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"Oh, he was foxy, that one!" said Code bitterly. "Going out in

the fog that way so all hands would think he was lost! I never

remembered until this minute that the motor-dory could be run. I

guess she went, all right, and that scoundrel is ashore by this

time."

"Had a bad name in Castalia, didn't he?"

"Oh, a little more or less that I heard of, but what's that in a

fisherman? When the men come in have them go through all the

bait."

Pete fired the old rifle, and the crew at work began to pull in

through the choppy sea.

"Hello!" cried the mate, looking behind him. "There's something

going to be doin' here in a minute. It's the cutter from Halifax,

all right."

Code, his former danger forgotten for the time, glanced up. The

smudge of smoke had quickly resolved itself into a stubby, gray

steam-vessel with a few bright brass guns forward and a black

cloud belching from her funnel. She was still some five miles

away, but apparently coming at top speed.