranged to have the sloop ready and waiting for the reception of the valuables. The ignorance of her crew was rightly depended upon, and the plot had so far been fairly successful. If they could once get to sea, the rest would be easy, for they could land anywhere upon the Bahamas, from Nassau a thousand miles down to the Great Inagua Bank. It would be next to impossible to catch them. It all depended upon the vessel and her manœuvring.

Fields recognized the Sea-Horse at once, and, knowing her peculiar character, and also that of her owners, he at once came to the conclusion that the giant mate of the wrecker was in the game with the other two experts from the North. He at once pressed the yacht Silver Bar into service, and making sail about the time the Sea-Horse was standing out the channel, came along in pursuit, with the conviction that he would soon run the heavier working vessel down under his gun and force her to surrender.

Armed with a modern rifle of small bore and great range, he had returned the fire of the burglars at once, in the hope that he might cripple some one, even at the range of half a mile. His ammunition consisted of hardly more than a handful of cartridges, and he was forced to use these sparingly, depending now upon the seamanship of his crew and the seaworthiness of the Silver Bar to make his catch.

With all sail he stood down the channel, and was beginning to haul up on the Sea-Horse, when she took the first of the southerly wind coming over the reef. This had given her a good start, and she was now about a mile to windward, and going like mad to the eastward, across the Gulf Stream.

"Clap everything you can on her," begged the marshal; "put out the awning, tarpaulins, anything that will drive us. It's a thousand dollars reward if we land them, and I'll split even with you if we do."

The captain of the Silver Bar needed no urging. He wanted that five hundred. He would have to go, anyway, and here was the chance of the season. He broke out jib-topsails, stretched his mainsail to the utmost, and trimmed his canvas for the struggle, setting a club-topsail aft and a working one forward, with a big maintopmast staysail. He was soon making the most of the lively breeze, and plunging through the blue water to the tune of ten knots, heading right into the wake of the flying Sea-Horse.

The wrecking-sloop, leaning well down to the now freshening gale, tore a way through the Gulf Stream, sending the spray flying over her in a constant shower. She headed well up, a trifle closer than the schooner, and she waded through it like a live thing. Her rough gear, meant for work and hard usage, stood her in good stead in the heavy water off shore.