"And this is not the first time I've seen _your_ ugly mug, either,"

returned Darling. "I saw you the night the _Durham Castle_ came ash.o.r.e on this coast--the night you robbed the captain and the pa.s.sengers.

Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Ye'll larn that soon enough," returned the other. "Did ye get a letter from--from her?"

"No," replied Darling, unable to see any danger in telling the truth of that matter. "No, I didn't get any letter. I met a friend of yours in St. John's, and he told me a great deal about you, and the game you are playing in this harbor--and also about her. Your friend's name is d.i.c.k Lynch."

"d.i.c.k Lynch," repeated the skipper, quietly. "I'll be cuttin' the heart out o' that dog yet!"

"And a good job, no doubt," said Darling. "But I warn you, my man, that if you injure Miss Lockhart in any way you'll curse the day you first saw daylight. You'll be burned out of here like the dirty, murdering pirate that you are--you and your whole crew. The law will have you, my man--it will have you by the neck. Do you think I risked coming to this place without leaving word behind me of where I was bound for and what I was after?"

"Now ye be lyin'," said the skipper, coolly. "Ye telled the truth about d.i.c.k Lynch; but now ye lie. Don't ye try to fool wid me, d.a.m.n ye! Ye come to Chance Along widout leavin' a word behind ye. I sees the lie in yer face."

"I left d.i.c.k Lynch behind me," said the sailor.

That shook the skipper's a.s.surance; but he was in no mood to feel fear for more than a moment. He laughed sneeringly and began to unload his captive's pockets. He took out the pistols, admired them and laid them aside. Next, he unearthed a few cakes of hard bread, a small flask of brandy, and a pipe and half a plug of tobacco.

"How'd ye come to Chance Along, anyhow? Where bes yer boat?" he asked, suddenly, pausing in his work.

"I walked across from Witless Bay," said Darling.

"Where bes yer boat?" asked the other.

"In Witless Bay, you fool! Do you think I carried it across my back?"

The skipper swung the lantern back and glanced at the soles of the other's boots.

"Ye bes a liar--and a desperate poor one at that," he said. "Where bes yer boat?"

John Darling lost his temper. He disliked being forced into telling a lie--and, being human, he disliked still more to have the lie discovered and the effort wasted.

"Go to h.e.l.l and find it, you black-faced pirate!" he roared.

The skipper stopped, glared down at him, and swung his right hand back for a blow.

"Hit away, I'm tied," said the other, without flinching.

The skipper let his hand sink to his side.

"I don't hit a tied man. That bain't my way," he said, flushing darkly.

"Untie me, then, and you can hit all you want to. Cut these ropes and let me at you. Come now, for I see that you have some sense of manliness in you, after all."

"Not jist now. To-morrow, maybe--or maybe next day--I'll fight ye. And, by h.e.l.l, when I do I'll kill ye wid me two hands!"

"I'll take the chance. Unless you starve me or cripple me in the meantime, I'll knock the everlasting life out of you."

The skipper growled and took up his interrupted work of investigating the other's pockets. He unb.u.t.toned the heavy reefer and thrust a hand into an inner pocket. In a second he withdrew it, holding the little casket bound in red leather. A cry of astonishment escaped him. He pressed the catch with his thumb and the diamonds and rubies flashed and glowed beneath his dazzled eyes.

"Me own diamonds!" he cried. "Holy saints alive, me own diamonds!

Where'd ye find 'em? Tell me that, now--where'd ye find 'em?"

Darling did not reply for a moment. Then, speaking quietly and somewhat bitterly, he said, "If you really want to know, I found them on a dead man, under the cliff a few miles to the north of here."

"That would be Foxey Jack Quinn," said the skipper. He closed the box and put it in his pocket, then took up the lantern and went out, locking the door behind him.

In the meantime, Mary Kavanagh had not been idle. She felt sure that the stranger was safe from bodily harm for the night at least, now that Dennis had shaken off the first blind deviltry of his rage. She knew Dennis almost as well as old Mother Nolan did; and to-night she felt sorry for him as well as angry with him. Leaving Flora in Mother Nolan's care, she left the house, and followed Cormick and the others down to the land-wash. The fog was thinning swiftly; but night had fallen, and the sky, sea and land were all black as tar. She soon learned that no sign of the stranger's boat could be found in the harbor. Returning from the land-wash, she met Nick Leary.

"How bes ye a-feelin' now?" she asked, not unkindly. "But it served ye right, Nick. A great man like ye has no call to be fightin' wid women."

"Me poor head buzzes like a nest o' wasps whin ye pokes it wid a club,"

said Nick. "Sure, Mary, 'twas a sweet tap ye give me! Marry me, girl, an' ye'll be free to bat me every day o' yer born life."

"Sure, an' 'twould do ye no harm," said Mary. And then, "So ye've shut the poor lad in the store, have ye?"

"Aye, but how'd ye know it, Mary?"

"I didn't know it, Nick, till ye telled me. Now go on wid yer business o' huntin' for the boat an' I'll be goin' on wid mine. An' thanks for yer offer, lad; but sure I'll never marry a man I kin knock down wid the leg o' a chair."

Nick seemed to be in no mood to accept this statement as final; but the girl soon cleared her tracks of him in the inky darkness, among the little houses. She climbed the path to the edge of the barren and turned northward. From what she had seen of John Darling she felt sure that he was no fool; and therefore she had not expected to find his boat in the harbor. He had told Mother Nolan that he had a boat, but had not mentioned its whereabouts. Mary decided that it was hidden somewhere handy to the harbor; and she was inclined to think that it was manned.

He had come from the north, of course; therefore the chances were good that he had left his boat somewhere to the north of the harbor. She knew every hollow, break and out-thrust of that coast for miles as well as she knew the walls and floors of her father's cabin. A thought of the little drook came to her mind and she quickened her steps along the path. The light wind was shifting and the fog was trailing coastwise to the south before it. Mary noted this, sniffed at the air, which was slowly but surely changing in quality, and looked up at the black sky.

"There'll be snow afore mornin'," she said.

When she reached the head of the drook she halted and gave ear. The sloshing and lapping of the tide came up to her; and that was all for a minute or two. She parted the alders and young birches with her hands, very cautiously, and moved downward into the thicket for a distance of three or four yards, then halted again and again listened. At last, above the noises of the tide and almost smothered by them, she heard a sound unmistakably human--a violent sneeze. For a little while she remained quiet, daunted by the darkness and trying to consider the risks she was about to take. But the risks could not be considered, for they were absolutely unknown. She was playing for peace and justice, however--yes, and for Denny Nolan's happiness. Mastering her fear, she whistled softly. After a minute's silence a guarded voice replied to the whistle.

"Be that yerself, sir?" inquired the voice from the blackness below.

She descended lower, parting the tangled growth before her with her hands.

"I bes a friend--an' a woman," she said. "I comes wid a word for ye, from him."

"Stand where ye bes!" commanded George Wicks, his voice anxious and suspicious. "What the divil bes the trouble now? Stand where ye bes an'

tell me the word."

"I bes all alone, so help me Peter!" replied the girl, "an' it bain't safe the way we bes talkin' now, up an' down the drook. The lads o' the harbor may be comin' this way an' a-hearin' us--an' then ye'll bes in as bad a way as the captain himself. Let me come down to ye. Bes ye afeared o' one lone woman?"

"Come down wid ye, then," said George, his voice none too steady, "but I warns ye as how I hes a lantern here an' a pistol, an' if ye bain't all alone by yerself I'll shoot ye like a swile an' ax ye yer business afterwards. I's heard queer t'ings o' Chance Along!"

"I bes alone," returned Mary, "an' if ye fires yer pistol at me then ye bes a dirty coward."

As she spoke she continued her difficult way down the channel of the drook. She saw the yellow gleam of the lantern between the snarled stems of the bushes. Strong, clear-headed and brave as she was, she began now to sob quietly with fright; yet she continued to push her way down the drook.

"They--they has caught the captain," she said, brokenly, "an' now they bes huntin' all 'round the harbor for his boat. I has--come to tell ye--an' to help ye."

George Wick parted the bushes, raised his lantern and peered up at her.

"There bain't no call for ye to be cryin'," he said, in a changed voice.

"If ye means no treachery, la.s.s, then I'll not be hurtin' ye."