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CHAPTER XXVII

THE REWARD OF EVIL

The Nettie B. was surging north, nearing Cape Breton. Nat Burns

sat moodily on the top of the house and watched the schooner take

'em green over her bows.

Within the last day a fog with a wind behind it had drifted

across the lead-colored ocean; and now, although the fog was

gone, the wind was still howling and bringing with it a rising

sea.

The equinoxes were not far off, and all skippers had a weather

eye out, and paid especial attention to the stoutness of lashings

and patched canvas.

Never had Burns been in a blacker mood, and never had he better

cause.

He was three days from St. Andrew's, and there he had become

acquainted with several facts.

The first was that no Canadian gunboat by the name of Albatross

had called at said port and left any prisoner by the name of Code

Schofield--in fact, such gunboat had not called at all.