"W-w-what do you want?" Buxton managed to stammer out.

"Dance!" was the crisp command.

The citizen stared, not comprehending the order.

"We cowboys in the West when we want a little fun make a tenderfoot dance while we fire our revolvers at his feet. BEGIN!"

The victim lowered the point of the gun so as to point it at the shoes of Mr. Buxton.

"I—I—can't dance; never done it in my life," he stuttered.

"Can't begin earlier. Start up!"

Knowing what was ordered, the victim obeyed. He leaped up and down, shuffled his feet and made such comical antics that the gun wabbled in the hands of the laughing master of the situation.

"I have one loaded barrel left and I'm aching to let you have it! Keep it up!"

Now that he had started, Mr. Buxton threw more vigor into his steps. He bounded in the air, side-stepped, kicked out his feet, tried a number of fancy movements of which he knew nothing, and acted like an energetic youth taking his first lessons in that branch of the terpsichorean art called buck dancing.

"Turn your back toward me and dance all the way home! If you let up for one minute or look around I'll blaze away, and you won't get the charge in your feet! Remember that!"

Mr. Buxton reflected that having left home so jauntily with loaded weapon over his shoulder, it would be anything but a dignified return to dance back again without it. If he jig-stepped down the main street some neighbor was likely to see him and make remarks. A waltz through the gate, up the steps of the porch and into the hall, by which time it would probably be safe for him to cease his exhausting performance, would undoubtedly cause annoying inquiries on the part of his wife and family.

But there was hope. He might gain a start that would make it safe to resume his natural gait. He did his best. Facing the boundary fence less than two hundred yards away he kicked up his heels, swung his arms in unison, and steadily drew away from that fearful form standing with gun levelled at him. He yearned to break into a run, but dared not. He believed his tormentor was following so as to keep him in range.

It was hardly to be expected that he should go over the fence with a dance step, but he reflected that he could resume his labors immediately he dropped to the ground on the other side and faithfully maintain it to the next boundary. But there was risk and he was afraid to incur it. While still shifting his feet with an energy that caused him to breathe fast, he approached the obstruction. Partly turning his head while toiling as hard as ever, he called:

"I'll have to stop a minute till I climb over, but I'll resoom dancing as soon as I hit the ground on the other side agin. Is that all right?"

There was no reply and he repeated the question in a louder voice. Still hearing nothing, he ventured to look back. The young man was nowhere in sight. Truth to tell, no sooner had Mr. Buxton begun his humorous exhibition than the youth, vainly trying to suppress his mirth, flung down the gun, turned about and entered the wood toward which he was running when so abruptly checked by his pursuer.

"Wal, I'll be hanged!" was the disgusted exclamation of the panting Buxton. "That's the meanest trick I ever had played on me. The scand'lous villain oughter be hung. What a sight I made! I'm mighty glad no one seen me."

In his relief, he did not notice a vague form which flitted along the edge of the wood, so close to the trees that the shadow screened it from clear view. Had Mr. Buxton noted it he might not have felt certain that no one witnessed his unrivalled performance.

He was so tired out from his tremendous efforts that he stood awhile mopping his moist forehead with his handkerchief while he regained his wind.

"It's lucky he didn't foller and make me dance all the way home. Never could have done it. Would have dropped dead, I am that blamed tired."

He leaned against the fence while recovering from his unwonted exercise. Naturally he believed the young man who had used him so ill had carried away his weapon beyond possibility of recovery.

"And I paid twenty-five dollars for it in Portland," he bitterly mused. "It looks to me that as a hunter of post office robbers I ain't of much account."

He resumed his walk homeward, going slowly, carefully climbing the obstructions in his path and studying what explanation to make to his friends for the loss of his valuable piece. He might manage it with all except his wife and son. It would not do to tell them he had dropped it somewhere along the road without noticing the accident. A boy might lose his pocketknife (I know of a youngster who lost a wheelbarrow and never found it again), but a double barreled shotgun manifestly could not disappear in that fashion so much out of the ordinary way of things.

"I think I'll have a look at the post office and larn what mischief the villain done there."

He veered in his course and came to the back window, where a light showed that some persons were gathered. He found mother, daughter and the three boys, who gave him warm greeting.

"Was that your gun we heard a little while ago?" asked the woman.

"I reckon it must have been," replied Mr. Buxton, who declined the invitation to enter and remained standing outside the window.

"Did you hit the burglar?" asked Alvin.

"Young man," said Mr. Buxton loftily, "when I fire at anything I always hit it."

"You didn't kill him, Gerald!" exclaimed the horrified mother.

"No; I just winged him so he won't forget it if he lives a thousand years; don't like to kill a scamp even if he is a burglar."

"Where's your gun?" continued Alvin.

The man glanced around as if it were hidden somewhere about his garments.

"Now isn't that a fine go?" he exclaimed disgustedly. "I set it down while I went forward to see how bad that feller was hit, and plumb forgot."

"O dad, here's your gun!"

It was the son Jim who called this greeting as he straddled forward with the heavy piece resting on his shoulder. All stared in amazement, and the father in his confusion was imprudent enough to ask:

"Where did you get it?"

"I seen that feller that took it away from you and made you dance all the way across the field. He throwed it down and went into the woods. When I seen you hopping and dancing and kicking up your heels I nearly died a-larfing. But I didn't forgit the gun, and run along the edge of the woods and picked it up. Gee! it's heavy! But, dad, I didn't know you could dance like that. Say——"

"You young rascal, didn't I tell you to stay home? I'll larn you!"

The parent made a dive at his son, who, with the gun still over his shoulder, scooted across the yard and over the fence, with his irate father in fierce pursuit.



CHAPTER XXI

HOW IT WAS DONE

The attempt to rob the safe in the Beartown post office was accompanied by more than one unique incident. Chief among these was the cowardice exhibited by two of the three members who composed the little band of lawbreakers.

It has been shown that the full-grown man with a big mustache acted as a lookout at the front, which is perhaps the safest post for a criminal in such circumstances, since he has a good chance to get away on the first approach of danger. A second lookout was placed at the rear. After-developments showed that the trio was headed by Kit Woodford, the adult member, who had led a life of crime since boyhood and had served a term in prison. He would have been more successful as a criminal except for his rank cowardice which caused him to be despised and cast out by several gangs with which he sought to connect himself.

The other two burglars were Orestes Noxon and Graff Miller, neither of whom had reached his majority by more than two years. It was Miller who took his station at the rear, where on the first sign of something amiss he sneaked off without giving the signal which would have warned Noxon in time to flee unharmed. In his way, he was as lacking in personal courage as Kit Woodford. The latter held his place until the racket caused by Mike Murphy's tumble downstairs apprised him that things were not going right. He ventured upon a single timid whistle, which no one else heard, and then slunk down the road, hugging the shadows and intent only on saving his own bacon.

How was it that young Noxon was assigned the most perilous task of all, when in reality he was the youngest of the three? It was due to a peculiar skill which neither of the others possessed. He proved more than once that he could take position in front of an ordinary safe—not the most modern kind—and by a wonderfully deft manipulation of the knob which governed the combination tell by the fall of the tumblers just when the index struck the right numerals. He demonstrated this power many times when all others who made the trial failed. He asked simply to be left undisturbed with his ear against the steel door as he turned the knob with infinite delicacy. He was proud of his ability in this respect, and when Kit Woodford gave him the post of peril he accepted it as a compliment and eagerly essayed the task.

Although there is no evidence on the point, it is quite sure that Kit Woodford, whose chief business was to spy out the land, knew that several wealthy citizens of Beartown made a practice of leaving large deposits with Mrs. Friestone overnight or for several nights and days. It is not to be supposed that Woodford would rob so insignificant a post office for the small booty that belonged to the government. Quite likely he was aware of the large sum left with her on the afternoon before.

But Mike Murphy's original style of descending the back stairs brought the schemes of the criminals to naught, and saved the safe from spoliation. I have told how the three criminals scattered to as many different points of the compass. They could not have come together again had not previous provision been made for such emergencies. The leader, having shaken himself clear of the village, turned into the wood and picked his way toward the river. He was to the north, however, while the other lookout, Miller, was to the south, and neither knew how far apart they were.

There seemed little risk in signalling, and after Woodford had gone half way to the river he paused among the shadows and listened. He had been startled by the report of the gun, but everything was now still. Placing his thumb and forefinger between his lips, he emitted a sharp, tremulous whistle, which was instantly answered by a similar call from some point not far off. A few minutes later he and Miller, after a few precautions, came together among the shadows.

"I knew you would be somewhere in the neighborhood," was the young man's explanation, "and I was listening for your signal."

"Well," growled the elder, "Noxon made a mess of it to-night."

"It looks that way."

"Do you know what happened? Did you see anything?"

"I saw him dash out from the rear of that store with someone chasing him with a loaded gun."

"That must have been what we heard a little while ago. Looks as if they got Nox."

"Shouldn't be surprised," remarked the other indifferently.

"He oughter managed things better. How was it you didn't warn him?"

"I did; I whistled twice the instant I saw his danger, and ran the risk of getting it in the neck myself," was the unblushing response of the youth.

"I don't see that there's anything we can do for him. He got himself in a hole through his own foolishness and must pull himself out. My motto when a gang gets into trouble is that every one must look out for himself and the devil take the hindmost."

"I say, Kit," said Miller, lowering his voice as if fearful of being overheard, "do you think they'll get Nox?"

"Haven't a doubt of it."

"I say, do you think there's any danger of his squealing, that is, if he hasn't been killed?"

"Naw," was the disgusted reply. "Nox is game—true blue; you can bet on him till the cows come home."

Which was more than Nox could say about his two pals.

Kit Woodford may have spoken with confidence, but he was not as free from misgivings as he would have it appear. He could not feel sure of their missing companion. If the report which they had heard did not mean that he had been slain, his capture looked certain, and there was no saying what he might do to secure leniency. Kit knew what he would do in a similar situation.

"Well, come on," he growled. "We're in tough luck to-night."

And the two pushed their way among the trees in the direction of the river.

Meantime, matters remained interesting at the home of Widow Friestone. The words of young Jim Buxton told a graphic story which made even Nora laugh and forget for the time the frightful excitement they had passed through. When the merriment had partly subsided, Mike drew one of his remaining two quarters from his pocket and handed it to Nora.

"Will ye do me the kindness to presint that to Jim when he comes to the store in the morning to set the table on the front porch?"

"What's that for?" asked the puzzled girl.

"For the gayety he imparted to this gloomy avening. I don't know as ye need say that to him, for he wouldn't understand what ye meant until after three or four years of hard thought. But he's airned it, and ye'll not forgit."

She laid the coin aside and assured the donor that his wishes should be carried out.

Chester spoke:

"It seems to me we are throwing away time. It is past midnight and here we sit talking, and doing nothing because there seems nothing to do. What do you think, Alvin?"

"You are right. This business doesn't seem to have stirred up the town. I don't suppose anyone knows what has happened except Mr. Buxton and his family, and I don't think he will tell the particulars himself."

"That can be lift to Jim," said Mike, "onless his dad imprisses upon him that it won't be healthy for him to talk too freely wid his mouth regarding the sarcus he obsarved this avening."

"The lookout in front ran off at the first sign of danger, and if there was a second one he ran too. It will be a long time before any member of that party pays Beartown a second visit."

Alvin now made known the fear in his mind—a fear that was shared by Chester. The Deerfoot was lying against the bank in Back River exposed to any injury which these criminals might choose to inflict by way of revenge. He proposed that the mother and daughter, after refastening the window and locking up, should retire to their beds, while the boys returned to the launch to make sure no harm befell it.

This course was only the commonest prudence, but the hostess and her daughter were clearly so nervous over being left alone for the remainder of the night that Alvin regretted his proposal. Nora especially did not try to hide her distress.

"Never mind," Alvin made haste to say, "we will wait till morning. You have been so kind that we cannot willingly cause you a moment's pain."

"May I make a suggistion?" asked Mike, speaking so seriously that all knew he was about to say something worth while.

"I know he's going to tell us the right thing," said Nora.

"How could I do itherwise wid yer bright eyes cheering me?" he asked, with his expansive grin. "The same is this: Do ye two spalpeens go down to the launch and stay there till morning while I remain behind wid the misthress and sweet Nora, and keep off the burglars wid that same gun that sarved me so well."

Only Alvin and Chester knew the chivalry of this proposal. Mike regretted keenly the separation from them, even though it promised to be for only a few hours.

"That is asking too much," said the widow, though her countenance brightened with pleasure.

"How can the same be asking too much whin ye haven't asked it?"

Nora clapped her hands.

"I can't hilp it if she looks upon mesilf as worth the two of ye," said Mike, with an assumption of dignity that deceived no one.

"It is good on your part, Mike," said Alvin. "I feel as if we ought to give attention to the boat, and you may as well stay here. We'll wait for you in the morning."

"Don't feel obleeged to do the same. Something may turn up that may cause ye to hurry off. If it be so, don't tarry a minute for me."

"Possibly you may prove right, but we shall hate to leave you behind."

"Ye may do so foriver, so long as I have such quarters as these."

With this understanding, the friends parted, no one dreaming of what was to befall them before all met again.



CHAPTER XXII

A STARTLING DISCOVERY

Nothing was more natural than that Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes should be concerned for the safety of the motor launch Deerfoot. It had been stolen from them once in simple wantonness by two young men who had nothing to do with the post office robberies. The motive for a similar theft was now much stronger. It was evident that the criminals had come to Beartown, or as near to it as they could come, by water, and their boat was somewhere in the neighborhood. They were likely to discover the Deerfoot, if they had not already done so, and knowing its superior speed, would either make use of or disable it so it could not be employed for pursuit.

Alvin and Chester kept to the road which connected the landing with the village, for it was much easier thus to advance than to pick their way through the pines and firs. They did not meet a solitary person, for the night was well along and daybreak near. When the rickety frame work loomed up in the moonlight, they turned off into the shadow of the wood and moved with the utmost care. All the time they kept within sight of the gleam of water. Alvin was in advance, with his comrade close upon his heels.

"Hello! here she is!" was the pleased exclamation of the Captain a few minutes later.

"Has she had any visitors while we were away?" asked Chester, as the two stepped down to the margin of the river.

"I see no signs of it, but we shall have to examine further."

The launch lay as close to shore as it had been possible to bring her—so close indeed that the two stepped aboard without use of a plank. The position of the moon in the sky was such that the shadow of the trees was cast several feet beyond the boat, which, as a consequence, was wrapped in obscurity. Peering here and there, the youths began a visual search for the evidence they did not wish to find. Alvin tried the covering, which had been drawn over the cockpit, preliminary to taking the bunch of keys from his pocket. It slid back easily.

"I thought I locked that," he said in surprise.

"I remember you went through the motions, but you must have missed it."

"So it seems."

He stepped over, seated himself and grasped the steering wheel.

"Nothing is wrong here——"

"Hark!" whispered Chester.

The two listened and heard the muffled exhaust of a launch not far off.

"It comes from down stream," said Chester.

"It's their boat!" exclaimed the excited Alvin. "They are hurrying off."

"Let's chase them!" added Chester, catching the glow of his chum.

"All right! Light up and cast off."



Chester quickly fixed the lights, sprang from the taffrail to shore, untied the loop of rope, flung it on deck and leaped after it. Alvin had opened the forward deck, which covered the engine, climbed down and around to the front and started it. Then throwing in the clutch the boat quickly caught the impulse, and the Captain steered away from shore. While lying against the bank the nose of the launch was pointed up the river, and since the noise showed that the other boat was speeding down stream, it was necessary to head in that direction. The sweeping circle carried the craft far out into the moon glow and the Captain turned on full power, sending the boat southward like a swallow skimming close to the surface.

"They got the idea yesterday that the Water Witch is faster than the Deerfoot. That was a cute idea of Calvert, but they will soon learn their mistake. Do you see anything of her lights?"

Chester stood beside him in the cockpit, with one hand grasping the top of the wind-shield, while he peered into the sea of illumination through which they were plunging.

"Not yet," he answered "but we must be gaining fast."

The water curled over in a graceful half circle as it was split apart by the sharp prow. Some of the spray was scattered over him, though otherwise the river was as calm as a millpond. The tide was at its turn, so there was no current. Alvin held to the middle of the river, where he knew it was very deep, and he would have timely notice of every obstruction that could appear.

Now that the two were fairly started upon the singular chase, they had time to speculate as to its probable result. They had not a firearm on the boat nor had they ever had one aboard. They were chasing a party of criminals who were sure to be well armed. Suppose our young friends overtook them, what could they do?

Alvin had a dim idea that having drawn near enough to discover the Water Witch, he would keep in sight until others could intervene. His boat would follow whereever the fugitive dare lead, and would never give up. If our young friends could not attack, they could point out the way for others. Should the criminals run into shore, where there was a chance of landing without being observed, the pursuers could be at their heels, and through the nearest telegraph station raise the hue and cry that would quickly end in their overthrow.

"It is strange," reflected Alvin, "that while we have not meant to have anything to do with those scamps we are continually running into them, while Detective Calvert, who is in this part of the world for that purpose, can't put his hand on them. If he and his friend, whom we saw at Wiscasset, and who is an officer of the law also, were here, we should be sure of doing the right thing. As it is, it's all guesswork."

"Light ahead!" suddenly called Chester beside him.

"Where away?"

"Right ahead, but closer in shore on the left."

Alvin leaned forward and gazed intently.

"You are right," he added as he saw a white light low down on the water. "Now we'll show those fellows what the Deerfoot can do when she tries."

He flirted over the little lever controlling the power, and instantly the engine responded so fiercely that the launch shivered from stem to stern. It bounded forward like a hound freed from the leash, the bow rising from the impulse, as if it would leap clear of the water, and seemingly shooting over it, like an iceboat driven in a hurricane.

But the launch in front was no laggard. Whether she increased her speed at sight of the light which was seemingly hustling down the river after her, or whether she simply held her former rate, she was going at a tremendous pace. Soon leaving Long Ledge on their right, the pursuer shot into the broader waters of Montsweag Bay, only to find the white light seemingly as far off as ever. Possibly the pursuers had gained something, but not enough to be perceptible.

"They have seen us," said Chester, from his station at the front, "and are putting in their best licks. We must be going the limit."

"That is twenty-four miles, but we're not making it, Chester."

The second mate pulled down his cap more snugly, for the motionless air was turned into a gale, and looked back.

"What do you mean? The Deerfoot is eating up water."

"That may be, but she isn't getting there as she ought to," insisted Alvin, who, of course, was more familiar with his boat. "Something is the matter with her. She seems to be doing her best, and yet she lags."

"Do you think it because of her trouble yesterday?"

"It must be, but I was sure she was shipshape when we left her last night. See whether we are gaining."

Chester spent several minutes in studying the position and progress of that white light, which was gliding with swift smoothness over the water, and hugging the bank all the while. When he spoke it was doubtfully.

"Perhaps we have gained a little, say about six inches."

Alvin groped about him for the binoculars, which he had left on the seat at his side. By turning the glass over when in use, one could avail himself of the night lens, which was helpful in the gloom. But he did not find it.

"That's queer," he muttered; "I am sure I laid it there. I wonder if anyone visited the boat while we were away."

"By gracious!" called Chester from his station; "I believe she has stopped!"

"Make sure of it. I should think they would put out their stern light if they wanted to elude us."

"Likely they don't care. Yes; she has run into shore, where there seems to be some sort of landing."

Alvin swung over the wheel so as to approach directly from the rear. Since the other boat had become motionless, he slackened speed to save the strain upon his own.

Everything was now in the vivid moonlight. The launch drew steadily up to the landing where the other boat had halted. Two men were observed moving about as if making ready to tie up for the remainder of the night. They showed no interest in their pursuers, and Alvin sheered off slightly so as to pass at a distance of several rods, and while doing so he made an exasperating discovery.

The craft which he had been pursuing with so much zest was not the Water Witch, but a small runabout capable of high speed. The couple on board gave no attention to the larger craft, and the chagrined Alvin turned farther out into the bay and gradually headed up stream again. Chester came back from the front and chuckled:

"What a wild goose chase! The next thing to do is to make after the Nahanada or the Gardiner. There will be as much sense in the one as the other."

Observing the change of course, Chester inquired:

"Where to now?"

"We may as well go back and pick up Mike. It seems to be growing light in the east."

"So it is; a memorable night in our experience is drawing to a close."

"I say, Chester," called the Captain, "I am sure someone was on this boat while we were away at Beartown."

A sudden suspicion took form in his mind.

"Is there enough light for you to see the name on the bow?"

"Of course."

"Take a look and tell me what it is."

Chester carefully leaned over and studied the gilt letters painted on the right of the prow corresponding to those on the left. Then he straightened up with a gasp:

"As sure as I'm a living sinner it's the Water Witch!"



CHAPTER XXIII

THROUGH THE FOG

It was an astounding discovery.

With never a thought of the grotesque mistake, both youths had boarded the launch believing it to be the Deerfoot; they had pursued the imaginary fugitive only to awaken to the fact that she was not a fugitive, and that they had unconsciously stolen the property of the burglars, which must have been lying so near their own craft that the slight difference of location was not noticed.

Chester stepped down and seated himself at the elbow of his chum.

"Here are only four seats instead of six. Why didn't we notice it before?"

"Because we were too much occupied with other things, or rather were both struck with blindness just then. As Mike would say, I'm completely flabbergasted."

"And I'm with you. What's to be done now?"

"Tell me where the Deerfoot is."

"Ask me something easier. She may be lying where we left her, or twenty miles away."

"We should have heard her if she came down stream."

"She may have gone up the river and around into the Sheepscot."

"And back to the former hiding place of this boat or to a different one—the 'Beautiful Isle of Somewhere,'" said Alvin grimly.

"One place will serve as well as another. I wonder whether there was ever so wonderful a mix-up of launches since such craft were known."

Alvin shut off power and the two listened. From some point miles away came the hoarse growl of a steam whistle, but all else was still. He had hoped that they would hear the Deerfoot's exhaust, but nothing of the kind came to their ears. He flirted the switch around and resumed the speed which was not above half a dozen miles an hour.

One of the plagues of the Maine coast is the dense fogs which sometimes creep far up the rivers. Such an obscurity now began settling over Montsweag Bay and Back River, shutting out the moonlight as well as the rays of the rising sun. Before Alvin was aware, he could not see either shore until he had run far over to the right and caught a shadowy sight of the pines, spruce and firs which lined the bank. The air dripped moisture and, though it was summer, it grew chilly.

While gliding slowly forward they heard a steamer's bell, accompanied by occasional blasts from her whistle. She was feeling her way down stream and sounding warnings to other craft. By and by the beat of her screw and the ripple of the water from her bow sounded so near that Alvin edged closer to land. In the heavy mist loomed a minute later a bulky steamer, surging southward at sluggish speed, the crew, as seen for an instant, looking like saturated ghosts.

The boat was quickly swallowed up, her bell still tolling, with blasts from her whistle at short intervals.

Seated as described, the two youths discussed what was the best thing to do. It seemed advisable to return to the point from which they started, that is, near Beartown landing. There was not one chance in a hundred that they would find the Deerfoot there, but such a thing was not impossible. That which made this policy seem wise was the likelihood of again meeting Detective Calvert. The news of the attempted robbery of the Beartown post office would be telegraphed far and wide, and he would be sure to hear of it at Wiscasset. It would not take him and his brother officer long to reach the village, where the lads could hope to see him.

It was certainly a singular coincidence that the launch should be twice stolen in so brief a time, and the owner grimly asked himself whether fate had not ordained that he was to lose it after all.

There was no light in the maze of conjecture that opened before them. Chester suggested an alarming complication.

"The Deerfoot can outspeed any craft in the Maine waters. These burglars must have a hiding place, and we know there is no end to them among the bays, inlets, coves and islands that stud the rivers. Suppose they board the launch and speed away till all pursuit is thrown off the scent—something they can easily do—and then abandon the boat."

"We shall find her sooner or later, and Calvert will perhaps in this way get on their track."

"They can avert such danger by sinking her in deep water, where she may not be found for years."

"I have not thought of that. It looks as if they had the whip-hand. These fellows may have blundered last night, but it was solely through the sudden appearance of Mike on the spot, for they are no fools. If we try to get the best of them we shall get the worst, unless we have the help of Mr. Calvert."

"And the only way to gain that is to go back to Beartown."

"So it seems to me. What do you think?" asked the Captain.

"I know of nothing better. Wouldn't it be well to hit up the pace a little?"

"If this fog would only lift! But it seems to be growing thicker. We must feel our way."

While the Captain was doing this, his second mate looked over the Water Witch. Its resemblance to the Deerfoot was remarkable. It was probably two or three feet shorter, but that was the only noticeable difference. The model was the same, even to the color of the paint used. As has already been said, however, there were only four seats while the Deerfoot had six. The similarity of the craft was proved by the fact that Alvin Landon boarded and ran it for quite a number of miles before even the slightest suspicion entered his mind.

All landmarks were shut from view until, as may be said, the launch ran against them. The boys had little or no acquaintance with the river they were ascending, and only here and there were they able to identify certain landings or towns from their previous study of the map. Alvin knew he was creeping northward, and sooner or later must reach the point which he left during the latter part of the night. Even the landing would not be recognized without close study, and possibly not even then.

Had not the noise made by the progress of the launch shut out a certain sound and had not the dense fog hidden something from sight, the two would have made a startling discovery within the hour which followed their turning back. But no knowledge of that nature came to them.

The boys agreed that they would not reach their destination until long after their change of course. Neither noted when this was done, but Chester now looked at his watch and found it showed a few minutes to seven.

"A good hour for breakfast," he remarked, "and my appetite is with me, as I am sure yours is with you."

Alvin nodded and kept his eye on the receding shore and the water ahead.

"Mike is to be envied, for the good woman and especially the daughter will give him the best their house can afford. These boats don't carry a large stock of provisions—who knows but there's something of the kind on board?"

He asked the Captain to rise while he lifted the cushioned lid of the locker upon which he had been sitting. The next moment Chester uttered a joyous cry.

"Hurrah! we're in luck!"

He held up a large paper bag into which he had peeped. It contained half a dozen plump ham sandwiches.

"While we are about it suppose we see what other treasures are in the ship's chest."

They found a most interesting stock indeed. Five black pieces of muslin, each with two peep-holes, several sets of false whiskers, two pairs of brass knuckles, three metal rings from each of which dangled more than a dozen keys of varying sizes, a box of revolver cartridges, a formidable knife, some twine and a number of articles of no importance.

"They tell their story," said Chester, holding them up one after another for his chum's inspection. "If the officers of the law arrest us, we shall have to depend upon our friends to prove an alibi."

"Meanwhile there is no need to keep those sandwiches waiting."

"Wonder if they are poisoned," laughed Chester, as he passed one to his chum, and sank his teeth in another. "Anyhow, I'm going to take chances."

"So am I. They don't seem to have any cooking utensils on board, so coffee and warm food are to be denied us."

The Captain ate with one hand on the steering wheel, and frequent glances ahead. Now and then they would find themselves approaching a sharp projection of land, around which the launch was steered, and then perhaps would glide past a cunning looking cove, too narrow to admit a boat of large size. Once, while doubling a cape, they came within a hair of running down a small rowboat propelled by a single occupant. He shouted angrily for the steersman to keep a better lookout.

"I'm sorry!" called back Alvin; "but the fog bothers us. Will you please tell me how far it is to Beartown landing?"

"'Bout half a mile, mebbe a little more. Who are you?"

Alvin gave his right name and thanked the man for his information.

"I thought that was about the distance," said Chester, as he resumed the duty of sentinel. "I can't recognize any landmark, and couldn't if there was no fog to play the mischief with our sight."

Alvin stopped the engine two or three times while approaching the spot, in order to listen for sounds of the other boat. They heard nothing, but had they not waited too long to make the experiment, they would have picked up some exceedingly interesting information.

"Here's the spot!" called Chester a few minutes later, as he identified the spiderlike landing from which a road led to Beartown.

"Then we have passed the place where the launch lay up last night. We may as well go beyond and be out of the way of folks."

A hundred yards north of the wharf, too far to see it when they looked back, the Water Witch came gently to rest, the waiting Chester sprang ashore with a line in hand and made fast.



CHAPTER XXIV

BAD FOR MIKE MURPHY

When Gerald Buxton's shotgun was fired by him, and the report rang out in the still night, it awoke several persons, who wondered what it meant. No one gave the matter further thought, however, until an old lady, facing the main street, looked through her bedroom window and saw the citizen chasing his boy, who toted a gun over his shoulder. At the first streakings of daylight she hurried to the Buxton home for the explanation. Within the following half hour the majority of the population of Beartown knew that an attempt had been made to rob the post office during the night. Then followed a hurrying thither, for no one could be satisfied until he had viewed the scene and talked with the postmistress herself.

It was the confusion and hurly-burly below stairs that awoke Mike Murphy early. He would have left at once to join Alvin and Chester if Nora had not forced him to eat breakfast before bidding them good-by. It must be said that the Irish youth did not require much urging to detain him that long.

He found he was attracting unpleasant attention. It was Nora who took pains to let it be known that but for him all the money in the safe would have been stolen. Mr. Jasper, the owner of the large sum, scrambled through the crowd, snatched up his big envelope and hurried off without so much as thanking Mike, who cared naught.

"You needn't tell me," said the keeper of the other grocery store to the husband of the town milliner. "That redheaded Irish chap is one of the gang."

"How do you account for his preventing the other robber from carrying away the money in the safe?" asked his neighbor.

"Plain enough; they'd had a quarrel. He wanted it all for himself."

"Why didn't he take it then?"

"The widder and others bounced down on him afore he had the chance."

"I don't see why if the other villain run away this one didn't do likewise."

"He'll do it quick enough, never you fear."

"Why is he hanging round after they've gone?"

"To git the money. Seems to me, Rufe, you're blamed stupid this morning. Why, you've only to take one look at that young ruffian's face to see the wickedness wrote there. He oughter be in prison this very minute, and he'll soon be there—take my word for it!"

"Where is he?"

"Sneaked off while he had the chance—wal, I'll be gul darned!"

The grinning Mike Murphy was standing at his elbow, where he had heard every word of the pointed conversation. The gossip was so taken aback that he began stammering:

"I had—that is, I was thinking of the other robber."

"I was told," said Mike, "that there was a man hereabouts that looked so much like me he must be my lost brither that was let out of jail in Boston a fortnight since. I've found him and begs the privilege of shaking his hand."

And he caught the limp fingers of the gaping fellow and squeezed them hard, while he continued to gape and say nothing.

Since this unpleasant person bore not the slightest resemblance to the youth, being pale and effeminate looking, those who stood near broke into laughter. Mike turned about, and having bidden good-by to mother and daughter, passed into the street and turned down the road leading to the landing.

The hour was early and the fog of which I have spoken was beginning to creep over the village and through the woods. He kept his bearings, and when near the river plunged in among the trees to find the Deerfoot, remembering where she was moored the night before.

Some hours earlier Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes had boarded the Water Witch, never doubting that it was the Deerfoot, and started down the river. Consequently Mike could not make the same mistake, and came straight to the launch with which he was familiar. Standing for a brief period on the bank he looked admiringly at it.

"Where are the byes?" was the first question he asked himself, as a glance told him he had arrived ahead of them. "I wonder now if they have strayed off in the woods, where they may wander about like the two lost babes and be niver heerd of agin."

Not doubting that they would soon show up, he sat down on the velvety ground to await them. By and by he became drowsy. The previous night had been so broken that he had not gained half the sleep he needed. It was natural, therefore, after his generous breakfast, that he should be inclined to slumber. Rousing up, he reflected:

"If I fall asleep here, the byes may not obsarve me and sail away and leave me behind. I shouldn't mind that so much wid only a quarter of a dollar in me pocket, fur I could go back to Nora and her mother and spind the rest of me days. But the Captain and second mate would graive themselves to death, and that would make me feel bad."

Throwing off his drowsiness, he rose to his feet, reached out one hand and sprang lightly aboard the boat. Seats, cushions, flags, everything was as they had left it the night before. He sat down on one seat, rested his feet upon another and settled himself for a good nap, indifferent as to how long it should last.

"When they come they will obsarve that I'm sweetly draaming, and will respict me enough to refrain from disturbing me, as Bobbie Burns used to say whin he lay down beside the road late at night on his way home."

His posture was so comfortable that his head soon bowed and he drifted into the land of dreams. His first essay was not so successful as he hoped it would be, for by and by the nodding head tipped too far forward, and he sprawled on his face. His first confused fancy was that he had been lying in his trundle bed at Tipperary with his cousin Garry Murphy.

"Arrah, now, what do ye maan by kicking me out on the floor, ye spalpeen? Whin I git me eyes open I'll taich ye better manners," he called, climbing carefully to his feet. After a brief spell he recalled the situation. His first fear was that the Captain and second mate had returned and witnessed his tumble, but looking around, he saw nothing of them. The mooring line lay looped around the base of the spruce and the launch was motionless.

Soon after, two persons came stealing their way among the trees, feeling each step like a couple of Indian scouts entering a hostile camp. They were Kit Woodford, leader of the post office burglars, and his young companion Graff Miller. You remember they acted as lookouts, while the third was busy inside. They had fled like the cowards they were on the first sign of danger, had managed to find each other and then set out to flee in their launch. What had become of "Nox" they did not know or care. He must do as they had done—save himself or go unsaved.

A shock of astonishment came to the miscreants when they reached the place where the Water Witch was moored the night before, only to discover that it had vanished. To the alarmed ruffians there was but the one explanation: the men who had interfered with the work at the post office had learned of the launch and run off with it.

"This is a rum go!" was the disgusted exclamation of Woodford. "I thought we should have an easy thing of it, but we've got to turn back inland. We shouldn't have any trouble, though it looks to me as if we shall have to part company."

The younger man was not favorably impressed at first, but a moment's reflection convinced him that this was one of the situations in which the proverb, "In union there is strength," did not hold good. Two persons trying together to make their way out of the neighborhood without drawing suspicion would be in more danger than one. So he said:

"All right; I will go down stream."

He moved away from his companion, who held his place for a brief while, still reflecting whether his plan was the better one after all. He was turning over the problem in his mind, when he caught the sound of a guarded whistle. It was a familiar call from his companion and he did not hesitate to follow it. Only a little way off he paused with an exclamation of astonishment.

There was the swift launch Deerfoot moored against the bank so near the place where the Water Witch had been left that it is no wonder that Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes failed to notice the difference of location. Not only that, but one of the youths belonging to the boat was seated near the stern with head bowed as if asleep.

What could the amazing fact mean? Woodford's first thought was that a trap had been set for them. More than likely the seeming slumber on the part of the motionless figure was a pretence, and meant to tempt them to come out into the open.

"What do you make of it?" whispered Graff Miller.

"Some deviltry you may be sure; the others are near by."

They stealthily withdrew deeper into the wood and watched and listened, but nothing occurred to cause alarm. Then a sudden resolution came to the elder.

"So long as there's only one, let's make him prisoner."

"I'm willing," assented the other.

As silently as two shadows, they stole to the edge of the water. Woodford deftly cast off the bow line and, leaning over, gently laid it on the deck. Then they stepped aboard and Miller took up the boathook, pressed it against the bank and the launch began moving away. When the boathook could be used no longer, it was softly laid down and the younger man took his place at the wheel. He understood the running of the launch better than his companions and generally acted as pilot.

"Shall I start?" he asked, in a guarded voice.

The other nodded. Miller slipped the switch plug in place, started the motor and put on the power, with just enough force to set the screw slowly revolving. He headed out in the river, where, because of the fog, he could barely see the flagstaff at the bow, and began a wide sweeping circle with the intention of descending the stream.

And still Mike Murphy dreamed on.

Now that the boat was under way with the screw revolving faster, Kit Woodford stepped closer to the sleeping youth and looked at his face. When he recognized him as the belligerent Irish lad, his feelings underwent a sudden change. He knew something of the sleeper and decided on the instant that he was persona non grata. While one of the other boys might have been held with some vague idea of being used as a hostage, this one would make more trouble aboard than on land.

Without a word as to his purpose to his companion, Kit Woodford stooped over, and with the great strength he possessed, easily lifted the sleeping boy clear of the deck. Then he cautiously moved to the taffrail, and with a single toss flung Mike Murphy clear of the launch. And the water was fifty feet deep, and Mike had never swum a stroke, and there was no one to go to his help.



CHAPTER XXV

WHAT SAVED MIKE

Let us be just to all. I therefore make haste to say that when Kit Woodford thus threw Mike Murphy into the Back River he did not doubt for an instant that he was a swimmer, for whoever heard of a lusty youth seventeen years old who could not take care of himself in water? Of course there are such, but they are so few that they are a negligible number.

Graff Miller was startled when he heard the splash, and turning his head saw the lad disappear, but his belief was the same as his companion's, and turning on more power, he shot beyond sight before the lad could come to the surface.

Now I wish to say further that it is a fact within the knowledge of more than one that a person who did not know how to swim has, upon being precipitated into deep water, struck out like a master of the natatorial art. A father standing on the shore of a lake in northern England saw a boat upset when a hundred yards off and his little boy flung clear of the support. The lad had never even tried to swim, but as he was going down the parent shouted to him:

"If you don't come right to land, I'll whip you within an inch of your life!"

And the little fellow swam to where the frantic parent awaited him.

Moreover, I once witnessed the same strange occurrence. I was not six years old when I was waiting at the side of a deep pond, and watching my brother, four years older, construct a raft, with which he had promised to come over and take me a-sailing. He put a number of boards loosely together, and using a shingle for a paddle, worked out from shore and began making his way toward me, who was in high spirits over the promised treat.

In the very middle of the pond, where the water was fully twenty feet deep, the primitive raft began disintegrating. The boards slipped apart, so that those upon which my brother stood sank under his weight. Had he been older and more sensible, he would have known that this need not mean danger to him, for the smallest board was buoyant enough to hold his head above water, and he could have worked his way to land with such support. But the sight of the structure breaking apart threw him into a panic. He made a frenzied leap as far out as he could, came up instantly, blew the water from his mouth and swam so easily to where I was standing that I never dreamed he was in peril. I should have said that never before had he tried to swim.

The explanation of what seems unaccountable is simple. Now and then it happens that when a sudden demand is made upon a person to save his life by swimming he instinctively does the right thing. He adjusts his body correctly, and uses his legs and arms properly—his action being exactly like those of a bullfrog when he starts on a voyage to the other side of the spring where he makes his home.

This thing does not often occur, but, as I have said, it does now and then. Let me beg you never to make the experiment unless it is forced upon you, for I dread what the result would be.

You have already guessed that this is what took place with Mike Murphy. I cannot think of a more startling awaking than that of a sleeping person who is flung into a deep stream of very cold water. Mike's momentum took him several feet below the surface, but he quickly rose again, shook the water from his eyes, blew it out of his mouth, and then swam straight for land with the skill that you would show in a similar situation. Even in taking the right direction he was providentially guided, for at first the dense fog shut everything from sight, but after a few strokes, he saw the dim outlines of the trees, and never stopped the vigorous swimming until he reached up, grasped an overhanging limb of a near-by tree and felt his feet touch bottom.

And then he was so overcome by what had taken place and it was so beyond his comprehension that he believed it was a miracle. Standing on the bank in his dripping clothing, he was mute for a full minute. Then he sank on his knees and looking reverently upward said:

"I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, for saving me life when I didn't desarve it. Why Ye took the trouble is beyond me, but I niver can thank Thee enough. I'm going to try me bist to be more desarving of Yer kindness, and now if it's all the same to Yer blissed silf, plaise give me a chance at that spalpeen that treated me as he did."

From down the river came the sound of the Deerfoot's exhaust, growing fainter as the boat sped on its way. The hoarse blast of a steamer's whistle shuddered through the mist, but the lad saw nothing of either craft. It was fog, fog on every hand.

He could not straighten out in his mind all that had taken place. More than one phase of the occurrences was beyond explanation. Overcoming in a degree the awe he felt for what had occurred in his own person, he thought:

"If the Captain and second mate didn't know I couldn't swim, I'd belave it was them that dropped me overboard by way of a joke, as the Barry brithers explained to the Judge was their raison for hanging Black Mike. It was thim spalpeens that wint fur the Captain whin he was journeying through the woods. Begorra! but they are piling up a big debt fur me to pay! But I'll sittle the same wid int'rist at siven thousand per cent.

"Where's Alvin and Chester all this time? Why didn't they git to the Deerfut before me instead of laving it fur them chaps? What does it all maan, anyway?"

One of the singular coincidences of this series of adventures was that the Deerfoot in going down the Back River passed within a few rods of the Water Witch coming up. The noise of the respective engines prevented either party hearing the other, and the fog would have veiled them had the space between been considerably less.

Not knowing that the launch of their enemies had been moored anywhere near, Mike did not look for it. Ignorant also of how far he had been carried while asleep, he could not guess the distance to Beartown landing. It might be half a mile or ten times as much. In truth, the former distance was about right.

The pressing question was as to what he should do. His clothing even to his cap was saturated. The morning was chilly, and he shivered. He must find a place where he could obtain warmth until his garments dried. When that was done he would decide upon the next step to take.

Had he suspected that he was so close to the landing, he would have picked his way thither and then followed the road to the home of Mrs. Friestone. It seemed to him that there must be a good many scattered houses, any one of which would give him welcome. He remembered that a broad highway runs the whole length of big Westport Island. Necessarily this was parallel with the course of Back River. If he therefore turned away from the latter and held a direct course, he must sooner or later reach the road named, where he would be sure soon to receive hospitality.

No doubt you know from experience how hard it is to hold a straight course when going through a wilderness, without landmarks to guide you and ignorant also of the "signs" which are as plain as print to the veteran hunter. The fog inclosed Mike on every hand, but his activity imparted a pleasant warmth to his frame, which otherwise would not have been felt, even though it was summer time.

He zigzagged sometimes to the right and sometimes to the left, but, on the whole, held substantially to the right direction and gradually drew near the dusty avenue which, once reached, would bring the end of his discomforts. Good fortune stayed with him, for when he was beginning to feel somewhat discouraged with his failure to free himself from the dripping woods, he abruptly came upon a clearing, in the midst of which stood a small house, surrounded by a well-tilled garden and several smaller buildings. Chickens were scratching and picking at the earth, and a big dog, fortunately restrained by a chain, scrambled out of his kennel at sight of the stranger and barked and tugged to get at him.

Between him and Mike stretched a clothesline supported at intervals by leaning props, and despite the fact that the humidity in the air must have been close to ninety-nine degrees, a corpulent woman was hanging out clothes. Two or three wooden pins were in her mouth, and every now and then she reached up with one hand and squeezed the little conveniences over the cord which supported the flapping clothes. She wore no bonnet or hat, and the untied shoes evidently were an old pair belonging to her husband.

Hearing the dog bark, she looked around to learn the cause. She saw a freckle-faced youth in the act of doffing his cap and bowing.

"The top of the morning to yer ladyship, and would ye be willing to hang me across yer line till me clothes be dried?"

The woman snatched the pins from between her teeth and stared at him. Her face was broad, homely and good-natured.

"G'way now," she answered; "I don't hang up any clothes till the same is claan. It will take a waak's washing to rinder ye fit. If I straddle ye over the line wid yer faat and rid head hanging down and bumping togither, ye'll cut a purty figger a-flapping in the wind."

Mike's laughter rang out. She was Irish like him and his heart warmed to her.

"Begorra! I've met a leddy after me own heart. She's from the 'owld sod' and it's not mesilf that is going to have me own way in gay conversation wid the charming beauty."

True enough, the woman was his match and Mike was glad to learn it.



CHAPTER XXVI

THE GOOD SAMARITANS

She looked sharply at him through her bright blue eyes.

"Are ye saaking to make me belave ye are from Ireland?"

"Sartinly—Mike Murphy, from the town of Tipperary, County of Tipperary, at your sarvice," and he bowed again.

"Arrah, poor Ireland, how many wrongs are heaped upon ye! I was sure from yer accint that ye were a Dutchman or Frinch."

"May I ask yer name, me leddy?"

"Mrs. Maggie McCaffry, and me husband is Tam that is working for Mr. Burns at Beartown."

Mike clasped his hands and with a glowing expression stepped forward.

"I knowed it! I knowed it!" he exclaimed, as if overrunning with joy.

"Knowed phwat?"

"That ye were my mither's fourth cousin that lift Tipperary fur Noo York six years ago, but by some mistake landed in Dublin jail—bad cess to them as made the same mistake!"

"It's bad enough fur ye to be born in the same counthry wid mesilf, but I war-r-n ye to make no claim to relationship. There's some things a respictable leddy can't stand."

"Did ye not almost break me heart by thinking I was a Dutchman?" asked Mike reprovingly.

"I'll make the same roight by axing the pardon of ivery Dutchman I maats for the rist of me born days. 'Twas har-r-d on the poor haythen."

"Aunt Maggie, I'll give ye all me wealth if ye'll consint to let me dry mesilf in front of yer fire."

"Arrah, now, what are ye saying? Five cints is no object to me——"

Just then, in spite of an effort to prevent it, Mike's teeth chattered. Now that he had ceased walking he quickly became chilled. The woman noticed it and her warm sympathy instantly welled up.

"'Tis a shame that I kipt ye talking nonsense wid me while ye was shivering. Do ye walk straight into the house and war-r-m yersilf till I come, which will be in a jiffy whin I have the rest of me clothes hung out. And if ye're hungry ye shall have food."

"I thank ye, aunty, but I am not in need of that."

Two small wooden steps were in front of the only door on that side of the neat little cottage. He pressed his thumb on the latch, pushed open the door and the next instant faced one of the greatest surprises of his life.

The lower floor consisted of two rooms, a kitchen and a general living room. The fire in the former would have been enough for the interior, but for the fact that a visitor had preceded Mike, and because of his presence a roaring fire was burning on the hearth. In front of this sat a young man leaning back in a rocking chair, with a bandaged leg resting on a pillow laid upon a second chair in front of him. He was smoking a cigarette, and despite the fact that something ailed him, looked quite comfortable.

As the door opened, his eyes met those of Mike Murphy, who halted with one foot over the threshold, started and exclaimed:

"Can I belave what me eyes tell me! Is it yersilf?"

The young man sitting before him, smoking and nursing his injured limb, was Orestes Noxon, whom Mike chased away from the Beartown post office the night before, and who received a part of the charge from the shotgun of Gerald Buxton.

The face of the injured youth flushed and he laughed nervously, but with amazing coolness answered:

"I guess you don't need spectacles. You've got the best of me; I'm down and you're up."

"There's an old account to be squared atween us, but that can rist till ye become yersilf. Be the same token, are ye much hurt?"

Mike's Irish sympathy immediately went out to the fellow, who certainly was at his mercy.

"I can't say I am. But your clothing is wet. I heard a part of your talk with Mrs. McCaffry—God bless her splendid soul!—so suppose you come closer where you will be in front of the fire and can dry yourself, and we'll get on better."

It was good advice and Mike acted upon it. Standing with his back to the blaze, he looked down in the face of the criminal whose self-possession he could not help admiring.

"You remember our little foot race from the back of the Beartown post office?" said Noxon, as if referring to an incident in which he felt no particular interest.

"I do, but I niver won a prize at running and ye give me the slip."

"Only to get in front of that beefeater with a shotgun. Why didn't you fire when you were chasing and threatening me?"

"I couldn't have touched off that busted gun any more than I could have fired a broom handle."

"I made the mistake of thinking the other fellow would be equally forbearing and kept on running, till all at once, bang! he let drive. I caught a good part of the charge in that leg below the knee. It didn't hurt much at first, and after managing to get hold of his gun I made him dance for me. It would have killed you to see him," and at the recollection the young man laughed hard.

"His boy Jim obsarved it all and told us and we laughed," said Mike, with a grin. "The sight must have been very insthructive."

"It was, to that old codger, who won't get over his lesson for a month. Well, as the gun wasn't of any use to me I threw it away and started to find my friends and the boat we came on. By and by my leg began to hurt, I suppose from walking so much and a tumble I got by catching my foot in the root of a tree. I sat down to rest awhile and when I got up it hurt so badly that I thought it was all up with me. You know it was night, and somehow I had gone astray in the infernal pine woods. The wound was bleeding, and I sat down again intending to wait till morning. By and by I heard a dog bark so near that I climbed to my feet again and made by way to this house. McCaffry and his wife were asleep and it took a good deal of banging and shouting for me to wake them. But when they found out what was the matter they took me in, and my own father and mother could not have been kinder."

"What did they do fur yer fut?"

"The good woman not only washed the wound, but, by the light of the lamp which her husband held, picked out every one of the shot that had been buried there and were making the trouble. Then she bathed the hurt again and wrapped it about with the clean linen, as you see for yourself. All that remains is for me to keep quiet for a few days and nature will do the rest."

"Wouldn't it be well if I got a docther fur ye?"

Noxon looked up in the face of the Irish youth, who tried to keep a grave countenance.

"I think not," replied the sufferer.

There was a world of significance in the words, and both understood.

Strange that these two who had never met before except as the bitterest of enemies should talk now as comrades. Mike kept pinching his clothing and turning every side to the blaze, thus drying the garments quite rapidly. He was so interested in the story of Noxon that he grew careless.

"I think I see smoke coming from behind you," finally said the sitter.

Mike reached back to investigate and with a gasp snatched back his fingers.

"I'm afire! Is there a well outside that I can dive into the same?"

"Turn around; I can help you," said Noxon, laughing, dropping his foot and sitting forward.

Together they quenched the twist of blaze which if left alone would have played the mischief with Mike's garments.

"I'm thinking this is a little different, Mr. Noxon, from last night."

"It is, and I hope it will always stay that way."

Mike was astonished and looked questioningly at the fellow.

"Phwat might ye be maaning?" he asked, lowering his voice.

Noxon tried to speak, but his voice broke. He snatched out his handkerchief from the side pocket of his coat and pressed it to his eyes. Then his breast heaved and he broke into sobbing.

The heart of Mike melted at the sight. He had never dreamed of anything like this. Enmity and resentment gave way to an anguish of sympathy for the fellow. He longed to say something comforting, but could not think of a word, and remained mute. Very soon the youth regained his self-control. Dropping his handkerchief in his lap, and with eyes streaming, he exclaimed from the very depths of his despair:

"Oh, why didn't that man aim better and kill me! I'm not fit to live! I'm the worst villain unhanged! I am lost—damned, and a curse to those who love me!"

Mike pulled himself together sufficiently to reply:

"I don't think ye're quite all them things. Cheer up! cheer up, old fellow!"

Noxon did not speak, but slowly swayed his head from side to side, like one from whom all hope had departed. Mike drew a chair beside him, and as tenderly as a mother lifted the white hand from where it lay on the handkerchief, and held it in his own warm grasp.

"Noxy, me bye, Mike Murphy is yer frind through thick and thin—don't ye forget that—and I'm going to see ye through this if I have to break a thrace in trying."

"You!" repeated the despairing one, looking up in Mike's honest blue eyes. "No one can save a wretch like me. I'm not worth saving!"

"Ye forget there's One to whom the same is aisy, me bye. Ye feel down in the mouth jest now, as Jonah did respicting the whale, but bimeby this fog will clear away and the sun will shine forth again. I've been in some purty bad scrapes mesilf and He niver desarted me. Why, it ain't two hours, since He raiched out His hand, grabbed me by the neck and saved me from drowning. I tell ye, Noxy, that He won't fail ye."

"But you never did what I have done."

The Irish youth bent his head as if recalling his past life.

"I can't say that I did, but I'm the meanest scamp that iver lived—barring yersilf," he added, with the old twinkle in his eyes. "Come, now, be a man and we'll have ye out of this scrape as quick as I jumped awhile ago whin I awoke to the fact that me trousers was afire."

Noxon actually smiled at the recollection.

"You call yourself a scamp. Why, you are an angel compared with me—so is everybody! Kit Woodford and Graff Miller are a thousand times better than I."



CHAPTER XXVII

AN UNWELCOME CALLER

With rare wisdom Mike now gave an abrupt turn to the conversation. Lowering his voice to a confidential tone, he asked:

"Does Mrs. McCaffry know anything of this?"

"If so, she hasn't given me any reason to suspect it," replied Noxon, brightening up and seizing the straw held out to him. "I told her I had met with an accident, and neither she nor her husband asked a question. Their big hearts had no room for any feeling other than of pity for the one who is not deserving of a particle of it."

"She told me her husband works in Beartown. He wint there airly this morning; he'll hear of the throuble at the post office and the beefeater, as ye call him, will let everybody know he winged the robber as he was running off. Did ye spake any caution to the man before he lift this morning?"

"By good luck I thought of that. I asked him to make no mention of my being at his house and he promised me he would not."

"Arrah, now, but that's good, as me dad says whin he tips up the jug. All that ye have to do is to sit here and let Mrs. McCaffry nurse that game leg till ye're able to thravel."

"Ah, if that was all! But I have a father and mother whose hearts I am breaking. I have two younger brothers and a sweet sister. What of them!" demanded Noxon almost fiercely.

"Ye have read the blissed story of the Prodigal Son, haven't ye?"

"I am a thousandfold worse than that poor devil, who was simply foolish."

"Do yer dad and mither know where ye are?"

"No; the one decent thing I did when I turned rascal was to change my name. Orestes Noxon is a nom de plume."

"I don't know the fellow, but that shows, me bye, ye ain't such a big fool as ye look. I'm beginning to have hope for ye."

A strange impulse came to Mike. It was to sing in a low, inexpressibly sweet voice a single stanza of a familiar hymn, just loud enough for the one auditor to hear. But he restrained himself, fearing the effect upon him. The "fountains of the deep" were already broken up, and the result might be regrettable. At that moment a heavy tread sounded on the little steps outside, the door was pushed inward, and the bulky form of the red-faced Mrs. McCaffry filled the whole space. She now stepped awkwardly and ponderously within.

"I begs that ye'll oxcoose me for not coming in wid this blarney and inthrodoocing ye to aich ither. Have ye becoom acquainted?"

"It was an oversight which no Irish leddy should be guilty of," gravely replied Mike, "espicially whin the same is the fourth cousin of me own mither. But ye have been away from the owld counthry so long that ye have forgot a good deal, Aunt Maggie."

"I haven't furgot to resint the insult of being accused of relationship wid the family of a spalpeen that is proud of the belaif. Whin Tam coomes home to-night I'll explain the insult to him and lave ye two to sittle the same."

"I'm thankful ye give me due notice, Aunt Maggie, so that I'll have time to slip outside and climb a tree. Which reminds me to ask how fur it is to Beartown."

"It's a good half mile from our home, and nigh about the same distance back. Ye can figger out the rist for yersilf. Now, me darlint," said she, coming to Noxon's chair and bending over with her broad face radiating sympathy, "it's toime I had a look at that leg, which would be a big ornamint if bestowed on the spalpeen wid the freckles and rid hair."

"I don't think it can need any attention," said Noxon, pleased to listen to the sparring of the two; "but you are the doctor."

Her hands were big and red, but no professional nurse could have handled a patient with more gentle deftness. The linen was unwound, and Mike for the first time inspected the wound inflicted by Gerald Buxton with his shotgun. Little as the lad knew of such things, he saw the hurt was not serious. With the removal of the leaden pellets went the cause of irritation. The stumble in the woods had aggravated the wound temporarily, but a rest for even a day would render it safe for the young man to use the leg.

When the bandage had been repinned in place, Noxon felt that he was being coddled more than was necessary. Dropping his foot to the floor, he asked impatiently:

"What's the sense of my playing baby? I can walk as well as ever. All I need is an ordinary cane. I think I'll stay with you till after dinner, Aunt Maggie—I suppose I may call you that—and then I'll vamose the ranch."

The woman stared wonderingly at Mike.

"Do ye know what he maanes by thim words? His mind I fear is afther wandering."

"He wishes to say that ye and Tam have used him so well that he will take delight in spinding siveral days wid ye."

"Ah, now his mind isn't afther wandering when he do spake that way. All roight, me cherub, ye'll stay where you be till I give you liberty to lave. Do ye mind that?"

And she shook her stubby finger in his face.

"Ah, what a tyrant you are, Aunt Maggie!"

"Phwat's that?" she demanded, straightening up. "Are ye calling me out of me name?"

"You are the sweetest, kindest, most motherly woman and best wife in the State of Maine."

She sprang to her feet and lumbered to the door.

"I haven't finished hanging me duds; whin I have I'll come back and wipe out the insoolt ye have put upon me."

Noxon looked at Mike, who for the first time heard him laugh with real jollity in his voice.

"What a big heart! How unutterably ashamed she makes me feel! What can I weigh in the balance against her? She is pure gold and I am base dross."

"Don't forgit to include mesilf wid the dross, me bye. Ye won't be able to get away from this here place for a few days, I guess."

"Glad should I be if I could believe it safe to stay here."

"And why not?"

"Her husband has already heard all about last night's business."

"He promised ye to say nothing."

"When he did that, he had no suspicion of who I am. He will know that I was one of the gang and his disposition will be far different when he comes home to-night. In fact, he is likely to feel freed of any promise he made me."

"Ye don't know a real Irishman. I can't say how he will be disposed, but I know he'll kaap that pledge. Have no fear of that."

Noxon sitting back in his chair and apparently without any thought of his injured leg, pondered earnestly over the situation.

"I am disposed to believe as you do, but that isn't my only danger."

"Phwat have ye in mind now?"

"There will be lots of people scouring the country for the three persons who were in this business. We are so near Beartown that some of them are likely to call here before the day is over."

"This house stands well back from the road wid only a path betwaan the two. Why should anyone sarch here fur ye?"

"And why should they not? I shouldn't dare to stay here while this is going on. However, you have shown such goodwill toward me, I am willing to compromise. I'll stay till to-night and then must make a change of base."

"Whither will ye go?"

"I haven't thought of that. My aim will be simply to get out of the zone of danger, and what follows must depend upon circumstances."

"Noxy, will ye answer me one question?"

"I will."



"When ye lave here will ye be going back to Kit Woodford and Graff Miller?"

The eyes of the young man flashed and, with an earnestness that seemed deadly in its intensity, he said hoarsely:

"No! never! I'll die first!"

"Give me yer hand on that!"

It seemed as if the grip would crush the clasping fingers. The pressure continued for nearly a minute, while the two looked fixedly into each other's eyes. The pledge had been made and into each heart stole the warm, irradiating glow that God gives to all the children of men when they break loose from evil and cling to that which is good.

And then the young man gave Mike his confidence. Aunt Maggie, with a tact that was creditable to her, left them together most of the forenoon and their talk was comparatively free from interruption.

As Noxon had hinted, he was the eldest son of parents who were in prosperous circumstances. He did not give their name nor place of residence, for it was unnecessary, but he admitted he had been wayward from early boyhood. He longed for wild adventure, and caused his family grief and anguish by his persistent wrongdoing. Finally, when he had matriculated at Yale, he ran away from home, taking what funds he could steal and fully resolved upon a life of sin.

"If there were pirates to-day, as there used to be, I should have striven to become the chief of a crew that flew the black flag, but I had to give that up. Some humorist has said that when a man starts to go to the devil he finds everything greased. So it proved with me. I fell in with Graff Miller, who, though he is about my age, has been a burglar for several years. I never suspected it until he found I was hunting for such a companion, when he told me of his partnership with Kit Woodford. In my vanity, I had shown how easy it was for me to open one of the old-fashioned combination safes, by detecting the working of the mechanism inside. This made me invaluable to them, and they proposed that I should become the third member of the gang. I jumped at the chance. Since Miller told me they used aliases instead of their right names, I took the one by which you know me.

"Their plan was to visit different points in the south of Maine, where there had been a number of post office robberies, and use me to open the safes. I was delighted with the scheme, and we started in a few weeks ago. The Beartown post office was the third visited——"

Just then a knock sounded on the door. Both were startled and Mike called:

"Come in!"

The door was pushed inward and Stockham Calvert entered the room.

"Holy smoke!" exclaimed Mike, "as Father Malone said when he saw his church burning."



CHAPTER XXVIII

PLUCKING A BRAND FROM THE BURNING

"Good day, my friends!" was the greeting of the detective as he closed the door behind him, strode forward and saluted Mike, who, after his exclamation, rose from his chair and, open mouth and staring eyes, limply clasped the hand that was offered him.

"I wasn't looking for you, Mike, but I was searching for Hor—I beg pardon, Orestes Noxon. I hope I see you well, barring the slight injury to the leg inflicted by Mr. Gerald Buxton last night."

And what did the officer do but shake hands with Noxon, who kept his seat as if in a daze? Mike, who was watching the couple, instantly noted a significant fact. Beyond question the two were acquaintances. The face of the young man flushed scarlet and he said faintly:

"Well, Mr. Calvert, you have got me at last."

"Yes; and a right merry chase you have led me. You won't get away this time."

"I suppose not."

"Sit down, Mike," said the caller, drawing up a chair for himself. "I have something I would like very much to say to thee, Orestes."

At this moment Aunt Maggie swung through the door again. She had seen the man enter and wished to know what it meant. Calvert sprang to his feet and bowed.

"I have found a couple of good friends of mine, who I am sure are greatly indebted to you for your hospitality. One cannot fail to tell by your looks that you have a wonderfully kind heart——"

"Arrah, now," replied Mrs. McCaffry, pushing away the hair in front of her face with her fat hand, "but ye are the worst blarney of thim all. I'll have nothing to do wid ye till dinner time, whin I'll stuff ye all so full of roast pig and praties that ye'll be obleeged to kaap quiet regarding dacent folks."

She knew the three wished to talk over private matters, and made sure they were left alone for the next hour or two.

"Mr. Calvert," said Noxon, "Mike here has proved himself a true friend to me—so you may talk freely before him. He doesn't know my right name and says he doesn't care to know. So we will let that pass. What caused you to look here for me?"

"Warner Hagan met me in Wiscasset yesterday to give what help he could in running Kit Woodford and his gang to earth. Early this morning we heard of the attempted robbery of the Beartown post office. We hired a launch and got there as soon as we could. Nobody in Beartown suspects our business. It did not take us long to pick up all that was known. We learned that one of the three got peppered with bird shot, and managed to limp off in the woods. Of course I recognized the three young gentlemen who were accepting the hospitality of Mrs. Friestone, the postmistress. They required no immediate attention and were sure to turn up all right in the end.

"I left Hagan in Beartown to look into matters further while I set out to hunt for the fellow who had limped off in the woods, after turning the tables so cleverly on Mr. Buxton. Without any reason that I could explain I formed the suspicion that this member of the gang was you, Noxon (I believe that is your travelling name). It was represented that he was hurt much worse than I am glad to say was the fact. I inquired at each house along the road between here and Beartown and hit it at last.

"Now," added the visitor as if seated with his intimate friends, "since you tell me to talk freely in Mike's presence, I shall do so. Are you ready, Noxon, to go to your home with me?"

"Begging yer pardin, Mr. Calvert, I beg to say that has been sittled. The dearest hope of Noxy's heart is to return to his parents."

"Is that so?" asked the detective of the young man.

"I would give my right hand," he solemnly replied, holding it up, "if I could go back three months in my life and have things as they were."

"You can't do that as regards time, but it will bring sunshine and happiness to your loved ones when the wandering boy comes to their waiting arms. All being true, we have got to travel the 'rocky road to Dublin.' You have committed a serious crime against the United States laws, and if convicted nothing can save you from a long term in prison."

"Then what hope is there for me?"

"You haven't been convicted yet, but I won't deny that you are in serious danger of it."

"How shall I escape?"

"I thought that over while on the road from Beartown. This, I believe, is your third essay as a burglar. Am I right?"

Noxon nodded.

"Once would be enough to send you to Atlanta, but let that go for the present. Are you willing to turn state's evidence?"

Noxon moved uneasily in his seat. The proposition was distasteful.

"You needn't feel any compunctions. Kit Woodford and that cub who calls himself Graff Miller have handed out the double cross many a time, and stand ready to do it again if it promises the slightest advantage to them. They have run off in the hope of taking care of their own hides, without caring the snap of a finger what became of you."

"There is no mistake about that, Mr. Calvert?"

"I wouldn't deceive you for an instant. Their own actions prove it. They have done the same thing before, and to-day they did not give you a thought, when danger threatened them."

"I shall do whatever you wish."

"Good! You may not know that, although I am a Pinkerton detective, I am under promise to my lifelong friend to do all I can to save you from yourself."

"Does father know I am in this business, Mr. Calvert?"

"He doesn't dream of such a thing. The shock would kill him. Therefore, I shall strain every nerve to keep him from ever learning the truth. I have a plan in mind, but before trying it you must answer a few questions."

"I am ready."

"In the first place, where do this gang with whom you have been associated have their headquarters?"

"I can guide you to the exact spot."

"It is not that little patch of ground in the cove at the southern end of Barter Island?"

"No; the character of the islet forbids. Miller ran the launch in there one night when he thought some one was watching, to throw him off the scent. Have you a pencil and bit of paper anywhere about you?"

Calvert produced the articles from an inner coat pocket and handed them to Noxon. Placing the paper on the table in the middle of the room, he spent several minutes in drawing a diagram. He was apt at the work and did it with no little skill. By and by he handed paper and pencil to the owner with the remark:

"That will answer your question."

"It is a production of art," said the detective admiringly. "No professional artist could beat it."

Noxon had not only drawn a perfect representation of the neighborhood which he had in mind, but lettered it so that no mistake was possible. It pictured a part of the eastern shore of Westport Island, opposite Barter, and only a short distance north of the inlet where the Water Witch had been visited some nights before. Noxon leaned forward and placed the tip of his finger on the different points.

"Right there is one of a hundred similar coves among the waters of southern Maine. It is smaller than the others, and a little way back is an island, which resembles except in size those that you see in every part of these waters. You know they rise above the surface like vast bouquets, with trees growing down to the edge of the river or sea. It is not so with that bit of earth you first asked about, but it is so with the islet in that cove which I show on that piece of paper."

"What about this one?"

"It is what you may call the headquarters of the Woodford gang of post office robbers. And, yet, it seems hardly right to call it that, for it is sort of hiding place to which they flee when things begin to grow warm."

"You have been there?"

"Several times. I will go again with you."

"No need; I can't go wrong with such directions. Why, Mike himself can understand it."

He gravely held up the drawing before the Irish youth, who squinted one eye and carefully scrutinized it.

"I must say I don't make sure whither it's a picter of yersilf, Mr. Calvert, or a view of an automobile trying to climb a tree."

"What did I tell you, Orestes? Isn't he bright?"

"An unnicessary question," said Mike loftily; "as Auntie McCaffry would answer if ye asked her which was the handsomest and cutest and smartest one among her three guests."

"Noxon," said Calvert, with a smile over the repartee of the Irish lad, "do either Kit Woodford or Graff Miller know your right name?"

"They never asked me and it was never given in their presence."

"You said as much before. Do they know where you came from?"

"They haven't the slightest knowledge. I am as unknown to them as regards my real identity as if I never existed."

"That will help my plan, which, I may say to you and Mike, is simply this: get you out of this neighborhood to your home. There, of course, you will assume your true identity and no one need ever be the wiser."

"What of the testimony of Woodford and Miller when they are released from jail?"

"You and they will be so much older that neither will recognize the other. Have no fear on that score. The thing is to run you out of the State of Maine. The hunt for these post office robbers has become so hot that it isn't going to be an easy job, but I believe I can work it. There's some sort of a mix-up of motor boats, which as yet I can't get the hang of, but when I do I shall try my plan. Mike, how was it you were here with Noxon when I called? Can you tell me anything about your launch or the Water Witch?"

Thereupon the Irish youth related his story, and when it was finished the detective smiled.

"If I'm not mistaken that is going to help us a big lot."



CHAPTER XXIX

"THE BEAUTIFUL ISLE OF SOMEWHERE"

Detective Stockham Calvert was quick to make deductions and as quick in adapting himself to circumstances. He had said he did not expect to have the help of Orestes Noxon—as we must continue to call him—in capturing the two criminals, but ten minutes later he made a radical change of plans. He meant to make use of the young man, in his pursuit of the post office robbers.