"They're swimming over at the other camp, too," cried Dolly. "See? Oh, I bet we'll have some good times with them. We ought to be able to have all sorts of fun in the water."

"Aren't there any boats here beside that old flat bottom skiff?" asked Bessie.

"Aren't there? Just wait till you see! If we hadn't had all that excitement yesterday Captain Salters would have brought the Eleanor over. He will to-day, too, and then you'll see."

"What will I see, Dolly? Remember I haven't been here before, like you."

"Oh, she's the dandiest little boat, Bessie—a little sloop, and as fast as a steamboat, if she's handled right."

"Now we'll never hear the end of her," said Margery Burton, with a comical gesture of despair. "You've touched the button, Bessie, and Dolly will keep on telling us about the Eleanor, and how fast she is, until someone sits on her!"

"You're jealous, Margery," laughed Dolly, in high good humor. "Margery's pretty clever, Bessie, and when it comes to cooking—my!" She smacked her lips loudly, as if to express her sense of how well Margery could cook. "But she can't sail a boat!"

"Here's Captain Salters now—and he's towing the Eleanor, all right, Dolly," cried one of the other girls.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Dolly. "Bessie, you've never been in a sail boat, have you? I'll have to show you how everything is done, and then well have some bully fine times together. You'll love it, I know."

"She won't if she's inclined to be seasick," said Margery. "The trouble with Dolly is that she can never have enough of a good thing. The higher the wind, the happier Dolly is. She'll keep on until the boat heels away over, and until you think you're going over the next minute—and she calls that having a good time!"

"Well, I never heard you begging me to quit, Margery Burton!" said Dolly. "You're an old fraud—that's what you are! You pretend you are terribly frightened, and all the time you're enjoying it just as much as I am. I wish there was some way we could have a race. That's where the real fun comes in with a sail boat."

"You could get all the racing you want over at Bay City, Dolly. The yacht club there has races every week, I think."

"But Miss Eleanor would never let me sail in one of those races, Margery. I guess she's right, too. I may be pretty good for a girl, but I'm afraid I wouldn't have a chance with those men."

Margery pretended to faint.

"Listen to that, will you?" she exclaimed. "Here's Dolly actually saying that someone might be able to do something better than she could! I'll believe in almost anything after that!"

"Well, you can laugh all you like," said Dolly, with spirit. "But if we should have a race, I'll be captain, and I know some people who won't get a chance to be even on the crew. They'll feel pretty sorry they were so fresh, I guess, when they have to stay ashore cooking dinner while I and my crew are out in the sloop!"

Then from the beach came the primitive call to breakfast—made by the simple process of pounding very hard on the bottom of a frying pan with a big tin spoon. That ended the talk about Dolly's qualifications as a yacht captain, and there was a wild rush to the beach, and to the tents, since those who had been in for an early swim could not sit down to breakfast in their wet bathing suits. But no one took any great length of time to dress, since here the utmost simplicity ruled in clothes.

"Well, what's the programme for to-day, girls?" asked Eleanor, after the meal was over.

"Each for herself!" cried half a dozen voices. And a broken chorus rose in agreement.

"I want to fish!" cried one.

"A long walk for me!" cried another.

"I'd like to make up a party to go over to Bay City and buy things. We haven't been near a store for weeks!" suggested another.

"All right," said Eleanor. "Everyone can do exactly what she likes between the time we finish clearing up after lunch and dinner. I think we'll have the same rule we did at Long Lake—four girls attend to the camp work each day, while the other eight do as they like. You can draw lots or arrange it among yourselves, I don't care."

"Yes, that's a fine arrangement," said Dolly. "It's a little harder for the four who work than it would be if we all pitched in, but no one really has to work any harder, for all that."

"It's even in the long run," said Eleanor. "And it gives some of you a chance to do things that call for a whole afternoon. All agreed to that, are you?"

It was Eleanor's habit, whenever possible, to submit such minor details of camp life to a vote of the girls. Her authority, of course, was complete. If she gave an order, it had to be obeyed, and she had the right, if she decided it was best, to send any or all of the girls home. But—and many guardians find it a good plan—she preferred to give the girls a good deal of latitude and real independence.

One result was that, whenever she did give a positive order, it was obeyed unquestioningly. The girls knew by experience that usually she was content to suggest things, and even agree to methods that she herself would not have chosen, and, as they were not accustomed to receiving positive orders on all sorts of subjects, they understood without being told that there was a good reason for those that were issued. Another result, of course, and the most important, was that the girls, growing used to governing themselves, grew more self-reliant, and better fitted to cope with emergencies.

The girls were still washing the breakfast dishes when Marcia Bates walked along the beach and was greeted with a merry hail by Dolly and the others.

"I'm here as an ambassador or something like that," she announced. "That little sloop out there is yours, isn't she?"

"Well, we'll have ours here as soon as it's towed over from Bay City. And we want to challenge you to a regular yacht race. I asked Miss Turner if we might, and she said yes."

"I think that would be fine sport," said Eleanor. "Dolly Ransom is skipper of our sloop. Suppose you talk it over with her."

"I think it would be fine, Marcia!" said Dolly, with shining eyes. "I was just wishing for a race this morning. When shall we have it?"

"Why not this afternoon?" asked Marcia. "We could race out to the lighthouse on the rock out there and back. That's not very far, but it's far enough to make a good race, I should think."

"Splendid!" said Dolly. "What sort of a boat is yours?"

"Just the same as yours, I think. We can see when they come, and if one is bigger than the other, we can arrange about a handicap. Miss Turner said she thought she ought to be in one boat, and Miss Mercer in the other."

"Yes, I think so, too. And I'll be skipper of our boat, and have Bessie King and Margery Burton for a crew. Who is your skipper?"

"Gladys Cooper," answered Marcia, after a slight pause.

"Bully for her! Just you tell her I'm going to beat her so badly she won't even know she's in a race."

Marcia laughed.

"All right," she said. "I'll let you know when we're ready."

"Now, then, Bessie," said Dolly, "just you come out with me to the sloop in that skiff, and I'll show you just what you'll have to do. It won't be hard—you'll only have to obey orders. But you'd better know the names of the ropes, so that you'll understand my orders when I give them."

So for an hour Bessie, delighted with the appearance of the trim little sloop, took lessons from Dolly in the art of handling small sailing craft.

"You'll get along all right," said Dolly, as they pulled back to the beach. "Don't get excited. That's the only thing to remember. We'll wear our bathing suits, of course, so that if we get spilled into the water, there'll be no harm done."

"We've got a good chance of being spilled, too," said Margery. "I know how Dolly likes to sail a boat. So if you don't want a ducking, you'd better make her take someone else in your place."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," said Bessie, happily. "I've never even seen a yacht race. I bet it must be lots of fun."

"It won't be rough, anyhow," said Eleanor, after they had landed. She looked out to sea. "It's pretty hazy out there, Dolly. Think there'll be enough wind?"

"Oh, yes," said Dolly. "Plenty! It won't be stiff, of course, and we won't make good time, but that doesn't make any difference. It's as good for them as for us—and the other way round."



CHAPTER VIII

THE RACE

The sloop that was to represent the Halsted Camp Fire in the race arrived in the cove late in the morning, and from the shore there seemed to be no difference in size between the two little craft. They were different, and one might prove swifter than the other, for no two boats of that sort were ever exactly alike. But so far as could be judged, the race was likely to be a test rather of how the boats were sailed than of their speed, boat for boat.

"I think you can sail on even terms, Dolly," said Eleanor. "I don't believe there'll be any need for either of you to give away any time to the other."

"I'm glad of that, Miss Eleanor," said Dolly. "It seems much nicer when you're exactly even at the start."

"Here's Miss Turner now," said Bessie. "I guess they must be about ready to start. I hope I'll do the right thing when you tell me, Dolly, but I'm dreadfully afraid I won't."

"Don't worry about it, and you'll be much more likely to get along well," said Margery Burton, calmly. "And remember that this race isn't the most important thing in the world, even if Dolly thinks it is."

"Oh, it's all right for you to talk that way now," said Dolly. "But wait till we're racing, Bessie, You'll find she's just as much worked up about it then as I am—and probably more so."

"Well, all ready, Nell?" asked Mary Turner, coming up to them then. "Gladys seems to think she's about ready to start, so I thought I'd walk over and arrange about the details."

"I think the best way to fix up the start will be for the two sloops to reach the opening in the bar together," said Eleanor. "They can start there and finish there, you see, and that will save the need of having someone to take the time. We really haven't anyone who can do that properly. If we're close together at the start you and I can call to one another and agree upon the moment when the race has actually begun."

"All right," said Miss Turner. "I'd thought of that myself." She lowered her voice. "I didn't like to oppose this race, Nell," she said, speaking so that only Eleanor could hear her, "but I'm not at all sure that it's going to be a good thing."

"Why not? I thought it would be good sport."

"It ought to be, but I don't know how good a sportsman Gladys is. If she wins, it will probably make her feel a lot better. But if she loses—!"

"I hadn't thought of that side of it," said Eleanor. "But—oh, well, even so, I think it will probably be a good thing. Gladys has got a lot of hard lessons to learn, and if this is one of them, the sooner she learns it, the better. You and I will be along to see fair play. That will keep her from having anything to say if she does lose, you see."

"We're in for it, anyhow, so I didn't mean to have you worry about it. I think anything that I might have done to stop the race would have done more harm than the race itself can possibly do, in any case."

"I'm quite sure of that, Mary. Well, we'll get aboard our yacht and you'd better do the same. They're probably waiting impatiently for you."

The flat-bottomed skiff that Bessie had despised proved handy for carrying the Eleanor's crew out to her. While the others climbed aboard, Dolly, who insisted upon attending to everything herself when she possibly could, arranged a floating anchor that would keep the boat in place against their return, and a few moments later the Eleanor's snowy sails rose, flapping idly in the faint breeze.

"Get up that anchor!" directed Dolly. "Bessie, you help Margery. She'll show you what to do."

Then a shiver shook the little craft, the wind filled the sails, and in a few moments they were creeping slowly toward the opening in the bar. Seated at the helm, Dolly looked over toward the other camp and saw that the other yacht was also under way.

"What do they call their boat?" she asked.

"The Defiance," said Eleanor.

Dolly laughed at the answer.

"I bet I know who named her!" she said, merrily. "If that isn't just like Gladys Cooper! Well, I want a good race, and I can have just as much fun if we're beaten, as long as I can feel that I haven't made any mistakes in sailing the Eleanor. But—well, I guess I would like to beat Gladys. I bet she's awfully sure of winning!"

"She's had more experience in sailing boats like these than you have, Dolly," said Eleanor.

"She's welcome to it," said Dolly. "I shan't make any excuses if I lose. I'll be ready to admit that she's better than I am."

The two boats converged together upon the opening in the bar, and soon those on one could see everything aboard the other. Gladys Cooper, like Dolly, sat at the helm, steering her boat, and a look of grim determination was in her eyes and on her unsmiling face.

"She certainly does want to win," said Margery. "She's taking this too seriously—score one for Dolly."

"You think she'd do better if she weren't so worked up, Margery?"

"Of course she would! There are just two ways to take a race or a sporting contest of any sort—as a game or as a bit of serious work. If you do the very best you can and forget about winning, you'll win a good deal oftener than you lose, if your best is any good at all. It's that way in football. I've heard boys say that when they have played against certain teams, they've known right after the start that they were going to win, because the other team's players would lose their tempers the first time anything went wrong."

"We seem to be on even terms now," said Eleanor, and, cupping her hands, she hailed Mary Turner. "All right? We might as well call this a start."

"All right," said Mary. "Shall I give the word!"

"Go ahead!" said Eleanor.

Instantly Dolly, with a quick look at her sails, which were hanging limp again, since she had altered the course a trifle, became all attention.

"One—two—three—go!" called Miss Turner, clapping her hands at the word "go."

And instantly Dolly shifted her helm once more, so that the wind filled the sails, and the Eleanor shot for the opening in the bar. Quick as she had been, however, she was no quicker than Gladys, and the Defiance and the Eleanor passed through the bar and out into the open sea together. Here there was more motion, since the short, choppy waves outside the bar were never wholly still, no matter how calm the sea might seem to be. But Bessie, who had been rather nervous as to the effect of this motion, which she had been warned to dread, found it by no means unpleasant.

For a few moments Dolly's orders flew sharply. Although the wind was very light, there was enough of it to give fair speed, and the sails had to be trimmed to get the utmost possible out of it while it lasted. Both boats tacked to starboard, sailing along a slanting line that seemed likely to carry them far to one side of the lighthouse that was their destination, and Bessie wondered at this.

"We're not sailing straight for the lighthouse," she said. "Isn't that supposed to be where we turn? Don't we have to sail around it?"

"Yes, but we can't go straight there, because the wind isn't right," explained Dolly. "We'll keep on this way for a spell; then we'll come about and tack to port, and then to starboard again. In that way we can beat the wind, you see, and make it work for us, even if it doesn't want to."

Half way to the lighthouse there was less than a hundred feet between the boats. The Defiance seemed to be a little ahead, but the advantage, if she really had one at all, was not enough to have any real effect on the race.

"Going out isn't going to give either of us much chance to gain, I guess," said Dolly. "The real race will be when we're going back, with what wind there is behind us."

But soon it seemed that Dolly had made a rash prediction, for when she came about and started to beat up to port, the Defiance held to her course.

"Well, she can do that if she wants to," said Dolly. "Just the same, I think she's going too far."

"It looks to me as if she were pretty sure of what she's doing, though, Dolly," said Margery, anxiously. "Don't you think you tacked a little too soon?"

"If I thought that I wouldn't have done it, Margery," said Dolly. "Don't bother me with silly questions now; I've got to figure on tacking again so as to make that turn with the least possible waste of time."

"Don't talk to the 'man' at the wheel," advised Eleanor, with a laugh. "She's irritable."

A good many of the nautical terms used so freely by the others might have been so much Greek for all Bessie could understand of them, but the race itself had awakened her interest and now held it as scarcely anything she had ever done had been able to do.

She kept her eyes fixed on the other boat, and at last she gave a cry.

"Look! They're going to turn now."

"Score one for Gladys, Margery," said Dolly, quietly. "She's certainly stolen a march on me. Do you see that? She's going to make her turn on the next tack, and I believe she'll gain nearly five minutes on us. That was clever, and it was good work."

"Never mind, Dolly," said Margery. "You've still got a chance to catch her going home before the wind. I know how fast the Eleanor is at that sort of work. If the Defiance is any better, she ought to be racing for some real cups."

"Oh, don't try to cheer me up! I made an awful mess of that, Margery, and I know it. Gladys had more nerve than I, that's all. She deserves the lead she's got. It isn't a question of the boats, at all. The Defiance is being sailed better than the Eleanor."

"Margery's right, though, Dolly," said Eleanor. "The race isn't over yet. You haven't given up hope, have you?"

"Given up?" cried Dolly, scornfully, through set teeth. "Just you watch, that's all! I'm going to get home ahead if I have to swamp us all."

"That's more like her," Margery whispered to Bessie.

And now even Bessie could see that the Defiance had gained a big advantage. Before her eyes, not so well trained as those of the others to weigh every consideration in such a contest, had not seen what was really happening. But it was plain enough now. Even while the Defiance was holding on for the lighthouse, on a straight course, the Eleanor had to come about and start beating up toward it, and the Defiance made the turn, and, with spinnaker set, was skimming gaily for home a full five minutes before the Eleanor circled lighthouse.

In fact, the Defiance, homeward bound, passed them, and Mary Turner laughed gaily as she hailed Eleanor.

"This is pretty bad," she called. "Better luck next time, Nell!"

Marcia Bates waved her hand gaily to them, but Gladys Cooper, her eyes straight ahead, her hand on the tiller, paid no attention to them. There was no mistaking the look of triumph on her face, however. She was sure she was going to win, and she was glorying in her victory already.

"I'll make her smile on the other side of her face yet," said Dolly, viciously. "She might have waved her hand, at least. If we're good enough to race with, we're good enough for her to be decently polite to us, I should think."

"Easy, Dolly!" said Margery. "It won't help any for you to lose your temper, you know. Remember you've still got to sail your boat."

The Defiance was far ahead when, at last, after a wait that seemed to those on board interminable, the Eleanor rounded the lighthouse in her turn.

"Lively now!" commanded Dolly. "Shake out the spinnaker! We're going to need all the sail we've got. There isn't enough wind now to make a flag stand out properly."

"And they got the best of it, too," lamented Margery. "You see, Bessie, the good wind there was when they started back carried them well along. We won't get that, and we'll keep falling further and further behind, because they've probably still got more wind than we have. It'll die out here before it does where they are."

Dolly stood up now, and cast her eyes behind her on the horizon, and all about. And suddenly, without warning, she put the helm over, and the Eleanor stood off to port, heading, as it seemed, far from the opening in the bar that was the finishing, line.

"Dolly, are you crazy?" exclaimed Margery. "This is a straight run before the wind!"

"Suppose there isn't any wind?" asked Dolly. The strained, anxious look had left her eyes, and she seemed calm now, almost elated. "Margery, you're a fine cook, but you've got a lot to learn yet about sailing a boat!"

Bessie was completely mystified, and a look at Margery showed her that she, too, although silenced, was far from being satisfied. But now Margery suddenly looked off on the surface of the water, and gave a glad cry.

"Oh, fine, Dolly!" she exclaimed. "I see what you're up to—and I bet Gladys thinks you're perfectly insane, too!"

"She'll soon know I'm not," said Dolly, grimly. "I only hope she doesn't know enough to do the same thing. I don't see how she can miss, though, unless she can't see in time."

Still Bessie was mystified, and she did not like to ask for an explanation, especially since she felt certain that one would be forthcoming anyhow in a few moments. And, sure enough, it was. For suddenly she felt a breath of wind, and, at the same instant Dolly brought the Eleanor up before the wind again, and for the first time Bessie understood what the little sloop's real speed was.

"You see, Bessie," said Margery, "Dolly knew that the wind was dying. It's a puffy, uncertain sort of wind, and very often, on a day like this, there'll be plenty of breeze in one spot, and none at all in another."

"Oh, so we came over here to find this breeze!" said Bessie.

"Yes. It was the only chance. If we had stayed on the other course we might have found enough breeze to carry us home, but we would have gone at a snail's pace, just as we were doing, and there was no chance at all to catch Gladys and the Defiance that way."

"We haven't caught them yet, you know," said Dolly.

"But we're catching them," said Bessie, exultingly. "Even I can see that. Look! They're just crawling along."

"Still, even at the rate they're going, ten minutes more will bring them to the finish," said Margery, anxiously. "Do you think she can make it, Dolly?"

"I don't know," said Dolly. "I've done all I can, anyhow. There isn't a thing to do now but hold her steady and trust to this shift of the wind to last long enough to carry us home."

Now the Eleanor was catching the Defiance fast, and nearing her more and more rapidly. It was a strange and mysterious thing to Bessie to see that of two yachts so close together—there was less than a quarter of a mile between them now—one could have her sails filled with a good breeze while the other seemed to have none at all. But it was so. The Defiance was barely moving; she seemed as far from the finish now as she had been when Margery spoke.

"They're stuck—they're becalmed," said Margery, finally, when five minutes of steady gazing hadn't shown the slightest apparent advance by the Defiance. "Oh, Dolly, we're going to beat them!"

"I guess we are," said Dolly, with a sigh of satisfaction. "It was about the most hopeless looking race I ever saw twenty minutes ago, but you never can tell."

And now every minute seemed to make the issue more and more certain. Sometimes a little puff of wind would strike the Defiance, fill her sails, and push her a little nearer her goal, but the hopes that those puffs must have raised in Dolly's rival and her crew were false, for each died away before the Defiance really got moving again.

And at last, passing within a hundred yards, so that they could see poor Gladys, her eyes filled with tears, the Eleanor slipped by the Defiance and took the lead. And then, by some strange irony of fate, the wind came to the Defiance—but it came too late. For the Eleanor, slipping through the water as if some invisible force had been dragging her, passed through the opening and into the still waters of the cove fully two hundred feet in the lead.

"That certainly was your victory, Dolly," said Eleanor. "If you hadn't found that wind, we'd still be floundering around somewhere near the lighthouse."

"I do feel sorry for Gladys, though," said Dolly. "It must have been hard—when she was so sure that she had won."



CHAPTER IX

THE SPY

"That was bad luck. You really deserved to win that race, Gladys," Dolly called out, as the Defiance came within hailing distance of the Eleanor again.

Gladys looked at her old friend but said not a word. It was very plain that the loss of the race, which she had considered already won, was a severe blow to her, and she was not yet able, even had she been willing, to say anything.

"That's very nice of you, Dolly," called Mary Turner. "But it isn't so at all. You sailed your boat very cleverly. We didn't think of going off after the wind until it was too late. I think it was mighty plucky of you to keep on when we had such a big lead. Congratulations!"

"Oh, what's the use of talking like that?" cried Gladys, furiously. "It was a trick—that was all it was! If we had had a real wind all the way, we'd have beaten you by half a mile!"

"I know it, Gladys. It was a trick," said Dolly, cheerfully. "That's just what I said. We'll have another race, won't we? And we'll pick out a day when the wind is good and strong, so that it will be just the same for both boats."

"Oh, you'd find some other trick to help you win," said Gladys, sulkily. "Don't act like that—it's easy enough for you to be pleasant. They'll all be laughing at me now for not being able to win when I had such a lead."

"I'm ashamed of you, Gladys," said Mary Turner, blushing scarlet. "Dolly, please don't think that any of the rest of us feel as Gladys does. If I'd known she was such a poor loser, I wouldn't have let her race with you at all. And there won't be another race, Gladys doesn't deserve another chance."

"Gladys is quite right," said Dolly, soberly. "It's very easy to be nice and generous when you've won; it's much harder to be fair when you've lost. And it was a trick, after all."

"No, it wasn't, Dolly," said Eleanor, seriously. "It was perfectly fair. It was good strategy, but it wasn't tricky at all. Gladys knew just as much about the wind as you did. If she had done as you did in time, instead of waiting until after she'd seen you do it, she would have won the race."

"We're going to have trouble with that Gladys Cooper yet," said Margery. "She's spoiled, and she's got a nasty disposition to start with, anyhow. You'd better look out, Dolly, She'll do anything she can to get even."

"I think this race was one of the things she thought would help her to get even," said Bessie. "She was awfully sure she was going to be able to beat you, Dolly."

"I almost wish she had," said Dolly. "I don't mean that I would have done anything to let her win, of course, because there wouldn't be any fun about that. But what's an old race, anyhow!"

"That's the right spirit, Dolly," said Eleanor. "It's the game that counts, not the result. We ought to play to win, of course, but we ought to play fair first of all. And I think that means not doing anything at all that would spoil the other side's chances."

"Oh, that's all right," said Margery, "but I'm glad we won."

"I'm glad," said Dolly. "And I'm sorry, too. That sounds silly, doesn't it, but it's what I mean. Maybe if Gladys had won, we could have patched things up. And now there'll be more trouble than ever."

While they talked they were furling the Eleanor's sails, and soon they were ready to go ashore. Dolly had brought them up cleverly beside the skiff, and, once the anchor was dropped and everything on board the swift little sloop had been made snug for the night, they dropped over into the skiff and rowed to the beach. There the other girls, who had been greatly excited during the race, and were overjoyed by the result, greeted them with the Wo-he-lo song. Zara, especially, seemed delighted.

"I felt so bad that I cried when I thought you were going to be beaten," she said. "Oh, Bessie, I'm glad you won! And I bet it was because you were on board."

Bessie laughed.

"You'd better not let Dolly hear you say that," she said. "I didn't have a thing to do with it, Zara. It was all Dolly's cleverness that won that race."

"I'm awfully glad you're back, Bessie. I've had the strangest feeling this afternoon—as if someone were watching me."

Bessie grew grave at once. Although she never shared them, she had grown chary of laughing at Zara's premonitions and feelings. They had been justified too often by what happened after she spoke of them.

"What do you mean, dear!" she asked. "I don't see how anyone could be around without being seen. It's very open."

"I don't know, but I've had the feeling, I'm sure of that. It's just as if someone had known exactly what I was doing, as long as I was out here on the beach. But when I went into the tent, it stopped. That made me feel that I must be right."

"Well, maybe you're mistaken, Zara. You know we've had so many strange things happen to us lately that it would be funny if it hadn't made you nervous. You're probably imagining this."

Though Bessie tried thus to disarm Zara's suspicions, she was by no means easy in her own mind. She felt that it would be a good thing to induce Zara to forget her presentiment, or feeling, or whatever it was, if she could. But, just the same, she determined to be on her guard, and she spoke to Dolly.

"She's a queer case, that Zara," said Dolly, with a little shiver. "If any other girl I knew said anything like that, I'd just laugh at her. But Zara's different, somehow. She seems sort of mysterious. Perhaps it's just because she's a foreigner—I don't know."

"I spoke to you so that we could be on the lookout, Dolly. And I guess we'd better not say anything to anyone else. I think a lot of the girls would laugh at Zara if they knew that she had such ideas."

Bessie and Dolly managed to find occasion to cover most of the beach before supper, and they went up to the spring at the top of the bluff that overlooked the beach. The water had been piped down, and there was no longer any need of carrying pails up there to get water, but it was still a pleasant little walk, for the view from the top of the path was delightful. And Bessie and Dolly remembered, moreover, that it was there that the men who had watched the camp on the night of the fire had hidden themselves. But this time they found no one there.

Supper was a merry meal. The race of the afternoon was, of course, the principal topic of conversation, and in addition there were adventures to be told by those who had missed it and gone into Bay City to shop.

But Bessie, watching Zara, noticed toward the end of the meal that her strange little friend, who happened to be sitting near the entrance of the tent in which they ate, was nervous and kept looking behind her out into the darkness as if she saw something. And so, with a whispered explanation to Dolly, she rose and crept very silently toward the door. As she passed Zara, she let her hand fall reassuringly on her shoulder, and then, gathering herself, sprang out into the night.

And, so completely surprised by her sudden appearance that he could not get out of the way, there was Jake Hoover! Jake Hoover, who was supposed to be in the city, telling his story to Charlie Jamieson! Jake Hoover, who, after having done all sorts of dirty work for Holmes and his fellow-conspirators, had told Bessie that he was sorry and was going to change sides!

"Jake!" said Bessie, sternly. "You miserable sneak! What are you doing here!"

No wonder poor Zara had had that feeling of being watched. Jake's work for Holmes right along had been mostly that of the spy, and here he was once more engaged in it. Bessie was furious at her discovery. Big and strong as Jake was, he was whimpering now, and Bessie seized him and shook him by the shoulders.

"Tell me what you're doing here right away!" commanded Bessie. Gone were the days when she had feared him—the well-remembered days of her bondage on the Hoover farm, when his word had always been enough to secure her punishment at the hands of his mother, who had never been able to see the evil nature of her boy.

"I ain't doin' no harm—honest I ain't, Bessie," he whined. "I—jest wanted—I jest wanted to see you and Miss Mercer—honest, that's why I'm here!"

"That's a likely story, isn't it?" said Bessie, scornfully. "If that was so, why did you come sneaking around like this? Why didn't you come right out and ask for us? You didn't think we were going to eat you, did you?"

"I—I didn't want them to know I was doin' it, Bess," he said. "I'm scared, Bessie—I'm afraid of what they'd do to me, if they found out I was takin' your side agin' them."

Despite herself, Bessie felt a certain pity for the coward coming over her. She released his shoulder, and stood looking at him with infinite scorn in her eyes.

"And to think I was ever afraid of you!" she said, aloud.

"That's right, Bess," he said, pleadingly. "I wouldn't hurt you—you know that, don't you? I used to like to tease you and worry you a bit, but I never meant any real harm. I was always good to you, mostly, wasn't I?"

"Dolly!" called Bessie, sharply. She didn't know just what to do, and she felt that, having Jake here, he should be held. It had been plain that Charlie Jamieson had considered what he had to tell valuable.

"Hello! Did you call me, Bessie?" said Dolly, coming out of the tent. "Oh!"

The exclamation was wrung out of her as she saw and recognized Jake.

"So he's spying around here now, is he?" she said. "I told you he was a bad lot when you let him go at Windsor, didn't I? I knew he'd be up to his old tricks again just as soon as he got half a chance."

"Never mind that, Dolly. Tell Miss Eleanor he's here, will you, and ask her to come out! I think she'd better see him, now that he's here."

"That's right—and, say, tell her to hurry, will you?" begged Jake. "I can't stay here—I'm afraid they'll catch me."

Dolly went into the tent again, and in a moment Eleanor Mercer came out. She had never seen Jake before, but she knew all about him for Bessie and Zara had told her enough of his history for her to be more intimate with his life than his own parents.

"Good evening, Jake," she said, as she saw him. "So you decided to talk to us instead of to Mr. Jamieson? Well, I'm glad you're here, I'll have to keep you waiting a minute, but I shan't be long. Stay right there till I come back."

"Yes, ma'am," whined Jake. "But do hurry, please, ma'am! I'm afraid of what they'll do to me if they find I'm here."

Eleanor was gone only a few minutes, and when she returned she was smiling, as if at some joke that she shared with no one.

"I'm sure you haven't had any supper, Jake," she said. "The girls have finished. See, they're coming out now. Come inside, and I'll see that you get a good meal. You'll be able to talk better when you've eaten."

Jake hesitated, plainly struggling between his hunger and his fear. But hunger won, and he went into the tent, followed by Bessie and Dolly, who, although the service was reluctant on Dolly's part, at least, saw to it that he had plenty to eat.

"Just forget your troubles and pitch into that food, Jake," said Eleanor, kindly. "You'll be able to talk much better on a full stomach, you know."

And whenever Jake seemed inclined to stop eating, and to break out with new evidences of his alarm, they forced more food on him. At last, however, he was so full that he could eat no more, and he rose nervously.

"I've got to be going now," he said. "Honest, I'm afraid to stay here any longer—"

"Oh, but you came here to tell us something, you know," said Eleanor. "Surely you're not going away without doing that, are you?"

"I did think you'd keep your word, Jake," said Bessie, reproachfully.

"I can't! I've got to go, I tell you!" Jake broke out. His fright was not assumed; it was plain that he was terrified. "If they was after you, I guess you'd know—here, I'm going—"

"Not so fast, young man!" said a stern voice in the door of the tent, and Jake almost collapsed as Bill Trenwith, a policeman in uniform at his back, came in. "There you are, Jones, there's your man. Arrest him on a charge of having no means of support—that will hold him for the present. We can decide later on what we want to send him to prison for. He's done enough to get him twenty years."

Jake gave a shriek of terror and fell to the ground, grovelling at the lawyer's feet.

"Oh, don't arrest me!" he begged. "I'll tell you everything I know. Don't arrest me!"

"It's the only way to hold you," said Trenwith. "You've got to learn to be more afraid of us than of Holmes."



CHAPTER X

JAKE HOOVER'S CAPTURE

"You're a fine lot," declared Jake, something about Trenwith's manner seeming to steady him so that he could talk intelligibly. "You tell me I won't get into any trouble if I come here, and then I find it's a trap!"

"No one told you anything of the sort, my lad," said Trenwith, sharply. "You promised to go to Mr. Jamieson and tell him what you knew. No one made you any promises at all, except that you were told you wouldn't have any reason to regret doing it."

Jake looked at Eleanor balefully.

"She's too sharp, that's what she is," he complained bitterly. "I might ha' known she was playing a trick on me—gettin' me to stay here and eat a fine supper. I suppose she went and sent word to you while I was doing it."

"Of course I did, Jake," said Eleanor quietly. "I telephoned to Mr. Trenwith even before you had your supper because I knew that if I didn't do something to keep you here with us, you'd run away again. But I did it as much for your sake as for Bessie's."

"Yes, you did—not!" said Jake. "Why shouldn't you let me go now, then, if that is so?"

"Listen to me, my buck," said Trenwith, sternly. "You're not going to do yourself any good by getting fresh to this lady, I can tell you that. You're pretty well scared, aren't you? You told her that you were afraid of what Holmes would do to you?"

But Jake, alarmed by Trenwith's mention of the name of the man he feared, shut his lips obstinately, and wouldn't say a word in answer. Trenwith smiled cheerfully.

"Oh, you needn't talk now, unless you want to," he said. "I know all you could tell me about that, anyhow. You've been up to some mischief, and they've kept on telling you that if you didn't behave yourself they'd give you away."

Jake's hangdog look showed that to be true, although he still maintained his obstinate silence.

"Well, I happen to be charged with enforcing the law around here, and it's my duty to see that criminals are brought to justice. I don't know just what you've done, but I'll find out, and I'll see that you are turned over to the proper authorities—unless you can do something that will make it worth while to let you off. So, you see, you've got just as much reason to be afraid of us as of the gang you've been training with.

"They won't be able to help you now, either, even if they should want to—and I don't believe they want to, when it comes to that. I've always found that crooks will desert their best friends if it seems to them that they'll get something out of doing it. So if you're trusting to them to get you out of this scrape, you're making a big mistake."

"You'd better listen to what Mr. Trenwith says, Jake," said Eleanor. "You think I've led you into a trap here. Well, I have, in a way. You'll have to go to jail for a little while, anyhow. But you're safer there than you would be if you were free. We're all willing to be your friends, for your father's sake. If we can, we'll get you out of this trouble you are in. But you will have to help us. Think it over."

"What's the use?" said Jake, sullenly. "I ain't got nothin' to tell you, because I don't know nothin'. An' if I did—"

"You'd better take him along, Jones," said Trenwith to the policeman. "It's quite evident that we'll get nothing out of him to-night. And I don't see any use wasting time on him while he's in this frame of mind."

And so Jake, whining and protesting, was taken away. As soon as he was out of sight and hearing Trenwith's manner changed.

"By George," he said, excitedly, "that's a good piece of work! There's something mighty interesting coming off here pretty soon. I'm not at liberty to tell you what it is yet, but I had a long talk on the telephone with Charlie just before you called me, Eleanor, and there are going to be ructions!"

"Oh, I suppose we mustn't ask you to tell us, if you've promised not to do it," said Eleanor, "but I do wish we knew!"

She didn't seem to notice that he had called her by her first name—a privilege that was not accorded, as a rule, to those who had no more of an acquaintance with her than Billy Trenwith. But he had done it so naturally, and with so little thought, that she could hardly have resented it, anyway. But Dolly noticed it, and nudged Bessie mischievously.

"Then you really think we're going to find something out from Jake, Mr. Trenwith?" asked Dolly.

"We'll find a way to make him talk, never fear," said Trenwith. "The boy's a natural born coward. He'll do anything to save his own skin if he finds he's in real trouble and that the others of his gang can't help him. I don't think he's naturally bad or vicious—I think he's just weak. He was spoiled by his mother, wasn't he? He acts the way a good many boys do who have been treated that way. He's not got enough strength of character to keep him from taking the easiest path. If a thing seems safe, he's willing to do it to avoid trouble."

"You know there's just one thing that occurs to me," said Eleanor, looking worried. "Jake may have come here with some vague idea of telling us what he knew. But suppose he has seen Holmes or some of the others since Bessie got him to promise to go to Charlie Jamieson in the city?"

"I hoped you wouldn't think of that," said Trenwith, gravely. "I thought of it, too. You mean he might have been here just as a spy, with no idea of showing himself at all?"

"The way he acted makes it look as if that was just why he was here, too," said Dolly. "He was sneaking around, and he certainly didn't seem very pleased when Bessie found him."

"He did his best to squirm away," said Bessie. "If Zara hadn't been so nervous while we were eating supper I would never have thought of going after him, either. But she seems to be able to see things and hear things, in some queer fashion, when no one else can."

"That's a good thing for the rest of us," said Trenwith with a smile. "She's a useful person to have around at a time like this. I'm going to have a couple of my men—detectives—stay around here to-night to keep an eye on things. It's likely, of course, that there's nothing to be afraid of, but just the same, we don't want to take any chances."

"I'm glad you've done that," said Eleanor. "I don't think I'm the ordinary type of timid woman, but I must confess that all these things worry me, and I'll feel a lot safer if I know that we are not entirely at the mercy of any trick they try to play on us to-night. They seem to be getting bolder, all the time."

"Well, after all you know, that's one of the most hopeful things about the whole business. It means that they're getting desperate—that their time is getting short. They feel that if they don't succeed soon they never will, because it will be too late. All we've got to do is to stand them off a little longer, and the whole business will be settled and done with.

"I've got to get back to Bay City to-night. If anything happens, don't hesitate to call me up, no matter what time it is. If I'm out at any time you do have to call me, I'll leave word where I'm going, so that if you tell them at my house who you are, they'll find me. Good-night!"

Neither Dolly nor Bessie slept well that night. Jake's appearance had been disturbing; it seemed to both of them much more likely that his coming heralded some new attempt by Holmes, rather than a desire on his part to confess. But the night passed without anything to rouse them, and in the morning their fears seemed rather foolish, as fears are apt to do when they are examined in the sunlight of a new day.

"I don't see what they can do, after all," said Dolly. "There aren't any woods around here as there were at Long Lake. We're all in sight of the camp and of one another all the time, and they certainly won't be able to work that trick of setting the tents on fire again."

"I guess you're right," said Bessie. "It seems different this morning, somehow. I was worried enough last night but I feel a whole lot better now. I'm glad it's such a beautiful day. The weather makes a lot of difference in the way you feel. It always does with me, I know."

"I'm going out in the sloop after breakfast," said Dolly. "That is, if Miss Eleanor says it's all right. There's a lot more wind than there was yesterday, and we can have some good fun."

"Can I go, too?" asked Bessie. "You were quite right when you told me I'd love the seashore, Dolly. Do you remember how I said I was sorry we were leaving the mountains?"

"Oh, I knew it would fascinate you, just as it does me. So you've given up your love for the mountains?"

"Not a bit of it! I love them as much as ever, but I've found out that the seashore has attractive things about it, too. And I think sailing, the way we did yesterday, is about the nicest of all."

"Then you just wait until we get out there to-day, with a real breeze, and a good sea running. That's going to be something you've never even dreamed of."

They had hearty appetites for breakfast in spite of their restless and disturbed sleep, for the bracing effects of their swim, taken before the meal, more than made up for the lack of proper rest. And after breakfast Dolly asked permission to go out in the sloop, since one of the very few rules of the Camp Fire, and one strictly enforced, had to do with water sports.

None of the girls were ever allowed to go in swimming unless the Guardian was present, and the same rules applied to boating and sailing—with the added restriction that no girl who did not know how to swim well enough to pass certain tests was allowed to go in a boat at all. Moreover, bathing suits had always to be worn when in a boat.

"Indeed you may," said Eleanor, when Dolly asked her question. "And will you take me with you! I'd like to be out on that sea to-day. It looks glorious."

"We'll love to have you along," said Dolly. "How soon may we start?"

"It's eight o'clock," said Eleanor, looking at her watch. "We can start at ten. That will allow plenty of time after eating. Of course, we don't intend to go in the water, but you never can tell—it's squally to-day, and we might be upset. And that's one thing I don't believe in taking chances with. A cramp will make the best swimmer in the world perfectly helpless in the water, and about every case of cramps I ever heard of came from going in the water too soon after a meal."

When they were aboard the Eleanor and scooting through the opening in the bar, Bessie found that the conditions were indeed very different from those of the previous afternoon. The wind had changed and become much heavier, and as the Eleanor went along, she dipped her bow continually, so that the spray rose and drenched all on board. But there was something splendidly exciting and invigorating about it, and she loved every new sensation that came to her.

"Here's the Defiance coming out," said Eleanor, after they had been enjoying the sport for half an hour. "Gladys must like this sort of a breeze, too."

"She does, but she's never had as much of it as I have," said Dolly. "I hope she understands it well enough not to make any mistakes. A boat like this takes a good deal of handling in a heavy breeze, and it seems to me that she's carrying a good deal of sail."

"She seems to be getting along all right, though," said Eleanor, after watching the Defiance for a few minutes. "Why, Dolly, I wonder what she's doing now."

The maneuvres of the Defiance seemed strange enough to prompt Eleanor's question, for, no matter how Dolly tacked, the Defiance followed her, drawing nearer all the time. Since Dolly had no sort of definite purpose in mind, it was plain that Gladys was simply following her. And soon the reason was apparent.

"She's trying to race; she wants to show that she can beat us to-day when there's plenty of wind," said Dolly. "If she wanted to race, why didn't she say so?"

"Well, give her her way, Dolly," said Eleanor. "Keep straight on now for a little while and see if she can beat you. We're just about on even terms now."

And on even terms they stayed. Sometimes one, sometimes the other seemed to gain a little advantage, but it was plain that the boats, as well as the skippers, were very evenly matched. Since there was no agreement to race, Dolly had the choice of courses, and in a spirit of mischief she came about frequently. And every time she changed her course Gladys followed suit.

Although the boats were often within easy hailing distance, Gladys avoided Dolly's eyes, and nothing was said by those on either sloop. They were satisfied with the fun of this impromptu racing. But at last, when they were perhaps a mile from the opening in the bar, and very close together, Eleanor, looking at her watch, saw that it was nearly time for lunch.

"You'd better turn for home now, Dolly," she said. "Suppose I give Gladys a hail and suggest a race to the bar?"

"All right," agreed Dolly.

"Gladys!" Eleanor sent her clear voice across the water, and Gladys answered with a wave of her hands. She seemed in better humor than she had been the day before.

"We're going in now. Want to race to the bar?"

"All right!" called Gladys, in answer and came about smartly. She had been quick, but Dolly was just as quick, and they were on the most even terms imaginable as the race began.

But Dolly and the Eleanor had one advantage that Gladys was not slow to recognize. The Eleanor had the inside course. In a close finish that would be very likely to spell the difference between victory and defeat, since, to reach the opening, Gladys would either have to get far enough ahead to cross the Eleanor's bows or else to cross behind her, which would entail so much loss of time that Dolly would be certain to bring her craft home a winner. But since the previous racing had shown the Defiance to be just a trifle swifter before the wind, that advantage seemed to be one that Gladys could easily overcome.

Now that she was racing, however, Dolly changed her tactics. Fresh as the wind was, she shook out a reef in her mainsail, and as they neared the bar the Eleanor actually carried more canvas than Gladys dared to keep on the Defiance, Being less used to heavy going than Dolly, she was not so sure of the strength of her sticks, and reckless though she was, she was too wise to be willing to take a chance of being dismasted.

And so the advantage that Gladys had to gain to be able to cross the Eleanor's bows seemed to be impossible for her to attain. The Eleanor did not go ahead, but she held her own, and she had the right of way.

"You're going to beat her again, and fair and square this time," said Eleanor, excitedly. "She won't be able to say a word to this!"

"Look!" said Dolly, suddenly. "She's going to cross me—and she's got no right to do it!" She shouted loudly. "Gladys! Gladys! I'll run you down! Don't do that! I've got the right of way!"

But Gladys kept on with a mocking laugh. Furious at the trick, Dolly put her helm hard over, and the Eleanor came up in the wind.

"That's a mean trick, if you like!" cried Dolly, indignantly. "In a regular race, if she did a thing like that, the other boat would run her down, and would win on a foul. But she knew very well I'd give up the position rather than cause an accident!"

The check to the Eleanor was only for a moment, but it was enough to throw her off her course and make it certain that the Defiance would reach the bar first.

"Never mind, Dolly. You did the right thing," said Eleanor, quietly. "I think she's quite welcome to the race, if she cares enough about winning it to play a trick like that!"

Bessie was up in the bow, looking intently at the Defiance. And now as Gladys came up to get the straight course again, something went wrong. By some mistaken handling of her helm she had lost her proper direction, and to her amazement Bessie saw the boom come over sharply. She saw it, too, strike Gladys on the head—and the next moment the Defiance gybed helplessly, while Gladys was swept overboard.

Bessie did not hesitate a moment. She had seen that blow struck by the boom, and with a cry of warning she plunged overboard as they swept by the helpless Defiance, and with powerful strokes made for the place where Gladys had gone overboard. Gladys had gone straight down, but Bessie had marked the spot, and she dived as she reached it, and met her coming up. She clutched her in a moment, and was on the surface almost at once, holding Gladys, and looking for Dolly and the Eleanor. Dolly would return for her at once, she knew, if she had seen Gladys go over. But, to her amazement the sloop was heading for the bar, sailing away from her fast! Dolly had not seen her and, for a moment, Bessie was badly scared.



CHAPTER XI

THE RESCUE

In a moment, however, she realized that she could not be left alone for long. Her absence from the Eleanor would be noticed, even if no one had seen her leap overboard; and, moreover, the strange behavior of the Defiance was sure to attract Dolly's attention, for, without Gladys to direct her, the Defiance was in a bad way. She had heeled over sharply, and seemed now to be sailing in circles, following the errant impulses of the wind, which caught first one sail, then another.

Although she was quite near the Defiance, Bessie looked for no help from her. To swim toward her, with Gladys as a burden, seemed hopeless. The boat was not staying in one position. And moreover, Marcia Bates and the other girl on board of her seemed almost entirely ignorant of what to do. They would have quite enough, on their hands in trying to get her headed for the opening in the bar.

And suddenly a new danger was added to the others. For Gladys, it seemed, was recovering her senses—or, rather, she was no longer unconscious. To her horror, Bessie found, as Gladys opened her eyes, that she was delirious. That, of course, was the effect of the blow on her head from the boom, but its effect, no matter what the cause, was what worried Bessie.

"Keep still! Don't move, Gladys!" warned Bessie, as she saw the other girl's eyes open.

But Gladys either would not or could not obey that good advice. She struggled furiously by way of answer, and for a long minute Bessie was too busy keeping afloat to be able to look for the coming of the help that was so badly needed.

There seemed to be no purpose to the struggles of Gladys, but they were none the less desperate because of that. Her eyes had the wide, fixed stare that, had Bessie known it, is so invariably seen in those who are in mortal fear of drowning. And she clung to Bessie with a strength that no one could have imagined her capable of displaying.

And at last, though she hated to do it, Bessie managed to get her hands free, and, clenching her fists, she drove them repeatedly into the other's face so that Gladys was forced to let go and put her hands before her face to cover herself from the vicious blows.

At once Bessie seized the opportunity. She flung herself away, knowing that even though she did not try to help herself, but being conscious, Gladys would not sink at once, and got behind her, so that she could grasp her by the shoulders and be safe from the deadly clutch of her arms.

Free from the terrible danger that is the risk assumed by all who rescue drowning persons, that of being dragged down by the victim, Bessie was able to raise her head and look for the Eleanor. And now she gave a wild cry as she saw the sloop bearing down upon her. Eleanor Mercer was in the bow, a coil of rope in her hands, and a moment later she flung it skillfully, so that Bessie caught it. At once Bessie made a noose and slipped the rope over Gladys's shoulders. Then she let go, and, turning on her back, rested while Gladys was dragged toward the sloop.

Bessie herself was almost exhausted by her struggle. She felt that, had her very life depended upon doing it, she could not have swam the few yards that separated her from the sloop. But there was no need for her to do it. Steering with the utmost skill, Dolly soon brought the Eleanor alongside of Bessie as she lay floating in the water, and a moment later she was being helped aboard.

"Lie down and rest," commanded Eleanor. "Don't try to talk yet."

And Bessie was glad enough to obey. She lay down beside Gladys, who seemed to have fainted again, and Eleanor threw a rug over her.

"Now we must get them ashore as quickly as we can, Dolly," said Eleanor. "Bessie's just tired out, but I don't like the looks of Gladys at all."

"The boom hit her," said Bessie, weakly. "It hit her on the head. That's how she was knocked overboard. She didn't know what she was doing when she struggled so in the water."

"What a lucky thing you saw what happened!" said Dolly. "I was so intent on the race that I never looked at all, and I didn't even know you'd gone over until I called to you and you didn't answer."

"Oh, I knew you'd come back, Dolly. I just wondered, when Gladys was struggling so, if you'd be in time."

This time Dolly didn't stop at the anchorage of the sloop, but ran her right up on the beach. That meant some trouble in getting her off when they came to that, but it was no time to hesitate because of trifles. Once they were ashore, the other girls, who had, of course, seen nothing of the accident that had so nearly had a tragic ending, rushed up to help, and in a few moments Gladys was being carried to the big living tent.

There her wet clothes were taken off, she was rubbed with alcohol, and wrapped in hot blankets. And as Eleanor and Margery Burton stood over her, she opened her eyes, looked at them in astonishment, and wanted to know where she was.

"Oh, thank Heaven!" cried Eleanor. "She's come to her senses, I do believe! Gladys, do you feel all right?"

"I—I—think so," said Gladys, faintly, putting her hand to her head. "I've got an awful headache. What happened? I seem to remember being hit on the head—"

"Your boom struck you as it swung over, and knocked you into the water, Gladys," said Eleanor. "You couldn't swim, and you don't remember anything after that, do you? It dazed you for a time, so that you didn't know what you were doing. But you're all right now, though I've telephoned for a doctor, and he'd better have a look at you when he comes, just to make sure you're all right."

"But—how did I get here?"

"Bessie King saw you go overboard and jumped after you. Of course, the girls on your boat were pretty helpless—she was going all around in circles after you left the tiller free, so they couldn't do anything."

Gladys closed her eyes for a moment.

"I'd like to talk to her later—when I feel better," she said. "I think I'll try to go to sleep now, if I may. The pain in my head is dreadful."

"Yes, that's the best thing you can do," said Eleanor warmly. "You'll feel ever so much better, I know, when you wake up. Someone will be here with you all the time, so that if you wake up and want anything, you'll only need to ask for it."

But Gladys was asleep before Eleanor had finished speaking. Nature was taking charge of the case and prescribing the greatest of all her remedies, sleep.

Eleanor turned away, with relief showing plainly in her eyes.

"I think she'll be all right now," she said. "If that blow were going to have any serious effects, I don't believe she'd be in her senses now."

"I think it's a good thing it happened, in a way," said Dolly, when they were outside of the tent. "Did you notice how she spoke about Bessie, Miss Eleanor?"

"Yes. I see what you mean, Dolly. Of course, I'm sorry she had to have such an experience, but maybe you're right, after all. I'm quite sure that her feelings toward Bessie will be changed after this—she'd have to be a dreadful sort of girl if she could keep on cherishing her dislike and resentment. And I'm sure she's not."

"Hello! Why aren't you in bed, sleeping off that ducking?" asked Dolly suddenly. For Bessie, in dry clothes, and looking as if she had had nothing more exciting than an ordinary plunge into the sea to fill her day, was coming toward them from her own tent.

"Oh, I feel fine!" said Bessie. "The only trouble with me was that I was scared—just plain scared! If I'd known that everything was going to be all right, I could have turned and swam ashore after you started towing Gladys in. Is she all right? I'm more bothered about her than about myself."

"I think she's going to feel a lot better when she wakes up," said Eleanor. "I think I'm enough of a doctor to be able to tell when there's anything seriously wrong. But I'm not taking any chances—I've sent for a doctor."

"How about the other boat? Did they get in all right?" asked Dolly, "I forgot all about them, I was so worked up about Bessie and Gladys."

"They had a tough time, but they managed it," said Margery Burton. "Here's Miss Turner now. I suppose she's worried about Gladys."

Worried she certainly was, but Eleanor was able to reassure her, and soon the doctor, arriving from Green Cove, pronounced Gladys to be in no danger.

"She'll have that headache when she wakes up," he said; "but it will be a lot better, and by to-morrow morning it will be gone altogether. Don't give her much to eat; some chicken broth ought to be enough. She's evidently got a good constitution. If she had fractured her skull she wouldn't have been conscious yet, nor for a good many days."

But the accident had one unforeseen consequence, that was rather amusing than otherwise to Dolly, at first, at least. For, before the doctor was ready to go, the sound of an automobile engine was heard up on the bluff, and a minute later Billy Trenwith came racing down the path.

At the sight of Eleanor he paused, looking a little sheepish.

"I heard that Doctor Black was coming here—I was afraid something might have happened to you," he stammered.

"Why, whatever made you think that?" said Eleanor, honestly puzzled. Then she turned, surprised again by a burst of hysterical laughter from Dolly, who, staring at Trenwith's red face, was entirely unable to contain her mirth. Under Eleanor's steady gaze she managed to control herself, but then she went off again helplessly as Doctor Black winked at her very deliberately.

Scandalized and rather indignant as the point of the joke began to reach her, Eleanor was dismayed to see that Bessie, the grave, was also having a hard time to keep from laughing outright. So she blushed, which was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, and then made some excuse for a hasty flight.

"Well, you people have so many things happen to you all the time," said Trenwith, indignantly, "that I don't see why it wasn't perfectly natural for me to come out to see what was wrong now!"

"Oh, don't apologize to me, Mr. Trenwith!" said Dolly, mischievously. "And—can you keep a secret?"

He looked at her, not knowing whether he ought to laugh or frown, and Dolly went up to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and raised herself so that she could whisper in his ear.

"She isn't half as angry as she pretends," she said.

Then Eleanor came back, and Dolly made herself scarce. She had a positive genius for knowing just how far she could go safely in her teasing.

"I had to come out here, anyhow," said Trenwith, to Eleanor. "Look here. I got this message from Charlie Jamieson."

Eleanor took it.

"I don't see why you let Charlie order you around so," she said, severely. "Haven't you any business of your own to attend to? He hasn't any right to expect you to waste all your time trying to keep us out of trouble."

"Oh, it isn't wasted," he said, indignantly. "We're supposed to help our friends—and we're friends, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," said Eleanor, relenting.

He brightened at once.

"Well," he said, impulsively, "you see Charlie says he doesn't want me to let you and those two girls—Bessie and Zara—out of my sight until he comes. Couldn't you all come out for a sail with me in my motor launch? We could have supper on board and it would be lots of fun, I think."

Eleanor looked doubtful.

"I don't know about leaving the camp," she said. "I ought to be here to keep an eye on things."

"Oh, you can go perfectly well, Miss Eleanor," said Margery Burton. "It will do Bessie and Dolly a lot of good if you take them—they've had a pretty exciting day. And we can ask all the Halsted girls over to supper, and Miss Turner will be with them. She can take your place as Guardian for a few hours, can't she?"

"If she will come. Why, yes, that would make it all right," said Eleanor. Somehow she found that she wasn't half as strong-minded and self-reliant when this very masterful young man was around. "You might go over and see, Margery, if you will."

"Splendid!" said Trenwith. "We'll have a perfectly bully time, I know. You keep at it too hard, Miss Mercer—really you do!"

"We won't go very far, will we?" said Eleanor, yielding to the lure of a sail at sunset.

"Oh, no, just a few miles down the coast. There's a lot of pretty scenery you ought to see—and I've got a man who helps me to run my boat who's a perfect wizard at cooking, We've got a sort of imitation kitchen on board, but he does things in it that would make the chef of a big hotel envious. He's one of the few things I boast about."

Margery soon returned with word that the Halsted girls would accept the supper invitation, and that Mary Turner would be delighted to come.

Margery's eyes were twinkling, and it was plain that Mary Turner had said something else that was not to be repeated.

"All right! That's great!" said Trenwith, happily. "I'll run back to Green Cove in my car, and come around here again in the launch. It was to follow me there. I'll be back soon."

Indeed, in half an hour he was back, and Eleanor with Zara, Bessie and Dolly, were taken out to the Columbia in two trips of the little dinghy which served as her tender. The Columbia was a big, roomy, motor launch, without a deck, but containing a little cabin, and a comfortable lounging space aft, which was covered with an awning.

"What a delightful boat!" said Eleanor, as she settled herself comfortably amid the cushions Trenwith had provided for her. "I should think you could have an awfully good time on her."

"I've used her a lot," said Trenwith. "There's room in the cabin for two fellows to sleep, if they don't mind being crowded, and of course in warm weather one can sleep out here. I've used her quite a lot to go duck hunting, and for little cruises when I've been all tired out. Charlie Jamieson has been with me several times."

"I've heard him talk about the good times he's had on her. It was stupid of me to have forgotten."

"She's not very fast or very fashionable, but she is good fun. I'd rather have a steady, slow engine that you can depend on than one of those racing motors that's always getting out of order."

"All ready to start, sir, Mr. Trenwith," said Bates, his 'crew,' then, and Trenwith took the wheel.

"All right," he said. "Let her go, Bates! You can steer from the wheel in the bow after we get started, right down the coast. We'll lie to off Humber Island and eat supper."

"Right, sir!" said Bates. "I've got a good supper for to-night, too."

"Being right out on the water this way makes me hungry," said Eleanor. "That's good news, Bates."



CHAPTER XII

THE TRAITOR

The Columbia slowly and steadily made her way down the coast, keeping within a mile or so of the shore. Speed was certainly not her long suit, but she rode the choppy sea more easily than most boats so small would have done, and, since she was not intended for speed, the usual traffic din of the motor was absent. Altogether, she seemed an ideal pleasure boat.

As they went along, Trenwith pointed out the various places of interest along the shore.

"Down this way we get to a part where a lot of rich men have built summer homes," he said. "You see there's a good beach, and they can buy enough land to have it to themselves. It's pretty lonely, in a way, because they're a good long way from the railroad, but they don't seem to mind that."

"I suppose not. They've got money enough to keep all the automobiles and yachts they want, so they wouldn't use the railroad anyhow. I never would if I could get around any other way."

As they went on, the coast changed considerably from the familiar character it had at Plum Beach. Cliffs took the place of the bluff, and while the beach was still fine and level, there were rocky stretches at more and more frequent intervals.

"What's the nearest town in this direction?" asked Eleanor.

"Rock Haven," said Trenwith. "That's more of a place than Bay City, because it's quite a seaport. Up at Bay City, you see, we don't amount to much except in the summer time. But Rock Haven is a big place, and most of the people who live there are there all the year round instead of only for three months or so in the summer. You haven't any idea of what a dull old place Bay City is in winter."

"If it's so dull, I shouldn't think you'd stay there."

"Oh, it was a good place for me to get a start, you know. I've been able to get along in politics, and I've done better there than I would have in the city, I suppose. And it's all right for a bachelor, anyhow. He can always get away. If I were married—well, it would be very different then."

"I should think you'd like it much better in the city, though, even if you are a bachelor. Why don't you come there this winter?"

"Perhaps—I'd like—do you want me to come?"

He leaned forward, as if her answer were the most important thing in the world, and, seeing Dolly's mischievous glance at Bessie, Eleanor blushed slightly.

"I think it would be better for you to be in the city," she said, with dignity.

"Well, I'll tell you a secret then—I'm really bursting with a whole lot of others that I mustn't tell. Charlie's been at me for months to come and be his partner, and I've promised to think it over."

"I think that would be splendid."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so, because it really depends on you whether I shall come or not."

"Hush!" she said, blushing again, and speaking in so low a tone that only he could hear her. "You mustn't talk like that here—and now. It—it isn't right."

She looked helplessly at Dolly, and Trenwith, understanding, looked as if she had said something that delighted him. Perhaps she had—perhaps she had even meant to do so.

"I'll attend to getting supper ready now, sir, Mr. Trenwith, if you'll take the wheel," said Bates, just then.

"All right," said Trenwith, nodding. "Now make a good job of it, Bates. I've been praising you up to the skies."

Bates grinned widely, and disappeared.

No apologies were needed when they came to eat the supper which had been so well heralded. A table was set up in the after part of the boat, and the awning was drawn back so that the stars shone down on them. The Columbia's engine was stopped, and she lay under the lee of Humber Island, a long, wooded islet that sheltered them from the strong breeze, making the sea as smooth as a mill pond. On shore twinkling lights began to appear, and, some distance away, a glare of lights in the sky betrayed the location of Rock Haven.

"Oh, this is lovely!" said Eleanor. "I'm so glad you brought us here, Mr. Trenwith! But tell me, doesn't anyone live on this island? It's so beautiful that I should think someone would surely have built a summer home there long ago."

"I believe there are people there," said Trenwith. "But they are on the other side."

"I'm sorry we have to go home, but I suppose we really must be starting," said Eleanor, after supper. "It's such a heavenly night that it seems to me it would be perfect just to stay here."

"Wouldn't it? But you're right—we must be starting back. We'll go on and come around the other side of this island. You should see it from all points of view. Scenically, it's our show place for this whole stretch of coast."

And so as soon as Bates had finished clearing off the table he went back to his engine, and the Columbia slipped along smoothly in the shadow of the island. But a few minutes later, as they were gliding along on the seaward side, where the water was far rougher, there was a sudden jar, and the next moment the engine stopped.

"Why, what's the matter!" asked Eleanor, surprised.

"Nothing much, probably," said Trenwith "Bates will have it fixed in a few minutes. The best engine in the world is apt to get balky at times—and I must say that mine has chosen a very good time to misbehave."

Eleanor chose to ignore the meaning he so plainly implied, but she was perfectly content with the explanation, and sat there dreamily, expecting to hear the reassuring whir of the motor at any moment. But the minutes dragged themselves out, and the only sound that came from the engine was the tapping of the tools Bates was using. Trenwith frowned.

"This is very strange," he said. "We've never been delayed as long as this since I've had Bates. He usually keeps the motor in perfect running order. I'll just step forward and see what's wrong."

He returned in a few moments, his face grave.

"Bates has some highly technical explanation of what is wrong," he said, seriously. "It seems that he needs some tools he hasn't got, in order to grind the valves. I'm afraid we'll have to get ashore somehow—he seems to be sure that he can find what he is looking for there."

Eleanor looked rather dismayed.

"It's going to make us terribly late in getting ashore, isn't it?" she asked. "I'm afraid the others will be worried about us."

"No. Bates says that as soon as he gets the tools he wants he will have things fixed up, and he's quite certain that he can get them on the island. He says anyone who has a motor boat will be able to help him out—and they certainly couldn't live here without one."

"But how on earth are you going to get ashore if the engine won't work?" asked Dolly. "It seems to me that we're stuck out here."

"Oh, you leave that to us!" said Trenwith, cheerfully. "I'm sorry this has happened, but please believe me when I say that it isn't a bit serious."

They soon saw the Columbia was to be rescued from her predicament. She was fairly near the shore, and now Bates dropped an anchor, and she remained still, swinging slowly on the chain.

"He'll row ashore, you see, hunt up the people, and tell them what he wants," said Trenwith. "Hurry up, Bates! Remember, we've promised to get these young ladies home in good time."

"Right, sir," said Bates, as he lowered the dinghy and dropped into her. "Won't take me long when I find the people on shore—and about five minutes will fix that engine when I get back here again."

He rowed off into the darkness, making for a point of light that showed on shore, and they settled back to wait as patiently as they could for his return.

"Suppose Charlie turns up at the camp while we're gone, and wants you for something important?" asked Eleanor. "Oh, I'm afraid we did wrong in coming!"

"Not a bit of it! Old Charlie will understand. And I know his plans pretty well, so there isn't any danger of this causing any trouble."

It seemed to take longer for Bates to find help than he had expected. At any rate, the greater part of half an hour slipped away before they heard the sound of oars coming toward them.

"Why, there are two men rowing!" said Dolly, curiously. "And that dinghy only has room for one man with oars."

"Probably they decided to send someone out with him to lend him a hand," said Trenwith. "People around these parts are pretty nice to you if you have a breakdown, and I guess it's partly because they never know when they're going to have one themselves."

"Well, that ought to make it easier to make the repairs that are needed," said Eleanor, somewhat relieved. "I really am getting worried about what they'll think at the beach. I'm afraid they'll be sure that something has happened to us."

"Good evening, Miss Mercer," said a mocking voice behind her, and she turned with a start to see Holmes!

"You're late," said Holmes, reproachfully. "I expected you an hour earlier. But then better late than, never! Ah, I see both of them are with you! Silas Weeks will be very glad to see you two, I have no doubt!"

He spoke then to Bessie and Zara, who, terrified by his sodden appearance, were staring at him.

"Mr. Trenwith!" said Eleanor, sharply. "You know who this man is, do you not? And what our feelings are concerning him? Are you going to let him stay here?"

"He has no choice, Miss Mercer. Better not ask him too many questions about how you happened to break down right off my island; he would have a hard time convincing you with any story he told. Eh, Trenwith?"

"Shut up!" growled Trenwith. "What does all this nonsense mean? Get off my boat!"

"Oh, are you trying to make them believe you didn't know about this? I beg your pardon, Trenwith, I really do! Of course, Miss Mercer, he knows as well as I do that I am within my rights. You are now in a state where certain court orders applying to Bessie King and her little friend Zara ate valid—and, knowing that these two girls, who have run away from the courts of this state, are here, I have taken steps to see that they are taken into court. I am a law abiding citizen—I do not like to see the law insulted."

Eleanor was dazed by the suddenness of the blow. To her it seemed an accident; she could not believe that Trenwith could be guilty of such treachery as Holmes was charging. But in a moment her faith in him was shattered.

"I'd like to help out your pose, Trenwith," Holmes said to him. "But I need you, so you'll have to come off your perch. You'll have to come ashore with the others, in case you should change your mind. I only want two of these girls, but the others will have to come, too, of course, because if they got away they might make trouble. You shall be perfectly comfortable, Miss Mercer, however."

The look in Trenwith's eyes, and the sheepish, hangdog expression of his whole face made Eleanor gasp. So he had betrayed them! After all, despite his fine talk, he had been tempted by the money that Holmes seemed prepared to spend so lavishly! And he had led Bessie and Zara right into a trap—a merciless trap, as she knew, from which escape would be most difficult, if not utterly impossible.

And in a moment the lingering remnants of her faith were shattered. For Holmes called out, in a loud tone, at Bates:

"Bates!" he cried. "Come aboard and start that engine! Then you can take your tub right up to the landing pier in front of the house."

"Yes, yes!" said Bates. He sprang aboard, and a moment later the engine, perfectly restored, was started, although nothing had been done to it since Bates went ashore, and, the anchor lifted, the Columbia began her brief voyage to the pier.

There had been no accident at all! The breakdown had been a deception, pure and simple, intended to give Bates a chance to go ashore and warn Holmes that his prey was within his reach.

"Oh, how I despise you!" said Eleanor to Trenwith. "Go away, please, so that I won't have to look at you!"

"Eleanor, listen!" he said, in a low whisper, pleadingly. "I can explain—"

"If you think I'm such a fool as to believe anything you tell me now," she said, furiously, "you are very much mistaken!"

He saw that to argue with her was hopeless, and went forward gloomily. In a few minutes they were ashore. Resistance, as Eleanor saw, was hopeless; the only thing to do was to act sensibly, and hope for a chance to escape.

"I have had three rooms arranged for you," said Holmes, when they reached a great rambling house. "They're on the second floor. I think you girls will be comfortable and you would rather, I am sure, have the girls with you. You are in no danger."



CHAPTER XIII

A LUCKY MEETING

Half a dozen men had come out to the Columbia with Holmes and Bates, and now, while Holmes himself disappeared for a minute, beckoning to Trenwith to go with him, the other men watched Eleanor and the three girls. They drew off to a little distance, but they kept their eyes on them.

"They don't look as if they could run very fast," said Dolly, hopefully. "Don't you think we might be able to make a break and get away?"

"Where to, Dolly? This is an island, remember, and we don't know anything about it at all. We wouldn't know where to run, if we did have luck enough to get a good start—and we wouldn't get very far."

"I suppose that's so," said Dolly, her face falling. "Oh, what a horrid shame! Just when everything seemed so nice and peaceful!"

"There's one thing," said Eleanor, her face set and stern. "They can't hold me forever—or, at least, I don't suppose they can. And someone is going to be sorry for this or my name's not Eleanor Mercer!"

"I don't understand it yet," said Bessie, who, although the capture meant more to her than it did to any of the others, had not given way to her emotions, and seemed as cool and calm as if she had been safely back on Plum Beach.

"It's only too easy to understand," said Eleanor, bitterly. "Charlie was deceived in his friend, Mr. Trenwith. He's just as easy to bribe as Jake Hoover. That's all. He cares more for money and success than he does for his reputation as an honorable man. I'm disappointed in him—but I suppose I ought not to be surprised."

"Well, I am surprised," said Dolly, defiantly. "And I'm sure, somehow, that he's all right. I think he was just as badly fooled as the rest of us. Mr. Holmes probably wants us to think as badly of him as possible, so that, if he should try to help us, we wouldn't trust him."

"I wish I could believe that, Dolly. But the evidence against him is too strong, I'm afraid. Hush, we mustn't talk. Here is Mr. Holmes coming back. I don't want him to think that we're afraid—it would please him too much."

With Mr. Holmes, as he came toward them, was a woman in servant's garb, middle aged, and sour in her appearance.

"This woman will attend to you, Miss Mercer," he said. "She will do whatever you tell her—unless it should happen to conflict with the orders she has from me. But she won't talk to you about me, or about this place because she knows that if she does I will find out about it, and she will have reason to regret it."

"I'm very much pleased by one thing, Mr. Holmes," said Eleanor. "You've shown yourself in your true colors at last. I suppose you understand that when I get back to the city I shall see to it that everyone knows the truth about you. I don't think you will find yourself welcome in the homes of any decent people after I tell what I know."

"I'm sorry, Miss Mercer," he said. "Of course you must do what you think best. But it really won't do any good. I could do things a great deal worse than this, and still, with the money I happen to have, people would keep on fawning on me, and pestering me with their attentions and their invitations as much as ever."

"Perhaps you're right, but I intend to find out. May I ask how long you intend to keep me here as a prisoner?"

"You are my guest, Miss Mercer, not my prisoner. Please don't act as if I were as great a villain as that. Losing your temper will not improve matters in any way, you know—really it won't. As for your question, I think Bessie and Zara will be in the quite competent care of their old friend Silas Weeks by noon to-morrow and then there will be no further reason for keeping you here."

"Then, unless you are remarkably quick in getting out of the country, Mr. Holmes, you ought to be under arrest for kidnapping by to-morrow night."

Holmes laughed.

"Oh, do let's be friends!" he said. "You and your friends have really given me a lot of trouble. But do I bear you any malice? Not I! If you hadn't taken care of those misguided girls after they ran away from Hedgeville, none of this would have come about."

"I suppose you think you have some excuse for acting in this fashion?"

"I certainly have, Miss Mercer. The very best. After all, why shouldn't I tell you! It's too late for you to do me any harm now—I have won the game."