The _Charming La.s.s_ lay now in the Atlantic approximately along the forty-sixth parallel, near its intersection with the fifty-fifth of meridian; or eighty to a hundred miles southwest of Cape Race, Newfoundland, and almost an equal distance southeast of the Miquelon Islands, France's sole remaining territorial possession in the New World.

Code and Ellinwood easily found their trawl buoy by the glimmer of the light across the water. They immediately began to plant the trawl-lines in the tubs aboard the dory. The big buoy for the end of the line they first anch.o.r.ed to the bottom with dory roding.

Then, as Ellinwood rowed slowly, Code paid the baited trawl-line out of the tubs. As there are hooks every few feet, so are there big wooden buoys, so that the whole length of the line--sometimes twenty-five hundred feet--is floated near the surface.

When the last had been paid out, a second anchor and large buoy was fixed, and their trawl was "set." Next they turned their attention to picking the trawl already in the water.

As the line came over the starboard gunnel Code picked the fish off the hooks, pa.s.sing the hooks to Pete, who baited them and threw them over the port gunnel. Thus they would work their way along the whole of the line.

Many of the hooks that came to Code's hands still had the bait with which they were set.

"Must be in the bait," he told Ellinwood. "The fish wouldn't touch it.

This is no catch for five shots of trawl."

But Pete could not cast any light on the subject.

It was certainly true that the catch from the trawl-line was small enough to be remarkable, but the men were helpless to explain the reason.

For two hours they worked along the great line.

"There's a bare chance that the message from the unknown schooner might be a fake, although I can't imagine why," said Code as they were returning. "But if it is not, and the Canadian gunboat comes after me, she'll find me here, willing to go back to St. Andrew's and answer all charges. No escape and no dodging this time! And let me tell you something, Pete. If nothing comes out of this except ugly rumor that I have to suffer for, I'm going to quit minding my own business; and I'll dig up something that will drive Nat Burns out of Freekirk Head forever.

"A man of his character and nature has certainly got something he doesn't want known, and I shall bring it to light and make it so public that he'll wish he had never heard the name Schofield. By Heaven, I've reached the end of my patience!"

If there was anything Pete Ellinwood loved it was a fight, and at this declaration of war he roared encouragement.

"You'll do, skipper--you'll do! Get after him! Climb his frame! Put him out of business. An' let me help you. That's all I want."

"Everything in good time, Pete," grinned Code. "First we've got to find out how much of this is in the wind and how much is not."

Arrived at the schooner, they pitched their fish into the pen for the first watch to dress and rolled aft for the night. Code took off his coat and drew forth the packet that Elsa had given him, looked at it for a moment, and threw it upon the table.

"Why in time did she send me that?" he asked himself, his voice very near disgust. "It must have looked mighty strange to Nell for me to be getting money from Elsa Mallaby."

He stopped short in the midst of pulling off one boot. The idea had never struck him forcibly before. Now it seemed evident that Nellie's reserve might have been due to the letter.

"What a fool I was not to tell her all about it!" he cried. With one boot off he reached across to the packet under the swinging lamp and drew the letter out of it and read:

"DEAR PARTNER:

"Here is something that Captain Bijonah will hand to you when he catches the _La.s.s_. There are supposed to be one hundred and fifty dollars in this packet (I never was much of a counter, as you know). Now, dear friend, this isn't all for you unless you need it. It is simply a small reserve fund for the men of the fleet if they should need anything--a new gaff, for instance, or a jib, or grub.

"It isn't much, but you never can tell when it might come in handy. It was your good scheme that sent the men off fishing, and you left the way open for me to do my little part here at the Head. Now I want to do just this much more for the sailors of the fleet, and I am asking you to be my treasurer. When you hear of a needy case just give him what you think he needs and say it is a loan from me if he won't take a gift.

"If this is a trouble to you I am sorry, but we are all working for the good name and good times of Grande Mignon, and I hope you won't mind. Good fishing to the _Charming La.s.s_, high line and topping full! May you wet your salt early and come home again to those who are longing to see you.

"This is all done on the spur of the moment, so I have no time to ask your mother to enclose a line. But I know she sends her love.

It has been a little hard for her here since you left, bless her heart; but she has been as brave as a soldier and helped me very much. We see a great deal of each other and you can rest a.s.sured I shall look after her.

"Always your old friend, "ELSA."

As Code read the last paragraph his eyes softened. It was _white_ of Elsa to look after his mother, particularly now when there would be much for her to face regarding himself. And it _was_ white of her to send the money for the sailors of the fleet. Even she did not know, as Code did, how nearly dest.i.tute some of the dorymen were. He would be glad to do what little work there might be in disbursing the sum.

"Sorry Nellie didn't seem interested when I began to talk about Elsa,"

he said to himself. "I suppose I should have told her, anyway, so there wouldn't be any misunderstanding. Well, I'll do it next time."

He turned the lamp low and rolled into his bunk.

CHAPTER XVIII

TREACHERY

Next morning at breakfast, about four o'clock, Code told his crew the situation. He knew his men thoroughly and had been friends with most of them all his life.

"There's likely to be trouble, and I may be taken away, but if that happens Pete will tell you what to do. Don't sight Swallowtail until your salt is all wet. Bring home a topping load and you'll share topping."

Code did not go out that morning. Instead, he tried to shake off his troubles long enough to study the fish--which was his job on the _Charming La.s.s_.

While not a Bijonah Tanner, Code bade fair to be his equal at Bijonah's age. He came of a father with an instinct for fish, and he had inherited that instinct fully. Under Jasper he had learned much, but it was another matter to have some one on hand to read the signs rather than being cast upon his own resources.

The fish, from the trawl-line and Pete's reports of dory work, had been running rather big. This pleased him, but he knew it could not last; and he sat with his old chart spread out before him on the deck--a chart edged with his father's valuable penciled notes.

Suddenly, while in the almost subconscious state that he achieved when very "fishy," the persistent voice of the cook broke through the wall of unconsciousness.

"Smoke on the port quarter, skipper! Smoke on the port quarter, skipper!"

The phrase came with persistent repet.i.tion until Code was fully alive to its meaning and glanced over his left shoulder.

Above the line of dark blue that was the ocean, and in the light blue that was the sky, was etched a tree-shaped brown smudge.

Steamer smudges were not an unusual sight, for not fifty miles east was the northern track of the great ocean steamers--a track which they were gradually approaching as they made their berths. But a steamer smudge over the port quarter, with the _La.s.s's_ bow headed due north, was an entirely different thing.

Code went below and brought up an ancient firearm. This he discharged while the cook ran a trawl-tub to the truck. It was the prearranged signal for Pete Ellinwood to come in.

As Code waited he had no doubt that smoke was from a revenue cutter or cruiser from Halifax with his arrest warrant.

There was a stiff westerly breeze, and Code, glancing up at the cloud formations, saw that there would be a beautiful racing half-gale on by noon.

"What a chance to run for it!" he thought, but resolutely put the idea from his mind.

Pete came in with a scowl on his face, cursing everything under the sun, and especially a fisherman's life. When told of the smoke smudge he evinced comparatively little interest.

"We'll find out what she is when she gets here. What I'd like to know is, what's the matter with our bait?"

"Bait gone wrong again?" asked Code anxiously, his brows knitting.

"That stuff on the trawl wasn't the only bad bait, then."