The Captain yielded, and Spanish Dick and Yeo were left on guard. The crew ran the boat out into the surf and leaped aboard. Then they skirted the shore, twenty strokes to the minute, fast travelling for a heavy skiff in a tumbling sea, and entered South Harbour.
In the opening, at the Captain's command, they rested on their oars.
"What do you want to do, men?" he asked the crew. "The murderers are probably armed and I've no right to risk your lives."
"Murderers is right, sir," growled Benson. "We'll string em all to that gaff there afore the sun goes down; what do you say, boys?"
"Ay, ay, sir, we got a plenty o' rope—let the bloody dogs swing for it."
The Captain looked through his glass. On deck there was but one on watch. That individual had seen the boat and called a warning. Now a second figure was climbing over the companionway. That made two. Where were the others? Near the shore the launch rose gently on the swell, and on the mountain-side a little thin spiral of smoke wavered. A fire—probably near the haunted house, which was concealed by the foliage.
He gave the word and they pulled for the yacht. Three lengths away, a face appeared over the taffrail, forward,—an ugly face with a left eye that was now no more than a slit in a huge discoloured circle. Aft, rose the wicked saw mouth, with the brown-stained teeth, and the green bleary eyes.
"Belay, there, ye crawlin' sons of cuttlefishes," was the
