JUNE GOLDCHAPTER I

ABOVE the intermittent staccato clatterof the /"\ ticker that spoke jerkily,nervously, now hurried, now stopping amoment for breath, like a keyed-upwoman, the telephone in Harrison Steele'smagnificent private office tinkled low andunobtrusively. It was exactly the kind ofmusical sound that might have beenexpected in such surroundings where onlythe nervous ticker broke dashingly in onthe subdued splendor.

Harrison Steele dropped the ticker tapethat ran through his fingers, something ofannoyance flitting

across the face that was lined with the

tenseness of o co his watching, and pickedup the receiver.

"Send them in," he ordered as helistened to some

one from the other end of the wire. Heleaned back

O in his comfortable chair, and bit the endfrom a fresh

D cigar, his eyes on the door after one lastannoyed

glance at the ticker, now still for amoment.

The big mahogany portal opened softlyto admit

two men. One of them was a small,immaculately

garbed individual whose entire outfittinglived up to the incipient mustache on hisbabyish face with the china blue eyeslooking wonderingly about him. Therewere those who were wont to remark thatClement Ashley went through the worldwondering—perhaps principally what itwas all about. It was certain, however,that he had given all the rest of their worldone reason to wonder. That was the whyof his intimate friendship with HarrisonSteele. The Wall Street man into whoseprivate office Ashley now entered, withhis inseparable companion, Billy Meade,was as much his opposite as the centermeridian is the North Pole's. HarrisonSteele, a man who was all his nameimplied; Steele, big, hard to harass, hismane of thick hair reminding of the mane

of a lion, which animal he resembled in somany other respects—though theunimpressed, such as the dapper Ashleyand other intimates, did not hesitate toremind the broker that there was a lessimpressive domestic animal remarkableprincipally for its stubborn qualities andits utter antipathy to being led that the bigman more resembled. Polar oppositesthough they might be, though, it was aconceded fact that Clem Ashley—in asomewhat lesser degree, Billy Meade—and Harrison Steele, were intimates of theclosest order.

Just out of the semi-dusk of the outeroffice of Harrison Steele, the small manstood on the threshold of the inner sanctumfor a moment, his feet sunk deep into the

black velvety rug, his china blue eyesblinking" in the sunlight that filteredacross the deep mahogany furnished room—mahogany that caught all the glints; andflung them back in prismatic gleams.

"'Lo, Steele," began that small man."Thought"

"Come in and close the door and stopwinking at me," commanded the big manfrom behind his shining glass-topped desk."I haven't got a thing."

"Humph!" was the valiant answer. "Noteven good sense. Could have told you, ifyou'd listened, but"

Apparently unnoticing his friend'sremark, Steele turned to the little man'scompanion.

"Sit down, Meade," he invited, and hishand reached for a lower drawer which hejerked open and brought into view a bottlenearly filled with an amber liquid, andbearing a label that the Volstead act hadturned into something precious. ClementAshley grinned and blinked as Steeleproduced the glasses.

"Something the market hasn't got yet,eh?" smiled Meade, as he turned his glass,reflectively watching the light through theamber fluid. But that the smile was ruefuldid not escape the keen eyes of Steele ashis own glass was lifted.

"No," he declared, and his jawsclamped shut belligerently, "and won't. I'llget out entirely first, before I'd lose onebottle of that stock I've cached up in

Broad Acres. That's my fortune, and I patmyself on the back every time I think I hadsense enough to stock up for a lifetimewhen I had the chance. Must have beensomething prophetic in Dad Steele whenhe built all that cellar room up there in theWestchester place."

"Too bad you didn't inherit some of theprophetic thing that would keep you from'bearing it' when everybody on the Streethas told you you'd come a cropper,"remarked Ashley sarcastically. "Say, whyd'you keep it up, Steele?"

Steele's calm eyes traveled over hissmall guest slowly, as though wonderinghow much the younger man couldunderstand.

"Because they tried to tell me," he

explained calmly. "It isn't done."

Ashley laughed shortly.

"Well, I am," was his comment. "Andhave been— good! So's Meade. Serves usright, though. Listening to you, instead ofto everybody else—'And his name wasMaude,'" he ended, with outspread handsto indicate that the entire matter wasdescribed in the last few words.

In spite of the bantering tone, Steele'sface flushed unexpectedly.

"Say, Meade," he addressed the thirdman, "did you and Clem get hit very hardon my advice?"

Meade nodded silently, as thoughhesitating to admit his error, or notwanting to wound his friend. But Ashley

chirped up.

"Cleaned me—of all I'm going to becleaned—two hours ago, but"

Steele's keen glance was solemn as helooked his friends over, but there was nohesitancy in his voice as he spoke, hisdetermination shown only in the way hisfingers snipped off the ticker tape that hadbeen running idly through his fingers.

"Of course, you understand," he said,"that I'll not allow you to lose anything bythis. I was so sure I was right—I'm noteven admitting now that I wasn't," heinterjected hurriedly, "and you were theonly two who believed me, so"

Ashley's interruption was drawling,sarcastic.

"So now you think you'll make adonation out of the ruins and give us backour playthings, eh?" he asked. "Well, mydear sir, that isn't done—it really isn't, youknow." But Steele, knowing his friend,and seeing beneath the banter, knew thatAshley meant what he said, and thatreimbursement was out of the question.

"If the time ever comes," went onAshley, his small breast extended like apouter pigeon's, "that I can't take my ownmedicine, why sir, I'll—I'll—I don't knowwhat I'll do—I'll shave off my mustache."

What had come close to being a tensionpassed harmlessly enough with a laugh,but nevertheless there was foremost in theminds of each man who laughed, the storyover which all the financial district had

been chuckling or gloating for the weekpast—the story of how Harrison Steele'sbullheadedness, his stubbornness, hisdetermination to take no counsel or advicesave his own, and never to admit himselfin the wrong had at last brought him nearto calamity in spite of the huge fortunewhich had been left to him by morecareful speculative forbears, and which aphenomenal luck of his own (for indeedmost of the big man's deals had been moreoften the result of "hunches" or ofsentiment than of cool headed bargaining)had so greatly augmented that he had foryears been known as one of the powers inthe Street.

Strangely enough for a speculator,though, Harrison Steele was known as a

man without enemies. "If you can leavehimself out," had always been the laughingcomment. For it is the rare thing that a mancan augment his fortune in the marketwithout leaving behind him a trail ofdisgruntled or actually inimical lessfortunate. His own enemy in truth, hereflected now as, for the first time, heseemed to realize that his ownstubbornness in making his bear movementon A. R. Motor Products had been sodirectly against the advice of all whowere in a position to know. Yet he hadbeen so sure. His information had beenfaultless, he thought. There didn't seem away possible for A. R. M. to escape areceivership long before this. And there ithad been going up. Up! Up! Steadily. Itwas incomprehensible. More. It was

disastrous. He glanced glumly at the silentticker with its short end of tape where hisstrong fingers had bitten it off. There wassomething resentful in the glance. Howdare they prove him wrong!

As if sensing his attitude and wanting togloat, the little ticker spoke sharply.

Tch-tch—tch-tch-tch!

Once more it was spinning out for theman and his friends watching it in thesilent luxurious office high above BroadStreet, its story of the stormy morning onthe Exchange floor. A. R. M. hadadvanced another point during the littlemachine's silence. Ashley and Meadelooked eagerly and inquiringly at their bigfriend as he dropped the tape and his handwent toward the telephone. He shook his

head at the unasked questions.

"Another point up," he informed dryly."Just another fifty thousand gone the wayof some other good dollars." His smilewas a little twisted as he added: "Ahundred and fifty thousand in an hour—abit strong, even for me. Got to see a lateedition—want to read the obituary "Hishand touched the telephone, but Ashleydrew a paper from his pocket and thrust ittoward Steele.

"Here y'are—just got it."

Folded over at the financial page, thepaper was ready for Steele with the storyit had to tell:

A. R. MOTOR PRODUCTS TOUCHES48 IN HEAVY TRADING

Following an unaccountable steadydemand at small advances shortly after theopening of the Exchange this morning, A.R. Motor Products soared on flying wingsshortly before noon, and in spite of theefforts of a well-known member who hasbeen making a bear raid on thecommodity, reached 48, twenty pointshigher than the lowest it reached.

It is rumored that a well-known bankinghouse has come to the aid of the almostdefunct company, and that the operationthey have performed on the invalid ishaving the same effect that monkey glandshave on an elderly invalid. Noconfirmation of this report could be made,however, but it is certain that with A. R.M. in the condition it is at the present that

any further bear raiding will be throwinggood money after bad.

Steele dropped the paper on his deskand his face was glum as he faced theothers.

"Guess you're already familiar with theautopsy," was his comment. They nodded.Harrison Steele reached for the amberbottle and replenished their glasses. /

Ashley was the first to speak.

"Haven't you had enough, old man?" heasked, and there was the timidity in hisvoice which showed concern for hisfriend, but an unwillingness to in any wayfurther stir up the stubbornness which heknew might be that friend's financial ruin.He had lost enough already without going

in deeper. And it would be so like Steeleto bet he was right to his last farthing.Without replying, Steele again reached forhis telephone.

"Get Anderson on the wire," hecommanded, and his words were bittenoff.

During the moments required for hisorder to be carried into effect, his eyesnever wavered from the ticker tape withits tale of disaster. Watching him, the eyesof both the other men held pity. Why mustSteele be so stubborn? Why could he notadmit himself beaten for once and get outwhile the getting was good? Was he aboutto give Anderson, his broker, anotherruinous order?

Steele spoke sharply into the telephone.

"Any light ahead, old man?" he asked.Silence for a moment, then:

"It just can't be, Anderson!" heexploded. "Of course I'm right—they'resure to go under sooner or later"

Veins swelled on his forehead as helistened.

"Oh, hell!" He fairly shouted into theharmless instrument. "I'm not licked!Won't be licked! I'll quit—quit the wholedamned thing—but I won't quit licked!"

For minutes more he listened, and thelips grew into a stern straight line as histhoughts were formed.

"Say, Anderson!" he shouted suddenly."Get this! Listen carefully and do as I say.Close me out—

completely! Yes—everything I'm through!

Close me out—lock, stock and barrel—Get that! Yes, certainly I mean it! I'mthrough, I tell you— t-h-r-o-u-g-h,through!"

The telephone receiver clicked on itshook with a jerk that sent the instrumentreeling. Harrison Steele whirled round inhis padded desk chair and the swiftmovement of his big foot sent the titteringticker whirling in another direction.Before he spoke, his hand once morereached out for the now fairly welldepleted amber bottle. He waved it aloft.

"Gentlemen!" he declaimed sonorously."You see before you a well-known ex-broker! Through, but not defeated!"

Both men were looking at him curiouslyand wonderingly.

Meade spoke.

"But surely, Steele, you can't mean"

"T-h-r-o-u-g-h spells through, as youheard me remark," was the big man's calmanswer. "No bulling for me to pull me outof a hole. So I've quit You heard me. Nowthe celebration's about to begin. Been duefor a vacation a long time—and there's theyacht in commission in the Florida waters,and"

"And the cellars up at Broad Acres "putin

Meade with his slow smile.

"And hurrah for the lights that shine!"

Clement Ashley waved his immaculatehandkerchief as he leapt from his chair.Steele glowered at him.

"Cut it, Clem!" he growled. "When didyou ever hear of me going crazy? You andyour bright lights"

Ashley looked innocent.

"Can't a fellow light himself up?" hequeried, wonderingly.

"Plenty of fuel up at Broad Acres,"nodded Steele. "Good for many aconflagration. We'll go up there and startit—then Florida and the Falcon and somereal fishing and a vacation. Are you on?"

Ashley pretended to consult a datebook.

"Umm—umm "he commented, his lipspursed

up in perplexity. "Hate to throw Bernhardtand Jane Adams down like that, but, ofcourse, as long as it's you, old chap, andit's your coming-out party and all that, why

Meade drained the last drop in his glassand reached for his hat and stick.

"Call your aeroplane," he remarkedcasually, as he rose with alacrity.

"After I've called Grayson Cardwell,"answered Steele with a smile. "We losersmust stick together."

CHAPTER II

IN the lives of the general run ofAmerican families whom success hascrowned, there are usually two favoritesteps; up from the soil, and back to it.When the fathers of the present generationhad made enough from the land, whetheras gentlemen farmers or just workers, itwas the city for them. It is the presentgeneration, of which Harrison Steele wasa shining example, that is making thereturn. But the simple farmers of a daygone by would scarcely recognize themodern day "farms" that are calling thebanker from his ornate office, the brokerfrom his seat on the Exchange.

The natural beauties of WestchesterCounty, just beyond the confines of New

York City, have made it a favorite happyhunting ground for men like Steele,surfeited with wealth, who were pleasedto consider themselves as going back tothe soil when they had purchased a fewhundred acres of ground, built palacesthereon and installed an army of servantsto play with the corn and wheat and oatsand cows.

Harrison Steele loved to refer to BroadAcres, his estate which had been part ofthe ancestral fortune bequeathed him ashis "farm." Native residents of the countrysurrounding his truly broad acres chose toconsider it the show place of theircountry, and to make it the mecca forjourneyings with visitors, a place at whichthey pointed with pride. And point was all

they could do, for it was seldom that onecaught more than a bird's-eye view of thebig concrete mansion, sprawling itsSpanish architectural length through vistasof trees, for one of the especial prides ofBroad Acres' owner were the miles ofconcrete fence that stood man high allabout the grounds, enclosing even theacres of turfed pasture land, the orderedshocks of corn, wooded hills and windingtrout streams.

"Not much of a place for burglars" wasa stock comment from man or woman whostood up in the passing vehicle for a betterglimpse of what lay beyond the pinkish-tan masonry.

"Hmmph! You ought to see inside," wasthe invariable answer. "Such cellars! Such

vaults! And

they do say "But it would be here thatvoices

were lowered and secrets whispered as tothe contents of those vaults.

Undoubtedly Broad Acres was a showplace, though it was oftener that its glorieswere enjoyed by a band of carefully-selected caretakers than by the big youngmaster of the estate who found his greaterenjoyment in an office high up above theroar of curb trading. Strictly speaking,Broad Acres was an evolution. When ithad been purchased by the father ofHarrison Steele, it had been a ramblingfarm house which he had set about to fit upso that he might enjoy his remaining yearsback on the farm. But somehow, the

architects who were brought out from thecity never seemed to do what he wanted.As a result, the simple farm house hadgrown by wings and ells, and finally hadblossomed out with its present concreteoutside, its Spanish missionpredominance, its wide windows andpatios—and its guarding fence. Sincecoming into its present ownership on thedeath of the elder Steele some yearsbefore, Broad Acres had fallen into a stateof innocuous desuetude from which itshowed small signs of recovering, or itswide mission doors once more opening inthe hospitable manner that had been thecustom during the lifetime of HarrisonSteele's father. In fact, the young brokerhad come to think of his country estate, inspite of all its grandeur, as more of a

storehouse for his choicest possessionsthan a place in which to live. For it waswith the coming of prohibition that he hadshowed most interest in it. Then he hadfound occasion to make real use of theimmense cellars which undermined thesprawling edifice, even though the houseitself and his father's cherished furnishingsmay have had no meaning to him. Days ondays swarms of men had been busy in thecellars and from mere underground storehouses they had taken on the vaultlikeappearance of a city banking institution.At the conclusion of this work, HarrisonSteele viewed the result with pride. As heturned the last key in the steel-dooredvaults, filled to the tipmost top withchoicest vintages and liquors that werelater to be worth a king's ransom and

which vast trucks had been for days busilyhauling past the more or less scandalizedeyes of his native neighbors, it was with asigh of contentment that the brokerpocketed his keys.

"Now, let them do their worst," hegrinned to Clem Ashley who, of course,had been an interested spectator of theproceedings. "There's enough there for alifetime—for mine, anyway."

"Well, I'll tell the world yours'll be ashort and merry one, if you ever expect toget rid of that supply —even with myeager aid," was his little confidant's reply.

Harrison Steele's comment was hisslow sage grin.

"They say you never can tell," he

remarked noncommittally.

Blest though he was with his goldenspoon, and with the further advantage ofunassailable inherited position, HarrisonSteele was, nevertheless, adisappointment to people of his own classwhenever Broad Acres or its owner wascontemplated. There were sighs, too—regretful ones, as charming matrons andeligible daughters whirled by thecultivated stretches of the show place intheir upholstered limousines. Why wasHarrison Steele so obstinate? Why refuseto take advantage of his position? Wouldhe never marry?

But as years went by and he showed nosuch inclination—no inclination even toaccept the proffered hospitality of his own

class, much less to throw open the doorsof Broad Acres in entertainment, it hadcome rather to be accepted that the ownerwas not a marrying man.

True, Broad Acres was some times thescene of entertaining of a sort, but suchaffairs were for the most part merely stagaffairs and the occasion for friendlyconviviality. In fairness it must be saidthat Steele himself took no great part. Thecoming of prohibition had, it is true,roused his stubborn spirit and he wasdetermined that no man should say him naywhen he chose to drink or let it alone, butto suggest that the consumption of vastquantities of liquid refreshment was eithera necessity or even a recreation with himwould be far from the truth. Regretfully, it

must be admitted that this was not alwaysthe case with some of his friends, andsome of the parties that had been held ofrecent date at Broad Acres lived well upto the standard set in a freer, if not noblerday. There were rumors, too, that theswish of silken skirts and the patter ofslippered feet had more than once been theaccompaniment to highpitched laughterthat could not have been produced by anyof the immaculate clubmen who had rolledup to the place in their racers orlimousines. Harrison was a complacenthost. Though he himself might not beinterested, far be it from him to deny hisfriends the companionship they believednecessary. However, this was, as has beenremarked, rumor. It was hard to knowwhat actually went on behind those

guarded walls, those steel-barred gateswith their bells that must be rung before acaretaker took careful cognizance ofwhoever wished admittance.

Dusk was advancing over the younggreen of the maple-lined highway as thecar which carried Harrison Steele and thecompanions who were to celebrate withhim his retirement from active business,whirled up to the main gateway of BroadAcres. The last rays of the sun purpledand pinked and greened the clouds ofsunset which silhouetted the Spanisharchitecture of the great house in its frameof new green things, and made greener therhododendrons which flanked the curvingdriveway. Vines in their new spring dressclinging tightly to the mellow tan walls

lent them something of the dignity of wallsof an old Spanish chapel. The car halted atthe gate that the chauffeur might summonthe caretaker. Steele had never thought itnecessary to carry with him extra keys forhis seldom-used country place. Not eventhe need of new supplies for his office orclub often took him Westchesterward, forit was so much easier to have O'Keefe, thetrustworthy, bring them to him.

Grayson Card well stretched himselflazily.

"Some hut, Steele," he drawled.

Young Ashley sniffed.

"For Lord and Lady O'Keefe—and theirsisters and their cousins and their aunts,"he remarked sarcastically, as he shifted

his position and lighted a freshmonogrammed cigarette. "How many ofthem on the payroll now?"

From the gate the chauffeur turned toglance at Steele.

"Can't seem to get any answer," he toldhis employer in puzzled manner.

"Keep on ringing," commanded Steele,somewhat irritably. "O'Keefe's aroundsomewhere, and I rang him up before westarted so I know he's expecting us."

"Maybe he's learned the vaultcombination," laughed Meade. "AnIrishman——"

But Steele was not listening. His eyeswere on his chauffeur who was examiningthe supposedly locked gates.

"Something wrong here, Mr. Steele," heannounced with a small quiver ofexcitement. "Gates not locked at all—justa pretense—looks to me like they might-abeen jimmied or something"

In a bound Steele was beside him. Ashove and the big iron gates boundedopen, the huge lock that had been theirprotection clanging protest as it fell to thegraveled drive.

"What the "began Steele, as his eyeswent

lightning swift toward the house fromwhich there was no sign of welcome orhabitation. But with the uncompletedsentence, he was already running along thecurved driveway with its flankinggreenery toward his house. Nor did either

of the other three wait for the chauffeur toclamber back to his seat and drive themthrough the opened gates; they, too, leaptto the ground to sprint after their host.

The incessant clamor Steele hadalready set up on the front door knockerwhen the others reached him brought noresponse. Its reports could be heardechoing dully, deadly, as through an emptyuntenanted house. Though he brought allhis huge strength to bear on the door as heflung his body against it in an effort tobreak it down, its massiveness resisted hisefforts as it might have the puny strength ofa sparrow fluttering its wings.

"Hadn't we better try a battering ram,"suggested Ashley, futilely, as he flitteredabout, trying to raise himself to peer into

windows high above his head.

But Steele was too much perturbed tohear him. Something was obviouslywrong. He was going to find out what itmeant.

"Damn!" he said, and he struck off forthe rear of the house, careless of thetrampled shrubbery that grew in the wayof a shorter cut. Wonderingly his threefriends trailed after him.

The kitchen door was ajar, but fromwithin there was no sound. In the servants'sitting room off it, however, theydiscovered Mrs. Katherine O'Keefe, wifeof the prize caretaker, and chatelaineextraordinary of Broad Acres throughmost of the year. But Mrs. O'Keefe did notsee her master nor his guests. For the

simple reason that Mrs. O'Keefe lay on acouch sleeping peacefully. The odor ofchloroform still clinging to the beruffledmaid's apron that was wadded across herface told its story.

"Damn!" repeated Steele, and his eyesflashed ominously.

"Hell's bells!" somewhat moreelegantly ejaculated Billy Meade. Theirfew words were pregnant with meaning.

One thing only was in the mind ofHarrison Steele. No time would he wastegoing through the house to see what mighthave happened. Only his cellars, hischerished, vaunted burglar-proof vaultsconcerned him. Leaving Mrs. O'Keefe totake her nap peacefully, he dashed for thecellar entrance. Careless of what they

might encounter, neither Ashley, Meade,nor Grayson Cardwell were far behind.More than their peace of mind wasthreatened. Their thirst was at stake, andthey meant to see this thing through.

In the semi-darkness of the first cellar,Steele's foot tripped over an obstacle ashe leapt down the stairs. His hand soughtthe electric button and in the light thatflashed on, the oncoming men saw thatbundle move and a pair of eyes, gogglingwith fright, blinking in the sudden glare,gazed up at them above a masterly-madegag. Those eyes were all of PatrickO'Keefe that seemed to be alive, for hewas trussed up like a fowl, his legs bentso that any amount of effort on his partwould have been of no avail. Nearby, and

just outside his reach, lay a shotgun with ashattered barrel, futile, maddening. Butpassing O'Keefe and his misery, the men'seyes searched further on in theireagerness. Directly in front of them lay theheavy door to the inner cellars and thevaults; shattered, too, like the gun;likewise futile.

Ideal master of his servants as he wasgenerally

conceded to be, Harrison Steele for oncein his life made comfort and considerationfor Patrick O'Keefe a secondary matter. Inone leap he was across the cellar roomand through that shattered door. It was leftfor Clement Ashley to put his carefullytrousered knees on the dust of the cellarfloor and loosen the bonds of the keeper

of the treasure. As Billy Meade boundedafter Cardwell and Steele, he heard thesmall man's efforts being rewarded by avoluminous Celtic groan.

There was no need of words to explainthe cellar room into which Steele and hisguests emerged. The story was shouted atthem by the mass of tangled steelwreckage that was scattered about thefloor, and by the steel door of the burglar-proof vault which hung limply by onehinge.

Steele picked up an exploded cap.

"Dynamite!" he gritted. He had said itall in one word. But as the eyes of his twoguests went past the open door to piercethe dimness of the vault, their answerswere groans.

Those once so well-filled vaults wereempty! Empty as the heart of a childlesswidower!

Sputtering and heavy breathing back ofhim and Steele whirled to face O'Keefe,painfully making his way toward him withthe aid of the helpful Ashley. Wordless,fairly pale in his anger, Steele glowered."I couldn't It wasn't my fault, Mr.Harrison,

'dade an' it wasn't," stuttered the caretaker."When a gang of fellys takes yer gun andsmashes it before yer eyes, and just laughsat ye when ye're tied up like a piece o'bedding, what's to do? Wh-a-a-t—I"

"Stop sputtering and tell me whathappened!" commanded Steele in the toneof authority his underlings so well knew—

and feared should he have cause to use it.

"Wh-h-y—er—I"

"Have a heart, Steele! Can't you see thepoor chap needs a drink?" Ashley giggled.But Meade and Cardwell only repeatedtheir lugubrious groans as tongues wetlips.

"Shut up!" growled Steele, and to hiscaretaker: "Well, O'Keefe?"

With a visible effort the caretakershook himself together and began his tale.

"'Twas but a short time afther yetelyphoned ye'd be here, sor, that the firsttruck drove up, and"

"The first?"

"Yis, sor—they was five, and"

Steele was glowering.

"And you let five empty trucks drive inhere and dynamite these vaults "he began.

"Yis, sor—I mean no, sor—they wasn'timpty, sor. Ye'll find plinty of impty casessomewheres about. As I was sayin', thefirst bunch says as how they have a foinelot of vintage stuff to be delivered to you,and knowin' as ye're bringin' a party, Ithinks nothin' of it when they begins tounload. Shure, I did begin to think it a bitstrange as to what ye'd do with so muchmore when the others came along, but Ididn't get no ways wise till I hears that bigbang. Then I rushes down here with megun, and it happened just as I'm tellin' ye,sor, they—they told me to be good withmy popgun and four-five of 'em jumped

me—and then I couldn't do nothin' till yecome"

"But the rest of the servants?" BillyMeade put in a question in his quiet way.

"It's plowing time, and they're all at theother end of the place, sor"

The deadly gleam in Harrison Steele'seyes was lessening. He looked at the manwho was cowering before his wrath,though O'Keefe had shown he had no lackof physical courage. The master's voicewas less stern as he asked:

"How many men were there?"

"Tin or twelve—I couldn't rightly say"

"And you braced those gunmen withyour old rifle, O'Keefe?" Steele's face

lighted with a slow smile. "Guess you didyour best for a man with no brainsnobrains—wish I could have seen it"

Ashley broke in.

"Well, fellows," he grinned, "anexciting time was apparently had by all.We look like the goats, but, offhand I'd saywhat we all need right now is a drink!"

"Shut up, you!" once more growledSteele.

"And the last drop we brought from theclub gone an hour ago!" GraysonCardwell was getting in the habit ofgroaning.

O'Keefe looked hesitant before hespoke again.

"I think I could scare ye up a quart orso, sor," he offered, but in his eyes heshowed that for this generous offer heexpected further lashing from his master.

"Good old scout!" murmured Ashleyappreciatively, as he remembered at lastto brush his trousers knees. But the smilethat Steele started, slowly broadened to agrin.

"You old rascal!" he reproved. "Well,he's saved us something by holding out onme, anyway. Come on boys, we'll have thewake. Come out of the catacombs."

In the dimly-lighted dining room above,they gathered about the table with funerealfaces as O'Keefe with practiced handsprepared their highballs. Each wascontemplating how long the small supply

would last. Suggestions were offered as tothe possibility of restocking.

"Not a chance," Steele told them firmly."I've already found that out"

"At least it's a good thing you got out ofthe market when you did," reminded theever-comforting Ashley. "You've gotenough left, and there are alwaysbootleggers, you know"

Steele shook his head.

"Oh, some of them are safe enough ifyou can pay their price," offered Cardwellcarelessly. "Why, I know"

O'Keefe came softly through the doorand as softly spoke as though fearful ofinterrupting painful rites.

"Ye're wanted on the telyphone, sor,"he whispered. "Presbyterian Hospital,they say."

Steele rose quickly, wondering.

"Now what?" he commented.

As he opened the door on his return,Cardwell was still speaking.

"Now, this particular bootlegger"

"Boys," he announced solemnly, "youcan cut out the talk about bootleggers—there'll be none for me —ever!"

At the solemnity of his tone, his guestslooked at him in surprise.

"That call," he explained, "was from—about Henry Russel"

"Russel?" queried Meade. "Anythingwrong?"

Henry Russel would have made the fifthof the present party had they been able toconnect with him, for since student days,he, too, had been one of the inseparables.

Steele made three words of it.

"Blind!" he said. "Bootlegger's hooch!"

Billy Meade was the first to recover inthe awed silence that fell on the group atSteele's announcement.

Steele noded grimly.

"Why, dammit it all," exploded QementAshley, slamming his hand down on thetable so that the glasses tinkled, "it simplycan't be! There must be some mistake!Why only yesterday I was talking to himand"

Steele sat down like an old man. Everygesture seemed to say that he was tired,very tired.

"And," he finished slowly for Ashley,"he probably told you he had found somewonderful stuff that his bootlegger had gothold of. He did. This morning he was

picked up on the street and taken to thePresbyterian Hospital. Wood alcohol—that's all! He has only just come around sothat he could tell anything about himself orhave his friends notified. He was one ofthose who was so sure of his reputablesource, too, Cardwell. There's yourbootleggers for you. When as fine chapsas Russel get theirs, it's about time theprohibitionists were satisfied," he addedbitterly, as he turned the remaining portionof his own drink around and around in hisglass.

"One of the finest," mourned Meade."Of course, we'll do all we can for him,but," and he glanced up at the big brokerslouching in his chair, his attitude anythingbut that which might have been expected

of the man who was prepared to be chiefcelebrant at his own retirement from abusiness that was fast making little onesout of the big ones which were credited tohis bank account, "but anything we can dowon't solve our own problem. Looks likea warning, eh, boys?"

"What about it, Steele?" queriedAshley, the solemnity of his owncountenance a record of his feelings. "Yousay you won't fall for the bootleg—whatyou going to do? Go on the water wagon?"

Steele reached for the bell.

"Might as well bring on that last quartyou cached, O'Keefe," he told his manservant, before he answered Ashley. Then,as the door closed: "Hell, no! The/ can'tget away with it"

Ashley's irrepressible grin lightened thegloom of his face.

"Looks like they'd made a good start,"he murmured. "Think you can catch 'em?"

"Oh, I'm not talking about my own stuff—that's gone—hope I've sense enough toknow it! I mean those idiots who aretrying to tell me what I shall drink or notdrink when and where and as often as

I like "The set of his square jaw and thelips

that were a mere line, showed that theSteele stubbornness was on the surface."Don't know how just yet, but there mustbe some way"

In silence as befitted the occasion, thegroup took the drink that O'Keefe poured

for them. With all ceremony glasses werelifted in a mournful wordless toast.Grayson Cardwell drew his lean longfigure up from his chair at the table andfor a few moments paced the floor, hiseyes downcast as though his thoughts wereheavy ones. At the window he stoppedand his unseeing glance wandered outover the wide lawn in its spring greenery,now lightly touched by the soft beams ofthe new moon. Then, without turning toface his companions, who sat glumly infront of the last bottle of Steele'swonderful store of liquids, he spoke,slowly, carefully, as if not quite sure ofhow his suggestion might be taken.

"There is a way," he hesitated—"ifyou're game enough to take a chance."

"As if chance was not our middlename," scoffed Ashley, while Meadesmiled superiorly.

"Well?" Steele looked up inquiringly.Cardwell {turned to face them.

"You have a yacht," he insinuated, "andas I understand it, a sailing master whothinks you're one of the royal family, and—and," again he hesitated as inquiringglances were leveled at him, "aren'tBermuda and the Bahamas full of realstuff, every bit as good as our late visitorscarried away?"

His bomb exploded, Cardwell waitedto see how the suggestion would be taken.Steele flushed slowly as it sank in.

"I may have done a great many things,

but I don't believe I've ever been acriminal," he commented, but there was ashiftiness about his glance that showed ahalf shame-facedness—that he was evendebating the matter.

Cardwell moved closer to the table.

"If you were not afraid of bootleggersand wood alcohol you'd buy their stuff,wouldn't you?" he shot at his host.

"That's different," cut in ClementAshley. "Everybody's doing it"

"Everybody doesn't own a yacht!"snapped Cardwell. "Now look at thisthing fairly, Steele," he went on, and hedropped into the chair he had vacated andleaned across the table to emphasize hispoints. "You've got to have liquor—or are

you willing to give up and admit yourselfbeaten?" Grayson Cardwell knew his man;knew that on no other point was he sovulnerable. Steele squared his shouldersto speak, but it was Meade who broke in.

"They don't send you to Federal prison— often "he remarked, "for buying frombootleggers, and there must be some"

"There are none for me!" snappedSteele. "Even before I heard about Russel,I had learned enough. And I'm not talkingabout wood alcohol only. There's thatdenatured stuff, and they don't always getall the formaldehyde out. A littleformaldehyde won't kill you the first or thesecond time, but just keep it up and seewhat happens! Reminds me of the motto Ionce saw on an old sun dial—not a very

cheerful thing—'Vulnerant omnes, ultimanecat."

"Take the head of the class," urgedAshley, bowing deeply. "Wouldn't havebelieved it! Now my Latin ■—translate,please, Professor!"

The lightness of his friend's tone in nowise lessened Steele's seriousness, but hewent on as though explaining to a smallboy: "A good thing for you to keep inmind, son—'They all wound; the last onekills.' No, sir, I'm off the bootleg. Here,"and he reached into a vest pocket anddrew out a folded clipping. "Came acrossthis the other day, and saved it—thought Imight need it with some such ignoramusesas you. You read it—aloud—Meade,"offering the paper which the other took

and spread out under the rays of theelectric globe which O'Keefe hadswitched on on his last visit.

"'Of the 1,500 samples of confiscatedmoonshine recently analyzed by the StateFood and Drug Department/" he read,'"not more than twenty-five samples werefound free from poison. It is the conditionsurrounding the manufacture thatintroduces the element of danger. Illicitstills are hidden in thickets, fields, oldout-houses, barns, dirty tenement roomsand vermin-filled cellars. The containersoften are old barrels which, after repeateduse, are foul and illsmelling.

"'The unprotected, fermenting mixtureattracts animal life such as flies,cockroaches, mice, rats, bugs and insects

of every description. They often die in it.In many instances, the stills are onlycommon boilers covered with filthyblankets in which alcoholic vapors areretained and wrung out into bottles.Frequently old torn-up mattresses furnishthe necessary cotton for straining thefinished product '"

"Ugh!" Fastidious Ashley shivered sothat the ripples in his silk shirt were plain."Lay off, Brother Anderson—have a heart!Almost thou persuadest me

"Very good!" declared GraysonCardwell. "Admitted! Now," and oncemore he turned to Steele and his eyessearched those of his friend keenly, "whatare you going to do about it? Are yougoing to let them get away with it?"

As though the last words were the goadtoo much, Harrison Steele leapt to his feetand his big fist whanged down on the tablewith its empty bottle and glasses.

"No, by Jumping Jupiter," he shouted. "Iwon't!"

Clem Ashley licked his lipsanticipatorily and his boyish grin spreadacross his small face. "Atta boy!" hecommanded. "When do we start?"

"Shut up!" This time it was Cardwell'svoice that commanded. Then, turning tothe others, he went on eagerly. "I'vethought it all out—it came to me while Iwas watching that moon lighting up thelawn out there—sailing along so calmly.You know that hunting preserve of minedown on the North Carolina coast—I've

asked you all to come down with me morethan once, but you've never found time. It'snear a little seaport town calledSwansboro, but it's the wildest spot youcan well imagine. It's on part of a strip ofland called Bogue Island that is separatedfrom the mainland, and I've kept it up theyear round for I've never known when Iwanted to drop down there for a bit ofshooting or surf fishing. That's wherewe'll head for first. It can be given out thatwe are going down for a shooting andfishing trip, and the yacht down in theFlorida waters will never be even thoughtof, especially as we'll charter ahydroplane and fly down"

"My sacred grandmother!" wailedAshley. "No wonder you asked us if we

were game. Next!" And he subsided witha sigh as Cardwell glowered at him, andwent on with his plans.

"Don't you see how it will work out?We stop off at the hunting lodge for a dayor two which will give Steele's sailingmaster time to prepare for a voyage,

and "and he looked about him with a grinas

though what he was to add would clinchthe matter, "and I don't think any thievingbootleggers have been able to drive anytrucks over to Bogue Island yet"

Little Ashley revived. A slow grin ofanticipation spread over the faces ofSteele and Billy Meade.

"Where'U we catch the flying boat?"

queried the former.

"I think I can manage that," wasMeade's contribution. "Know a chap whohas one—was in France with him—wonderful flying record and all that—canbe depended on, too, when it comes tokeeping a secret."

"Get him!" Steele became thecommanding general. "No time like thepresent," he added firmly. "I'm ready tostart any time."

"Can't you give me time to change mypants?" Ashley looked wonderingly abouthim with injured innocence, but the otherspretended not to notice him.

Steele glanced ruefully at the emptybottles and glasses on the shining

mahogany table.

"No use staying here," he remarkedwith a trace of bitterness. "We can makearrangements at the club better." His handwent to the bell, and as O'Keefe,suspiciously alacritous, appeared, heordered that the car be brought for themwithout delay.

"Which may be just as well, if ye'llpardon me for sayin' so, sor," O'Keefetold him. "For it do be lookin' as thoughdinner would be a long time comin', whatwith the ould woman comin' out of hersleep so hysterical, sor, and callin' on allthe saints and angels to protect her"

Steele smiled ruefully. "You can assureMrs. O'Keefe she need have no furtherfear. There's no further cause here for

raiders."

It was past midnight when Billy Meadefinally emerged from the telephone boothwhere he had spent most of the eveningafter reaching the club to which Steele hadtaken them, and announced to the listeningmen that everything was all right.

"Thought I could locate Don Baldwinwithout any trouble," he told them, "butI've had to put through more long-distancecalls than Steele ever did when he thoughthe had a winner. Got him up along theMassachusetts coast, though, and he'salready started. He'll be ready for us to-morrow morning all right, and have achance to snatch a few winks, too."

"Of course, you told him he'd be wellpaid, and,

er—er "Steele was a little embarrassed,for him

a strange phenomenon.

Meade grinned.

"Don't know that that would have muchto do with Don's taking up the thing," hesaid, as his hand went out for the drink aclub steward offered in the same mannerhe had offered the same refreshment somany times before the laws of his countryproclaimed he should not, "Don's keen forthe sport of the thing. He don't knowwhat's up, of course, but whatever it is,he's for it, and you can depend on him."

"And as for the other," Cardwell spokedecisively, "of course we'll all chip in,and"

"Of course, we'll do nothing of thekind!" Harrison Steele sat up straight inthe deep leather-cushioned chair in whichhe had been lolling and lookedbelligerently about him. "This is my party—as far as any paying is concerned—justunderstand that. I got you fellows in a holewhen I thought so much of A. R. M. as aplaything, and you wouldn't let me makegood. I'm at least entitled to pay for thecelebration party I promised!"

Clement Ashley spread his hands widein a gesture of acceptance and shruggedhis small shoulders.

"Then everything's settled, I take it?"was his query. "Except changing mypants?"

"You can change 'em in the morning

while I go to the bank," Steele soothed."Don't believe they'd take checks inBermuda or wherever we're going; don'tbelieve I want to leave one behind me."

The bright sun of a May morning wastouching the spires and prismaticwindowed sky-scrapers with gildeddesigns as the bird-like hydroplane withits party of five rose lightly out of thegently lapping waves of the Hudson andsoared high up past the Statue of Liberty.From the distance, the mass of steel andgranite that made of Wall Street a cavernof gloom even in the bright sunshine,could be discerned by the men who had sorecently seen small fortunes flit away inits environs. From their height, it all nowseemed unreal, something that might have

happened long ago, hardly remembered.

From the start, they had been silent.Each was busy with his own thoughts;some that would not have borne easily thelight of general discussion. As usual itwas Ashley who could no longer restrainhimself.

"Too bad we couldn't wait for the nooneditions," he said. "You see those reporterchaps waiting around wanting to know?They'll have a fine yarn, won't they? Can'tyou see it?

HUNTERS VIE WITH GAME THEYSEEK.

Well-know Brokers, Caught in the

Rise of A. R. M. Fly Away to

Catch Surer Game.

"How's that, eh? Always knew I'dmissed my calling!"

"Hmph!" Steele smiled somberly."Anything that called you'd stop mightyshort when they saw you. Did you changeyour pants?"

Past the Statue of Liberty, past the vasthulks that marked the anchorage of thehundreds of ships in the wide harbor thatlay more and more bluely in front of them,past the tip end of the island with itsskyreaching architecture growing down tothe very edge of the bay, there to drop offin a line, sheerly, the hydroplane and itsfreight of adventurers flew, soaring higherand higher.

A dim cloud came before the vision ofHarrison Steele as his eyes stared at thegreat height of the Woolworth buildingwith its myriad windows touched by thesun. Through that cloud, the pile of graniteturned gray. The windows were barredand narrow and high. The vision of theFederal Prison as he had once seen it atAtlanta was complete. It was with asuppressed shudder that he turned to staredown the bay where the wider waters ofSandy Hook could just be discerned. Thesun was shining there. There were noclouds. With a half smothered sigh hesubsided in his seat, clutching the holdingbelt. The world was fair. The motion wasdelightful. Fiercely he told himself he wasright in making this adventure whichwould prove him a man to whom no other

man could say nay. He would enjoy itnow, at any rate. For as yet there had beennothing done that savored of outlawry.

CHAPTER IV

THEOPHILUS LOPSTROP HUMPHREYleaned his rifle against the trunk of a liveoak tree and turned to gaze across the inletto the island that lay between him and thewide spread of the Atlantic beyond. Onebrown sinewed hand shaded his gray eyeswith their overhanging growth of graying,bushy eyebrows as the still keen gaze ofthe rangy old man swept the woodedisland with its mass of tropical growth.The slant of the sun near its meridiantouched a fresh-water lakelet hidden in thetangled cluster of live oaks, bay trees, andundergrowth of lesser evergreens, vinesand semi-tropical verdure that made of theisland all but a jungle, hard for anythingbut creeping things to penetrate; it flung its

mirror-like shafts across the inlet.Humphrey, watching from beneath shadedbrows, saw a few specks of black circlingabove it, and grunted as he watched.

"Hmph!" he snorted. "Poor fools!" Hiseyes never wavered from the belatedstraggling wild ducks who were seekingto form themselves into a flock intent onjoining their more enterprising brotherswho had journeyed a month or more sinceto Northern climes. "Consarn ef I can seewhy ye want to leave," he apostrophized."Consarn ef I can see why anybody oranything wants to be a-travelin' all thetime. God A'mighty never meant fercritters to be always a-movin'."

As a brief index to Theophilus LopstropHumphrey's character, it may be

mentioned that the old hunter who gazedout over the North Carolina land andseascape on this May morning, put wellinto practice what he preached.Theophilus Lopstrop Humphrey did notbelieve much in moving; what moves hemade were for the most part made that hemight slightly change his place of resting.

"Poor fools!" he repeated, as his halfpitying gaze took in the stragglers' efforts."Why can't ye be sensible. Wild oats aplenty in them ponds, but ye got to be upand goin' some place. But I 'low ye'll beback when ye're wanted." His shaggy grayhead shook sagely. "An' I'll not have towatch after ya when ye're gone."

Standing there, drawn up to his fullheight as he watched, it would have been

hard to believe that Humphrey was a manpast sixty. Old Theo would have madeglad the heart of any apostle of the openair, for his sturdiness and strength werethose of a man in his prime, that primeonly belied by the gray of eyebrows andhair, something in the loosejointedmovement of his great hands and feet, andin the scattered crows' feet that puckeredabove his high cheek bones. For more thansixty years, the hot sun and shifting windsof the North Carolina coast had been busymaking those crows' feet in thecountenance of Theophilus Humphrey. Hishome had been in the open air; his workand play and leisure with gun and rod andboat.

Had anyone mentioned the word

"shiftless," now, though, he would havebeen favored with old Theo's mostglowering glance. Old Theo was aworker. He would have told you so. Hewas working now. Was he not keeping aneye out on the hunting preserve of a richNew Yorker who trusted him to see thatno poacher penetrated through that islandjungle to carry off prizes of wild hog, ordeer or wild goat, or what not?

It was strenuous work. Humphreyopened his huge mouth in a wide yawn asthe fool birds circled away to thenorthward.

"Reckon dinner must be most ready," heobserved, with a final squint at the slowlymoving sun. Leisurely, as befitted onewhose duty well done has earned the right,

the tall old man reached for his rifle andturned to climb further up the knoll at thetop of which set his rambling white-washed house with its scalingclapboarded walls and sagging porch—ahouse with an outlook that took in at onesweep the whole of the surroundingcountry; from which could be seen thestretch of high piled sand dunes brokenonly by clumps of bear grass on the oceanside of the island, the wooded strip itself,and its dividing inlet; the higher"hammock" ground of the mainland, dottedwith scattering houses, white in thesoftening distance, but scaling and white-washed like Humphrey's own domicile, onnearer view—houses perched on knolls,houses hidden in groves of bay and liveoak trees—houses that sheltered other

"progers" like Theophilus Humphrey. Forthis was the proger section of progressiveNorth Carolina, and not even the mostprogressive of them all has yet foundanother name than proger for thoseparticular North Carolinians who haveearned the colloquial distinctive by theirhabits of earning a more or lessprecarious living through hunting a little,fishing and trapping a little, and when itcan't be helped, putting in a crop a little.Typical proger was TheophilusHumphrey, but for two years now he hadbeen able to lord it over his fellowprogers, for he was receiving actual cashfor doing what he loved best to do—eversince he had become chief guide, advisorplenipotentiary and keeper of the preservewhich a Northerner, a man called Grayson

Cardwell, had purchased down on thatNorth Carolina coast and which stretchedas far as eye could reach before the oldman's vision as he sat on his pine board,vine-covered porch.

Keen as his youthful old eyes were,however, there was something now in thattree and underbrushcovered island acrossfrom him that he had failed to notice.Something—someone—stirred in a clumpof half-grown trees, curtained with newlygray-green long-trailing Spanish moss. Asthe old guide bent his footsteps toward hishome on the knoll, a face peeredcautiously out at the retreating figure. Itwas a fine old face, benignant beneath theaureole of long white hair that framed thepinkish cheeks. But across it, as he gazed,

there flitted a look of annoyed intolerance.One hand, visible as it held aside thescreening moss, motioned some other tocaution.

"Dagged old proger," muttered theowner of the silver aureole. "Thinks heowns the earth. Reckon he's gone todinner, Ira," he went on to his unseencompanion. "Reckon we can bemoseying."

A second face peered through the mossscreen.

"He's hell with that there old rifle ofhis'n, Uncle Billy Peter," complained thesecond man—or youth, rather, did onetake into account years only, for hiswizened face proclaimed he had livedyears beyond his time—not well-spent

years. "Seems a feller can't git nothin' toeat by rights any more sense old Theo gothis license." From beside him, the secondman lifted up a freshly killed young marshhen which he hurriedly stuffed under hisworn coat. "Wall, he kain't always gitaway with it," he declared, as he bent lowto snoop, Indian fashion, through the tallmarsh grass that would hide him fromwatchful eyes.

The sudden sneer and narrowing eyes inthe face of the elder man proclaimed hisapparent benignancy but a snare and adelusion.

"I've alius had what I wanted to eatoffen this here island," he commented,"and I proposes to keep on— spite of anyrich man from the North'ard. Effen it

hadn't a been fer him I'd a-fixed thatconsarned old Theo long ago"

"'Low he'll fix we'uns now, UncleBilly, effen we don't mosey," reminded theother, with a backward glance at thetemerity of Uncle Billy Peter Willis whohad come out in the open to shake histightly clenched fist at the back ofTheophilus Humphrey. But, with thereminder, discretion came, and thewhitehaired old man who had spent themorning poaching on Grayson Cardwell'scherished preserve, with only one smallmarsh hen to reward him—thanks to thewatchfulness of the New Yorker's guide—bent over and sneaked through the tallgrass and undergrowth. It was a mostundignified exit for the richest man in the

proger district—a man who, untilCardwell's appearance, had long held amortgage over the head of the but slightlyprotesting Humphrey—but then, it was anecessity. Billy Peter Willis, rich man,and "stingiest soul the good Lord ever letlive," was content. He once more hadsomething for nothing; even if it was onlya marsh chicken.

Worn by the exertion of his walk fromhis vantage point down the hill to hishouse (all of a hundred yards or more) oldTheo Humphrey dropped down into asplint-seated chair when he reached thesheltering porch. His rifle he proppedagainst the clapboarded wall behind him.His gaze wandered seaward —past theinlet and the island. Another black speck

claimed his attention. Funny thing, that—couldn't be a gull—too black. Must be astray duck just a-flocking by itself.Humphrey chuckled at the aptness of hisown expression. But the black speck wasgetting larger—it was coming nearer. Itwas taking form.

Theo Humphrey lifted his voice in anexcited shout.

"Lory!" he demanded, "Come on outhere, girL I'm consarned ef I don't thinkhere's another of them airship thingscomin' along! My land o' livin', but whatare we comin' to! People flying throughthe air jes like ducks!"

In the doorway behind the old man agirl appeared, Only a casual glance wasneeded to prove her his daughter. There

was something about the gray of the eyesand their shape that was unmistakableeven though the girl's own eyes were bigand wide with the eagerness of youth. Butthere, all resembance stopped. Forrefinement of feature and delicatecoloring, Lora Humphrey might well havebeen the carefully nurtured product of ahothouse civilization, instead of adaughter of the hommocks, unless one tookinto account the health that was fairlyvibrant through her slender young body.Nor was she the slattern that one mighthave expected after a casual visit to thoseother homes which dotted the landscapebefore her. In her crisply starched yellowgingham bungalow apron that threw intorelief the dusk of her softly curling hair,she might have stepped direct from the

pages of one of the magazines that layscattered in used confusion on a smallpine table at one end of the slanting porch.But that she was not for picture purposesonly was proven by the dish cloth she heldin one hand, evidently forgotten in herhurry to answer her father's hail.

"Did you say an airship, pap?" sheinquired eagerly. "Where? Oh, I do wishthey'd come by here oftener —they makeme dream such dreams of other peopleand things"

"Hmmph!" snorted old Theo. "Time yewas fergittin' about all them things, I'll bebound. 'Pears like sending ye to thewest'ard to school, and then lettin' ye go a-nursin' through the war time has jest aboutspi'lt ye for livin in the hammocks"

"Oh, father—er, pap, I mean "LoraHumphrey

unwillingly substituted the diminutive ofthe hommocks country people upon whichher father insisted. "Don't you ever have athought you'd sometime like to go out ofthe hammocks—to where people live—dothings?"

"Hmmph!" Old Theo's snort was moreemphatic. "God A'mighty never intendedhis human critters to be alius a-travelin'around. Effen He did, he'd a give 'emwings"

"Well, He's taught them how to makewings for themselves, hasn't He?" retortedthe girl, as she flung the dish cloth overthe back of a chair and ran down thericketty porch steps. "Where's the

airship?"

Humphrey pointed to the black spot thatin the last few moments had approachedso close that its outline and the black dotsof passengers were clearly visible. Loraturned to fling him an excited invitation.

"Come on down to the wharf, pap," shecried. "We can see it better there—why, Ido believe it's coming this way!" Herrounded brown arm went up to shade thegray eyes, no less keen than her father's, asshe watched the plane that slowly began tocircle and in each wide sweep camecloser and closer to the earth.

The old man demurred. Not even theappearance of the all too occasional flyingmachine (and there had been several topass his ocean-front doorway since the

war) could long keep him from aconsideration of his usual routine.

"I want my dinner," he complained,frowning at the oncoming plane. "I'mhungry!"

"Oh, come on, pap! Be a sport! You caneat the rest of the day!" urged the girl.

With some reluctance, TheophilusLopstrop Humphrey got lumberingly to hisbig feet to follow his daughter whose ownflying white-shod feet were carrying herswiftly down to the small planked spacereaching out into the waters of the inletand which she and her father were pleasedto designate as the wharf, since it washere that their three small skiffs and oneflat-bottomed duck boat were tied.

Raptly the girl gazed skyward. The bigmachine was making such wide swoops asit circled, now soaring a moment, nowalmost touching the water, that her heartwas in her throat as she watched, herhands clasped tightly as she eagerlymarveled at the skill that made it possiblefor man to fly. By the time old Theo'smore leisurely progress had brought himto her side on the little wharf, the big man-bird was abreast of them. They saw thefour men passengers, with their protectingbelts, and the pilot who looked neither toright or left but kept his eyes straightbefore him as he steered the huge machine.Hails came to them. They could make outwords.

"Hallo, there, Humphrey!" yelled a

voice.

"Well, I'm consarned!" All the oldguide's apathy was gone. "Ef it hain't thatCardwell! A-flyin' here when the duck'sare all a-flying the other way. Wonderwhat he wants in May!"

Lora Humphrey was not listening. Hereyes were fastened on the flying boat andthe pilot whose grim white face she hadseen as the boat made its last low circle.Up, up went the machine, but it careenedlike a wild thing as it whirred above them,and she could see the men cling to theirbelts as it righted itself. The put-put of themotor and its stuttering stops told even herlittle-experienced ears that something hadsuddenly gone wrong. Her strong littlebrown hands went upward as though in a

futile effort to help the big machine thatwobbled from side to side, then camedown to clutch at her father's arm.

"Oh, pap!" she wailed. "They'll"

Once more the hydroplane righted itselfas Don gritted his teeth and flung his bodyover to balance it by sheer materialweight. It was coming down again. Theengine gave a sickening cough and wentdead. Like the pointed nose of a retrieverin full tilt, the machine sought the water.But its angle was too sharp. Don wastugging at the wheel which did notrespond any more than did the biceps ofthe old man which were clutched in apanicky grip by the girl who huddled athis side. Down! Down! For a moment itseemed to straighten itself out a bit.

Would they make it? Lora Humphrey andher father could see the passengers whohad realized their danger hurriedly pullingat their belts as their pilot tugged at hiswheel. Another second! One more closerto eternity. The air that was cut by theflying-boat rushed swiftly by the faces ofthe two watchers. The machine struck thewater. Lora Humphrey closed her eyes forthe second it struck—involuntarily. Sheopened them as quickly at the resoundingsplash of the big machine as it rolled itover on its side wobbling for aninfinitesimal space before it gave up thestruggle and turned turtle in the greensizzling waters of the sound—fifty feetfrom where the girl and her fatherwatched.

They saw the men hurled outward—saw them rise, one after the other, in thatspace of a moment they stood there. Savefor the whirring and splashing of thepropeller blades, all was dead silence.One agonized glance the girl gave herfather, as her eyes looked deeply into his.No word was spoken, but with aconcerted movement father and daughterleaped from the wharf and headed for theswishing waters that marked the deathstruggles of the big man-bird.

Youth and a greater practice servedLora Humphrey, so that it was the girl, butlittle hampered by the clinging of heryellow gingham gown, who first reachedthe damaged craft where one man whowas pinned beneath the cockpit, the

forepart of his body submerged, his feetkicking the water into a foam, had notbeen able to free himself. Four otherfigures were striking out for the beach.

In spite of all her efforts, LoraHumphrey could not loosen the manwhose efforts were growing less and less.She must dive, she knew in the momentshe considered the matter, her hand restingon a propeller blade that was lapping inthe water.

It was but the work of a moment for thegirl who spent so much time in the waterto dive and loosen the bits of enfillagethat pinned the man she had come torescue, but before it was accomplished hisfeet were no longer kicking the water.

It was a dead weight—a water-logged

body— all that for the moment was left ofHarrison Steele that Lora Humphreypulled out on the shell-strewn beach a fewmoments later.

They were an awe-stricken companywho gathered about the rescued man, butno time was lost in beginningresuscitation. Five, ten minutes went by.Harrison Steele showed no sign ofreturning consciousness.

"Do you think he can make it?" askedCardwell, as he turned exhausted eyes toLora Humphrey who had never ceased herefforts as she mechanically pumped thehalf-drowned man's arms up and down.

"If he can get back his vitality after thewater's out," she found breath to answer.To her father she nodded. "Go up to the

house and get the jug!" she ordered. "He'scoming around"

Billy Meade stared at their patient as heturned him over and remarked dryly, as henoted the color that began to show and thefluttering eyelids: "He'll do! Never careda great deal for water anyway."

Humphrey's lumbering long hulk madethe trip to his house and returned with thejug his daughter had ordered in recordtime. She took it and poured down herunprotesting victim's throat his first drinkof bootleg whiskey—Monkey Rum, theycalled it out there in the hommockscountry where it was made and where theydidn't know a lot about Mr. Volstead andcared a lot less. That Monkey Rum in itsnatural state was possessed of a flavor

and odor that had been known to makemany a strong man forswear moonshineforever was a matter, though, thatHarrison Steele knew nothing of and caredless. His eyes opened after the secondenforced swallow.

"B-r-r-r-!" said Harrison Steele.

It was his salutation to the NorthCarolina substitute for the thing the searchfor which had brought him on its first legto within an inch of death. Weakly he triedto sit up. Lora Humphrey drew a sigh ofrelief as she drew back, but it was on herface that the broker's eyes fastened in hisfirst moments of consciousness. Then hisgaze turned to take in the others.

"Where "he began weakly.

Clement Ashley stopped for the firsttime since the girl had brought Steeleashore to think of himself. He started tosqueeze the waters of Bogue Sound fromhis once immaculate sport suit.

"Where are you, you want to ask?" hequeried of Steele, before the broker couldfind strength to finish his sentence. "Well,you're not in heaven yet, oldtimer, but"and his eyes glanced appreciatively at

Lora Humphrey, whose soft, young,feminine curves were so unconsciouslydisplayed in the water-soaked ginghambungalow apron—"but darned near it, I'dsay."

Unheeding, the girl bent over the fast-rousing man.

"All right, now?" she asked soothingly.

"Will be," he coughed, "as soon as I getthis cocktail of gasoline and salt waterassimilated, but—-but— what—what "Hestopped stammeringly.

Again it was the irrepressible Ashleywho answered —Ashley, moreirrepressible than ever in his happiness athis friend's narrow escape.

"You'd like to know what happened?"he queried,

and he tried, with scant success, to give tohis saltwater-soaked mustache itsaccustomed perky tilt. "Well, I'll tell you.It looks as though one perfectly goodpersonal-liberty party had descended flaton its more or less well-known flitter right

in the Atlantic Ocean!"

CHAPTER V

"TVIGHT peart fer a man who come sonear J\ a-drownin', hain't he, doc?"

Old Theo looked down at HarrisonSteele who lay in bed in the spare room ofthe Humphrey home, with the morningsunlight streaming softly in through thewhite-curtained windows and makingrainbows of the gay covers of his"patchwork quilt with its sunrise pattern.He addressed Dr. Parson, who had againridden over from Swansboro in themorning, after leaving the patient in thecapable hands of Lora Humphrey the nightbefore. The village doctor smiled, butthere was something in his professionalmanner that showed he did not intend tomake too easy a case of the New Yorker.

Such grist did not often come to his mill.

"He has been well cared for," heoffered. "I don't often have any one likeMiss Lora to look after my patients, but hemust stay in bed for a while and take iteasy"

Harrison Steele looked up with a smile.

"I'm not much the staying in bed kind,doctor," he said, but then his eyeswandered to Lora Humphrey who haddonned one of the uniforms she had notused since her days of nursing in anAmerican convalescent hospital during thewar, and his expression changed. "I'll beall right, I'm sure," he agreed, adding witha smile at the girl who was busyingherself with his pillows, "but I guessyou're right—I'm not

feeling so strong "He stretched his longlength

luxuriously in the bright-coverleted bed,and tried to take on the expression of aninvalid.

Watching, Clement Ashley couldscarcely believe his eyes. The by-play hadnot escaped him any more than it hadCardwell and Meade. Surprised glancespassed between the friends who had neverknown Harrison Steele to give more than apassing glance to any woman. There wassomething in his eyes now, though, as heglanced at Lora Humphrey. Could thataccident have gone to his head?

Ashley grinned. "Then we'll have tocount you out of the party over at thelodge, eh?" he asked. "Don't feel you're

going to be strong enough to take a crackat a few ducks, or marsh hens or poke outa few alligators or sea turtles with us?"

Steele shook his head weakly, his eyessurreptitiously glancing at LoraHumphrey.

"The doctor knows best," he declared."I'm afraid it would be chilly over there,too—the lodge hasn't been opened thisspring has it, Cardwell?"

"Wall, now, I reckon ye're right." It wasthe old man who put in his word. "I 'lowit's about two blankets and a couple ofcomf'tables warmer over here than on theisland. Ye'd better stay right here a while,and let Lory fix ye up. Jes' wait a shake,doc," he called to Dr. Parson who had gothis bag closed and was rising to go. "Wait

till I saddle up my pony and I'll moseyalong with ye. Got to stop at NiggerHenry's cabin to git him to come up andcook fer these fellers, and goin' on in toSwansboro fer some more supplies. Kindo' low jes' now over at the lodge, 'count o'not expectin' anybody. I've got a raft o'hens and a good cow beast, but from thelooks of these chaps and the way theybeen a-puttin' away biscuits, I 'low they'llwant a sight more than milk and eggs andmarsh hens."

"Don't forget to stop at the telegraphoffice to see if a message has come,"called Cardwell, before the door closedsoftly behind the lumbering old man andthe doctor.

For, in spite of the accident to the

airplane which only the quick heroicaction of Lora Humphrey had kept fromending in tragedy, they had not forgottenthe original purpose of their expedition,and when the old man had hurriedlyridden on his "pony beast" to the CedarPoint Ferry and into Swansboro, themetropolis of the district with its five orsix hundred souls and its real telegraphoffice, he had carried with him a messageto Captain McMaster at Miami to make allpossible speed with the Falcon to BogueInlet. A glance at the wrecked plane hadbeen sufficient to show that, so far as itwas concerned in its present state, all betswere off. They had learned that there wasa daily freight and passenger boat plyingbetween Swansboro and Morehead City,and already Don Baldwin was making

plans for salvaging his plane and taking itto the latter place where a repair stationfor airplanes was operated by theGovernment, so that he might have it put inreadiness for any future use hiscompanions should have for it.

"Didn't I tell you Don was a sport?"commented Meade, in a satisfied mannerwhen they watched the aviator paddlingaround in the waters of the Inlet poking atthe wreckage. "Didn't I tell you hewouldn't give up? He wants to be in thisthing to the finish"

"He'll have to get a move on, then,"remarked Cardwell, dryly. "The Falconcan make some time!"

On the morning after the accident, theentire party had gathered in the Humphrey

spare room to hear the verdict of Dr.Parson as to Steele's condition. It wouldput a decided crimp into their plansshould the head of the party not make arapid recovery. As they had looked at thebig broker lying there so comfortably,however, all their doubts were at rest—atleast as to his physical condition. Theycould hardly understand why he had notrisen and come to breakfast with them.What they had seen later had beenexplanatory.

Lora Humphrey spoke when the doctorand her father had gone.

"You're all right?" she asked, as shegave the coverlet a final pat. "I must belooking after the dinner,

now, but if you need me "She pushed the

small

table beside his bed a little closer, andindicated the bell she had placed on it."Nobody's going to think dinner's ready ifthey hear you ringing the dinner bellaround here—it's the only one we have,"apologetically.

Harrison Steele, regardless of hisfriends who sat watching, reached up forthe girl's hands which he caught with allthe eagerness of a youth.

"I'm all right," he assured, "thanks toyou! You haven't even given me a goodchance to thank you for what"

Embarrassed, the girl quietly withdrewher hands.

"It was nothing—nothing—nothing "she

declared, "just what anybody"

And before Harrison Steele could sayanother word, she had sped lightly fromthe room. The broker's friends caught thelook of dawning adoration in theircompanion's eyes, as the big man in thebed watched her go.

Cardwell got up and sat down on thebed.

"You're sure you feel all right?" hebegan, but his solicitous inquiry wasinterrupted by one in a still moremockingly solicitous tone from ClementAshley.

"Say, old chaps," he inquired, as hebent a sad look on the man in the bed,"don't you think it would be better to send

for a couple of head doctors?"

Steele's face flamed a deep scarlet.

"Shut up!" he roared, in the usual tonehe employed to Ashley.

The other subsided.

"I guess he'll live till morning," henodded.

But already, Steele's expression hadchanged; had become more serious; halfapologetic; half shamefaced.

"Don't know that I blame you fellowsaltogether," he told them. "Don't quiteunderstand myself, but— er—maybe thataccident did do something to me— don'tknow that I ever thought any womanbefore"

It was Meade, understanding Meade,who changed the subject.

"What about our plans?" he asked."We'll go over to the lodge, of course"

"All except our invalid," mockedAshley, "who needs it 'two blankets and acouple o' comf'tables warmer.'"

They did not notice him.

"We'll just take it easy till CaptainMcMaster gets here," Cardwell took upthe conversation, "and I think you'll allfind plenty to do over on the island—andhave the time of your life hunting andfishing with old Theo as guide. Say, he's acard. Just get him to talking. Better than avaudeville. Likes to think of himself as adevil with the ladies—or that he once

was, at any rate. As far as I can make outhe was once a sort of prototype of theSpaniard—what's his name, in 'The FourHorsemen' who did so much to populatehis section of South America. From whathe insinuates, there's more than one littletad (some older ones, too, likely) that byrights could call him 'pap.' He likes tothink of himself as a pretty gay old boy,yet, too, but I believe most of his time isspent in sitting around ruminating over thetime he was 'a-travelin' some as fer aswimmen were consarned.'"

A general laugh went up from the partyat Cardwell's mimicry of his guide andtheir host.

"Pretty husky old boy, though, still—you'll have to hand him that," was

Ashley's comment, as he regarded his ownnone too well-developed figure in itsrough dried tweeds. Though he hadhimself not been impressed by LoraHumphrey, any more than he usually wasby any pretty face, still it was a matter ofmuch concern to the young man always soproud of his smart appearance before oneof the opposite sex, that he had had toappear before the girl in such garments—more, that he would have to keep onwearing them for some time to come, forof course, it had not been possible to carrymuch luggage in the airplane, and eachman had brought just what was necessary.

"I'll say so," nodded Cardwell, firmly."Why, you chaps can't have any notion ofthe old fellow's strength —and he takes it

so as a matter of course. It was that thatfirst impressed me with him and endedwith this arrangement of ours which hasbeen so mutually satisfactory; satisfactoryfor the old man because he's being paidreal money for doing what he likes best todo; likewise with me because I know Ihave the best guide and caretaker that aman could wish for, and that my lodge andgame preserve are in capable hands."

"How did you ever happen to come onthis place, anyhow, Cardwell?" askedSteele, his interest suddenly allowing himto forget how ill he was. "Don't believeyou ever told me."

Cardwell laughed.

"More or less an accident," he began,but again it was Ashley who interrupted.

"Must one always have them to landanywhere along this part of the NorthCarolina coast?" he queried, wonderingly.

Cardwell went on without noticing theinterruption.

"Probably you know," he related," thatthrough Bogue Sound out here, runs theinland waterway which is the route takenby the lighter draft yachts on their winterpilgrimages between the north and theFlorida waters. Most of it is pretty clear,but on the western side the sound ismarshy, and the channel in this portionwinds greatly—making it a pretty ticklishpiece of piloting work for anyone whodoesn't know the course well. I was on myway to Florida a couple of years ago, andlike a lot of other yachtsmen, I thought that

what I didn't know about steering wasn't inthe books. The channel lights that havebeen placed out there by the Governmentare not as well located as they might be,though, and I had that partly, as well as myown foolhardiness to thank for coming togrief.

"Before I knew what had happened, Ihad run my craft spang up on a sand bar.We had all hands working hard for anhour, but not a thing stirring. Might havebeen there yet, if old Humphrey hadn'tbobbed up from those marshes, poling hisskiff home from a duck hunt. Well, sir, thatold bird just stepped right out of his skiffinto the shallow water covering the bar,where my craft's nose was resting,ordered all hands astern, and with a grunt

and a lift of those ponderous shoulders ofhis, he pushed us off into the deeperwaters of the channel. Then he poled hisskiff alongside us and chucked on deck abrace of the finest mallards you ever saw.Wouldn't take a cent, either.

"Those mallards were so fine that I keptthinking about them, and when I came backfrom Florida later, I stopped over here fora try at the hunting. In the end, he helpedme buy the island and put up the lodge.And I'll say we've kept it one of the mostexclusive a man ever owned—except forone part. Down near the end to theeastward, there's a little band of the mostprimitive squatters you ever saw—we'llgo down and look them over some day—they've made up their minds they have a

right to the place and to their living byfishing and scalloping, and I for one don'tcare much about taking a chance ofproving them wrong. The last man whoundertook to tell one of them to go awayfrom there, I understand, was found on thebeach quite as dead as the chap he hadbeen trying to argue with. At any rate,they're beside the point. They won'tinterfere with our hunting and fishing, norwill they interfere with anything else wetry to do if we don't bother them. Don'tbelieve they'd know what we were up to ifwe sailed right up to the beach with halfthe wet stuff in Bermuda"

"Which recalls to me," put in Meadewith his slow smile, "that our purposewasn't altogether to hunt or fish or to

watch Steele through any mentalaberrations. What are the plans?"

Steele was considering. Somehow, ashe lay there, and with the memory of LoraHumphrey's smile fresh with him, theexploit they had undertaken didn't seemhalf so worth while; nor did his provingthat he could have his own way in spite oflaws appear quite so alluring.

"I suppose we can't do much till wehear from Captain McMaster and knowwhen he'll get here," he commented."There isn't anything in such a rushinghurry"

"Umra! I assume not "Clem Ashley'ssmile

was dry, but the twinkle in his eyes was

illuminative.

"I'll be all right in a few days, nodoubt," went on the man who had come sonear drowning, "and we can make morecomplete plans. In the meantime"

From outside came a long hail.Cardwell pulled aside the curtains toglance out.

"Hmmph!" he remarked. "Old Theo hasbeen a travelin' some again, or we've beenkilling more time here with Steele than wethought. He's got the nigger with him, too.Guess we'd better 'mosey.' Well, so long,Steele—take care of yourself." As heturned to the door, the others rose tofollow.

"Now, don't go and get feverish, old

man," Ashley remonstrated with the manin the bed. "We're going to need you. I, forone, can't say I can go long on NorthCarolina Monkey Rum." He dodged thepillow Steele flung at him in fury, andgave him a last mocking grin from thedoorway.

At the wharf, Humphrey and the negrowho was to cook for the party werewaiting. A small launch put-puttedimportantly as the two stowed the fewbelongings of the hunting party whostepped aboard. The strong brown handsof the old guide turned the wheel andswung them about into midchannel, headeddown the inlet for the landing placehidden in a grove of live oaks, with theirbackground of virgin pine, sweet bay and

cypress trees—groves themselves makingother hiding places for the wild things themen in the chattering motor boat weregoing to seek. That island which wastaking on clearer shape to the eyes of thecity men guided by the big gangling NorthCarolinian proger was a hunters' paradise;a small, sweetly-wooded retreat for deerand turkeys; squirrels, 'possums andcoons; foxes and wild cats; bears, too —and goats, hundreds of them, wild andlithe—goats like those many anotherhunter has climbed the Rocky Mountainfastnesses to find.

Cardweli turned his eyes fromcontemplation of his own island preserveas the sound of a second motor enginecame to his ears.

"Halloo!" he remarked, as his eyescaught sight of a man in a swift-runninggasoline surf boat which was fast comingabreast of them. "Another hunter?"

Old Theo shaded his eyes from the sunglinting on the rippling surface of the inletwith his big hand, and looked over thesmall craft's solitary occupant.

"That'll be Hal Everett," he informed."Got time off from the Coast Guardlikely." A knowing grin widened his bigmouth till his yellow tobacco-stained teethglowed. "I 'low he'll be on his way overto see Lory—but I mean to say she'll bekind o' too busy fer sparkin'"

Cardweli laughed, but his attention wasturned once more to the island which waslooming up before them. On the face of

Clement Ashley there was an impish grinas his eyes took in the brawny figure of thecoast guard whose boat swept by them. Inthose eyes was something which seemedto wonder if Steele wasn't going to findpretty rough going with the hommocksbeauty who was nursing him, if here washis rival.

CHAPTER VI

PERHAPS at some time it may have beenyour experience to witness a coast guardat work. If so, whatever other excitingmoments may come into your life, you willnever forget the thrill that came as yousaw these hardy men who guard life alongthe length of the whole eastern coast of theUnited States, battling with wind andwaves—exerting superhuman strength anddaring to reach sea-menaced mariners.Froth-covered waves that hide the shipwhere cling specks of humanity waitingfor aid mean nothing to these men as theyride in their surf boats into watery hillsand valleys to reach an endangered vessel.And the breeches buoy! There is the thrill!As it goes sailing out across an angry sea

to be caught by ship-wrecked mariners,hurled with unerring aim by the sturdy armof a coast-guardsman!

Except when some especiallyspectacular rescue is made, though, newsof which is sent by telegraph to the greatnewspapers, little is ever heard of theseguards by the world at large. Only in themore isolated districts do they come intotheir own—spots where people are few,when the coast guards and their stationsbecome social units. Such a place was thatportion of the North Carolina coast wherelay Bogue Island and Grayson Cardwell'shunting preserve. The Coast Guard stationof Bogue Inlet (as it was referred to) wason the extreme end of the island whichCardwell had purchased, but smaller

stations lay all along the hilly sand of theseaward side of the island. Probably in noother stretch along the entire coast fromMaine to Florida is the sea moretreacherous than along this portion ofcoast. It is here that sudden squalls are attheir greatest fury, and the danger to craftthat hug the coast is here greatest becauseof the submerged sand bars that reach farout into the sea. Indeed, the treachery ofthe coast of the Carolinas, and inparticular of that that lies off Bogue Islandhas become historical, for it was alongthis portion of sea coast that the pirates ofold patrolled most freely in the hope ofbooty from endangered vessels whichcould be driven on the rocks; and more,history records tales of more than onepirate craft which itself became a victim

of the hungry sea at this point. Though somany years have passed since eitherCaptain Kidd or Morgan or the still moreinfamous Black Beard sailed the main, thedescendants of the North Carolinians ofthe time of those pirate chiefs have neverceased to believe in tales of the treasurethat was hastily buried when ships werewrecked—nor to search for it.

Like all of their kind, the crew of theCoast Guard station at Bogue Inlet were abrave and hardy lot. More than one sea-faring man safe in harbor through theirefforts tells tales of brave rescues at theirhands either by boat through the ragingsurf, or by breeches buoy whose cablewas shot across a wreck when thebreakers were so wild that it seemed past

all efforts of mere man to conquer themonster of the deep. But situated as theywere, so near that hommock countrywhere people were few, and where humancompanionship was worth more than anysocial distinction, the men of the coastguard were luckier than some others whomade life saving at sea their business inthat they had become an integral part ofthe social community—a far greater partindeed, than others in the same locality—say the squatters on his island to whomCardwell took exception, but whom hebelieved it to be the greater part of valornot to disturb.

Of all the members of the crew of theBogue Inlet Coast Guard Station, perhapsnone was so well known as Hal Everett,

the brawny oarsman Cardwell's campingparty had encountered. Many things hadgone to make up his fame, or notoriety,one might rather say, in the community, forit could not with any truth be said that Halwas known for any especial lovablequalities, or for personal popularity. True,he had enough and to spare of thatcommodity in some quarters, but the favorwhich he had found in the eyes of many ofthe women of the hommock country and inSwansboro had not further endeared himto his masculine companions. Not evenwith his team mates was he in anywise afavorite, for a notoriously ungovernabletemper had long since given him areputation that was not enviable, and onlywomen who saw in him an unusuallypersonable male of the brawny type so

much admired in that country, couldoverlook this. Unlike most other coastguardsmen, too, he was at times inclinedto look all too lovingly on the moonshinewhen it was clearest, and had he not beenunder an easy-going and good-heartedcaptain, he would long ago have ceased tobe a member of the crew.

Old Theo summed up to Cardwell andhis guests, the opinion of the neighborhoodin regard to Hal Everett, as they watchedthe big, browned life-saver steering hissmall craft up the inlet with perfectknowledge of the winding channel.

"Reckon you-all '11 find you kin gitalong without Hal's company should hecome along by the lodge. Don't nowiseseem to be able to hold his licker and be

friendly. Got a bad habit of momocking upfolks that don't see his ways when he'slike that—most of them hereabouts areskeered of him when he's been hittin' theMonkey Rum"

Clement Ashley turned on the old manwith surprise.

"But didn't you just say he wasprobably going to see your daughter?" hequeried.

The old man shifted his quid, shot along stream out into the waters of thesound and grinned.

"Pshaw!" he boasted. "I ain't skeered ofhim—and I 'low Lory, she hain't any. Shecan tell him the time o' day if need be—but he lies pretty low with her. Them

Swansboro women been making a fool ofHal come a long time, but I will say forhim he never seemed to have much timefor wimmen till Lory come home"

"Good taste, at any rate," was the littleman's comment, as their boat shot into apoint ashore, its nose beached neatly bythe old guide with his poling stick.

Could anything favorable have beensaid for Hal Everett aside from arecognition of his bravery whichamounted almost to recklessness, it waswhat Humphrey had intimated. He wasused to being admired by the women ofthe neighborhood; it was an old story, andone that had never particularly interestedhim until his gaze had rested one day onLora Humphrey, returned from the

Westward.' He had first seen her battlingwith the surf on the outer side of •BogueIsland, and his admiration for the girl'scour* age had been aroused even beforehe saw her. Later, when he had come toknow her, as was inevitable in thatcommunity where everyone met everyoneelse, he had been bowled over for the firsttime in his life. The girl's natural beauty,added to the grace and charm she hadacquired during her stay outside thehommock country had brought him a morethan willing captive to her chariot wheel.But for once in his life, Hal Everett cameto realize that his sparkling black eyes andmagnificent physique were not enough tomake a conquest in their turn. LoraHumphrey had been civil to the coastguard, had even not repulsed his efforts at

friendly relationship, but she had turned acold shoulder on all his efforts to bringthem nearer. The tales she had heard of theman's exploits when off duty atSwansboro had not furthered her would-be-wooer's interests with her. LoraHumphrey had no mind for brawls, eventhough the gossips admiringly told howHal Everett had always come out winnerin his favorite game of fisticuffs. Not evenher disapproval, however, had dampenedthe man's ardor, and he had come to insist,in the vernacular of the neighborhood thatthe daughter of old Theophilus LopstropHumphrey was "his girl." His attentions toher had done one thing for him. No longerdid he head straight for Swansboro andMonkey Rum when off duty. It was to thehome of the Humphreys that he first

wended his way. It was on one of thesevisits that Hal Everett was bent when hehad encountered the boatload of sportsmenin charge of the man he yearned to callfather-in-law. He had given them but acasual glance. He could not imagine thatin any way could these men from the northbe concerned in his affairs, or at leastwith his very present affair of being onlove-making bent.

Lora Humphrey had brought her patienta steaming bowl of broth and had held itwhile Harrison Steele ate.

It was not of his nourishment that thebroker was thinking, however, as his handmoved slowly with the spoon from bowlto mouth, friendlily guided by the girl whosat beside him in her crisp white uniform.

His eyes were on the soft tint of hercosmeticless skin, on the soft tendrils ofher dusky hair which the breeze from thewindow stirred against her curved youngcheeks.

He finished the last mouthful with aregretful sigh and sank back among hispillows. Lora Humphrey put the bowl onthe table and turned to shake up herpatient's pillows. Neither of them had earsfor the slight scraping which announcedthe beaching of Hal Everett's boat on thesands down beside the Humphrey's wharf.

With sudden impulse Harrison Steelecaught at one of the girl's capable hands asthey smoothed the whiteness of the fluffypillows beneath his head.

"It looks like I'm always to be more

indebted to you, Miss Humphrey, doesn'tit?" he asked, a smile lighting up thefeatures that his cosmopolite life hadgiven a tinge of hardness. "First you saveme—then you wait on me like a youngster—and you won't even let me thank you"

Lora Humphrey didn't release her handsfor a moment. She smiled down at Steele,and there was something of motherlytenderness in her eyes—the tenderness sooften seen in the eyes of one to whomnursing the sick back to health, makingeasier the ills of humankind, is a movingimpulse.

"Then thank me by getting well andstrong," she told him. "I know your friendswill thank you, too —they looked a littlewoe-begone and as though they were

going to miss you."

The doors of the Humphrey home wereopened wide as Hal Everett swung hisgiant form along the upward path leadingto them from the beach. He made for them.The ceremony of knocking and waiting tobe invited to enter was almost an unknownthing in the countryside, so he strodeacross the rickety porch and through theopen doors with only the creaking of aremonstrating board to announce hisarrival. In the center of the "sitting room"which adjoined the guest room to whichSteele had been carried, the big coastguardsman stood stock still. A quivershook his massive frame. Beneath the tanof many weathers, his face went white.Muscles tensed, and the great body drew

less tall as his unconscious will broughthim into the half crouching attitude of amountain tiger about to spring on its prey.

It was on this strange figure with itsblazing eyes and bared teeth that LoraHumphrey and Harrison Steele, roused bythe sound of a hissing breath, quick drawn,looked out through the open doors of thebedroom.

"Hal!" Lora Humphrey disengaged herhands from the holding clasp of the brokerand leapt the half length of the room toface Everett from the doorway. "Hal!" sherepeated, but only the sneer of the manwhose piercing black eyes looked overher shoulder to the strange man on the bed,answered her. All that Lora Humphrey hadever heard of this man —of the danger he

meant when aroused—flashed over her.That he was aroused now as never beforewas only too evident. He believed therewas reason— reason the girl, too, knewwell, for none knew better than she howthe natives of her home looked upon awoman's being in the bedroom of a strangeman. That she might be there in a nurse'scapacity made no difference; Hal Everettwas one of those who had neveraccustomed themselves to the notion. Andhe, had seen her holding the strange man'shands. Strangely enough, though, in themoments while the girl stood there, herlevel gaze holding the coast guardsmanwho stood in the middle of the floor, itflashed over her that it was not of herselfshe was thinking. Steele! The man fromthe northern city whom she had rescued

from death. No harm must come to him.

In lowered tones she spoke to Everett.

"Just take a seat on the porch, Hal," sheinvited, "I'll be with you in a minute."

Only a further tensing of the man'smuscles answered her. His eyes, mad withthe hate of a wild beast's, bored past herinto the room where Steele lay on hiswhite pillows. He started forward a stepas he crouched. Lora Humphrey's handwent up toward him in an imperiousmovement.

"Hal Everett!" she commanded. "I havea patient here—a man who has been neardeath! He must not be disturbed! Do you—un-der-stand!" The last word wasuttered with all the firmness of the

commanding tones of a superior officer.Another sneer was her answer.

For moments—minutes, they stoodfacing each other—the brawny man whocould have broken her in his hands, andthe slender determined girl whose leveleyes were undermining his intentions asno show of human brawn could have done.Slowly the gaze of his fire-glancing blackeyes lowered before that gaze. Slowly hisbody came out of the crouch as he halfstraightened.

Lora Humphrey's upraised hand cameas cautiously down until it indicated theopen doorway of the sitting room. Whenshe spoke, her voice was soft—so softthat it was almost a purr.

"I think you'd better be going now,

Hal," she murmured.

Wordless the big man had been sincehis feet had first become rooted in thatspot in the sitting room through the door ofwhich he had beheld the tableau that hadmaddened him. Wordless he was as hehesitated one moment more, then, with avicious glance over the girl's shoulder atthe man on the bed, he turned and stalkedfrom the house of the woman he loved—the woman he had raised on a pedestal sohigh above those of her sex in the smallpart of the world he knew—the woman henow believed his own eyes had shownhim to be faithless, or at the least, to beslightly tarnished. And it was withrevenge in his half civilized heart—revenge to be had from the man he had left

in the girl's home—that he flung himselfheadlong down the path he had traversedbut a few moments before with a lightheart, and leapt into his waiting surf boat.Savage strokes with his pole hurled himfar out into the sound before he headed hiscraft in the direction of Swansboro.Swansboro and— Monkey Rum!

For moments more Lora Humphreystood in the doorway from which she hadwatched the retreat of the man she knewhad come to woo her. A slight distressedsound from the motionless figure on thebed in her spare room made her turn. Buther eyes showed none of the fear that awhile before she had felt for Steele'ssafety. From his vantage point, Steele hadmissed no bit of the quickly-played drama.

His face held deep concern, for it hadneeded no words to convey to him that hehad been the unwitting cause of troublebetween Lora and to him the unknown manwhom he could have no doubt, however,held soft feelings for the girl who wasalready filling such an unaccustomedplace in his, Steele's, own heart. But hecould find no words.

"I'm sorry," was what he said at last. "IfI had known"

Lora Humphrey's merry laugh rang out.

"Oh, wasn't he funny!" she pealed. "Heought to go on the stage!"

"But "again began Steele. He was tryingto

make the girl out. Was she acting for his

benefit?

"Oh, you don't know Hal Everett!" shelaughed. "He—he's so serious!" Again theinfectious laugh rang out. A laugh that forall its life didn't altogether fool the manwho for so many years had made it hisbusiness to read motives and thoughtsfrom his fellowmen's (sometimeswomen's) light talk and laughter. "Why, doyou know," and the giggle becamebubbling, "I really believe he was jealous!Wasn't it funny?"

Harrison Steele looked up into the faceof the girl —a face into which the rich redblood had flowed unbidden. Somethingseemed to grip him inside. It was asomething which he could not understand;something so new, yet so sweet, he would

not have missed it for worlds ofadventure. His own smile was shy (if thesmile of a man of the world can be socharacterized); wistful.

"Was it?" he asked simply. His eyesmet those of the girl who hurried towardthe door with her arms filled with theremains of his meal.

At the door Lora Humphrey stoppedand held up an admonishing finger.

"Now you mustn't talk any more—for anhour or two at least," was her command."You must sleep. And—if you do as I say,I'll let your friends come and talk to youagain to-night—tell you about theirshooting to-day and every thing"

"There are so many things I would

rather hear about "Harrison Steele's voiceheld the note of

querulousness of a child. "I want to knowall

about "Almost he had told the girl againhow

much he wanted to know about her. Hechecked himself as he added: "This issuch an interesting part of the country—solittle known and all that—couldn't Ipersuade you to tell me something aboutit? Wasn't it right about here that old CapKidd and Morgan and some of those oldbirds used to hang out? Seems to me Iheard Cardwell bragging something of thekind"

"Maybe he was talking about Teach's

Hole," remembered the girl. "That isn't somany miles from here. It was whereEdward Teach or Thatch, I believe youNortherners call our old pirate (we callhim Black Beard hereabouts) came to theno-good end all the story books tell aboutof his kind. Oh, most anybody around herecan tell you dozens and dozens of talesabout Captain Kidd and Black Beard andthe rest!"

"But won't you tell me?" Those whoknew Harrison Steele as the commandingforce in a Wall Street raid would not haverecognized the pleading in his voice.

Lora Humphrey passed through the doorinto the sitting room and half closed it.

"Go to sleep now," she cooed, "andwe'll see. Maybe!"

The door closed softly.

As she stood on the outside of theclosed portal and peered out into thesunlight at the way Hal Everett had taken,a seriousness came to the eyes that amoment before had been laughing. LoraHumphrey remembered the look on theface of the man who had come to woo her.She remembered his reputation. Thenthere came surging over her the softness offeeling she had come to know since shehad carried Harrison Steele out of the seato life and had knelt by his side to lookinto his eyes opening into life. A fear—adeep fear came into her own. For the childof the hommocks was, in the vernacular ofher own people "skeered" of what mighthappen to the man she had so unwittingly

and in so short a time come to love.

CHAPTER VII

THE violet veil of the coastal twilightwas dropping softly over purpling waterand graygreen bays and cypresses of thehommock land when Hal Everett's surfboat once more grated on the pebblybeach of Bogue Sound a winding mile orso further down from the small wharf infront of the Humphrey home.

Hours had passed since he had poled upthe inlet to visit Lora Humphrey and hadseen her in such intimate converse withthe strange man who had roused his ire tothe danger point. They had been hoursspent in the little town of Swansboro outon the point where the White Oak Rivermingles its flow with the more quietwaters of the Sound before passing

through Bogue Inlet to the turbulentAtlantic. It had not taken the coastguardsman, maddened as he was, long torun his boat to the little town built in thewater with its stores and houses onpilings. With the sureness of one whoknows his destination he had poledhimself right to the back door of a littlestore where he knew he could get what hewanted. For in the wilderness back ofBogue, there was more corn liquor andMonkey Rum produced and brought intothe small town in trade than there wasmere corn from the meager fields, or grainfrom the still less intensely cultivatedpatches of grain.

Hal Everett considered himself in needof drink. Drink he got, with no effort other

than asking for it in that town where thename of Volstead held as vague a meaningas though it might have been oneconnected with history a hundred yearsbefore. As the hot burning fluid hadpoured down his eager maw, more andmore fixed had become his determinationfor revenge. Strangely enough, his ideashad not run along the usual route ofphysical violence. There must besomething more. His drink-befuddledmind slowly worked itself around to thepoint of action. It was with vast surprisethat the hangers-on in the little river-townstore saw Hal Everett, coast guardsman onhis off day, leave the urgings of hiscompanions to have more, and leap intohis boat and put off himself down streambefore the close of day.

The amazing capacity of Hal Everett inmatters alcoholic, however, had left himin possession of his faculties; but as hisboat scraped on the beach and he leapedankle deep into the sand, there wassomething in his set features to show that anew purpose had been born. Whether ornot this was not greatly an alcoholicexaltation, not even he could have told,but as he drew his boat closer inshore andturned toward the clump of trees huddlingin a hilly depression all but hiding therambling log house in their shade, HalEverett showed that action was the thinghe wanted; action the thing he wasdetermined to have.

A hail from the water made him stopshort.

"Hi, there! Goin' my way?"

Out of the dusk falling over the grayingwaters, Uncle Billy Peter Willis poled hisskiff with the sureness of much practicebeside that of Hal Everett and with anagility astonishing in one of his age leaptout on the sands.

"Howdy, Uncle Billy Peter," greetedthe coastman. "Thought I'd stop by for thetime of day—Huntin'?" he inquired as theold man shipped the rifle he had held inthe crook of his arm.

Old man Willis, he of the benigncountenance and benevolent beard, whohad so successfully evaded thewatchfulness of old Theo Humphrey,shook his head mournfully.

"What chance has a man to get his rightsthat God Almighty meant for him," hewhined, "when a lot of folks from theNorth'ard is all time comin' down hereand thinkin' they kin buy all His featheredcritters that was meant for feedin' Hislambs—I mean to say," and Uncle BillyPeter Willis who didn't like to spendmoney or effort getting food for himselfwhen it was flying about in another'spreserve, turned and shook his fist in thedirection of the Cardwell camp andTheophilus Humphrey's home. "I mean tosay," he repeated, "that they've muchedthat proger Humphrey so's he won't let aman git a wild goat." So intent was he onhis own wrongs that the old man did notnotice the darkening flush that spread overHal Everett's browned countenance at his

mention of Humphrey.

"No," he went on, "no, son, I only beenpolin' a couple o' shoats and a bag o' eggsdown to the East'ard to Cap Taylor's boatto be took to Morehead. Even pore folksgot to live, and sakes alive, but I've

got my own troubles now "He shook hiswhite

head mournfully. "That second gal o' minedyin' like she did and leavin' me and Salto keer for a knee baby and a breast one.Seems like they'd drink up all my cowbeasts would give did I let 'em."

Uncle Billy Peter rambled on, heedlessas to whether the man who had come topass the time of day was listening or not.But it was a sharp glance he gave in

Everett's direction to see whether he wasnoticed, as his hand slid down into thebottom of his skiff and something limpand feathered found a hiding place beneathhis shabby coat .

"Come on up to the cabin," he invited,"and set awhile. I'll be moseyin' over tothe Holiness prayer meetin' right soon,and"

Hal Everett pretended a certainshyness.

"I been a thinkin' a heap about what youbeen tellin' me about the Holiness folks,Uncle Billy Peter," he offered, "and seein'as I'm in what you might call a pree-carous business, I 'lowed as how I'd liketo talk to you some more about that theresalvation you was tellin' about, and"

Uncle Billy Peter Willis lifted up hisgnarled old hands.

"Praise be!" he thundered. "Anotherlamb for the fold!"

They started their climb of the short hillto the cabin in its clump of trees. A smalluncertain light glimmered hesitantly fromthe open cabin door. Uncle Billy Peterstopped short. A sort of fury seemed toshake him.

"Well, I'm etarnally consarned," he spatout furiously. "Now what do you think ofthat gal of mine! Not even dark yit, andthere's she with a light lit!" He hurried onahead of his self-invited guest. "SalvationWillis!" he shouted.

Hal Everett grinned as he saw the

scared face of the slight girl whoappeared in the cabin doorway. Well heknew what was in store for her. For SalWillis had committed an unpardonablecrime in the eyes of her father, headdeacon in the Holiness Church of Bogue,suave old sinner masquerading under theguise of religion and its benefits, stingiestman in the world, as they called him inthis their own world. Salvation Willis hadwasted a quarter of a cent's worth oftallow candle, and Sal Willis must pay—some way. Of that there could be nodoubt. Uncle Billy Peter always madethem pay some way, be they beast orhuman. The visitor recalled with a smilethe times that the old man's hard workedhorses had had to pay—an ear of corn lessat a feeding—for any time a new plow

point was needed in the Willis farmyard.His eyes took in the shining surface of theold man's hat as he rushed on ahead of him—the same old hat Hal had known sincehe first came to the Bogue CoastguardStation—the hat with its painted surface(Uncle Billy had painted it those manyyears ago to keep it from wearing out) justa little shinier with the years. Hal Everettgave but a passing thought to the troublethat was in store for Sal Willis. She wasalways having it with this father of hers,the richest man in the neighborhood withhis vast acres of plantation land, and thepoorest by his own acclamation. Oncemore he was congratulating himself on hisown astuteness in searching out UncleBilly Peter Willis at this, his ownpsychological moment, for it was through

the old miser's own spleen against theproger Humphrey and Humphrey's family,of course, that the coast guardsman soughtto be avenged. The miserly old Holinessdeacon was without doubt the weapon forhis, Hal's, own revenge.

He sauntered leisurely after his host,gaining the shadow of the darkened cabinjust as Uncle Billy Peter had said his lastword to the daughter who had beenwasteful enough to light a candle while thedaylight still flickered.

"And don't ye ever let me ketch ye doin'it again," he heard the old man's voicerasp to the girl who whimpered slightremonstrance. "No matter ef them babiesdo cry. Let 'em. I'll"

Through the doorway, Everett's big

figure shut out the last of the daylight.

"Draw up a cheer and set!" the deaconinvited cordially, as though nothingunusual had happened.

"We'll talk over this matter ye was relatin'The

Lord is leadin' ye "To his daughter, hecalled over

his shoulder as he carefully hung up thepainted old hat on a wooden peg outsidethe door—"Bring a cheer, Sal—and mindwhat I tell ye about them babies gittin'more milk, or I'll mommock ye up rightsmart!"

Salvation Willis, bringing out the chairsfor her father and his guest which theytipped against the wall of the cabin as they

lighted their pipes for their neighborlychat, paused to give Hal Everett a halfadmiring glance. In another environment,with enough food, without the hugeburdens of caring for her father's homeand working in his fields, in addition tocaring for the motherless babies her sisterhad so carelessly died and left (the "kneebaby" who could almost walk, and the"breast baby" of three months to whichtheir grandfather had referred) would havebeen an attractive girl. But her wan paleface with its regular features which werethe heritage of girls of this hommockcountry from ancestors who had comefrom aristocratic lines long ago in thesettling of the country by those fromoverseas whose adventurous spirit had ledthem to the new land, and the curling dark

hair that framed the face held no attractionfor the coast guardsman. His thoughtswere further up the sound, centered on therosy beauty of the athletic, more gentlycared for Lora Humphrey —and the manwhose hands she had held.

As he listened to the old man talk, HalEverett only half-consciously heard SalWillis, a few moments later, fromsomewhere inside the cabin, from whichalso came the faint wail of a hungry child.She was crooning to the child. It disturbedhim a little as he went on with his talk tothe Holiness deacon who listened eagerlyto what he said.

"Are you washed—in the blood

In the soul cleansing blood of the

Lamb? Are your garments spotless, Are you white as snow"

The girl was singing inside. The infant'swails ceased. Outside the grandfatherleaned forward in his chair to hear whathis guest was telling him.

"And then I saw "said Hal Everett. Heleaned

nearer to half whisper. Old Uncle BillyPeter Willis bent his benign white headfor an eager hearing. He leapt to his feetand smote one horned palm into the other.

"Jezebel!" he thundered. His voice tookon the tones of wrath of the prophet of theHoliness Church of which he was anunder prophet as he quoted, chanting:

"'And of Jezebel also spake the Lord,saying, the dogs shall eat Jezebel '"

The grin that had spread over HalEverett's face sickened a little. Even in hismost revengeful moments he had not quitemade up his mind that his revengeincluded having the curs of theneighborhood eat Lora Humphrey. And heknew well the temper of the man and thesect he represented to carry throughanything in their fanatical zeal. UncleBilly Peter subsided. He mouthedvirtuously after his outburst. His thickthumb—the same thumb that earlier in theday had not hesitated to throttle the birdsthat by law were the property of anotherman, jerked over his shoulder toward theinner cabin from which came faintly the

diminuendo crooning of his daughter.

"I'll look any on 'em straight in the faceand eyes," he mumbled over the quid thatgot in the way of the few teeth he stillproudly showed in a yawning vacancy oftoothless gums, "and say I must pertectthem"

Hal Everett nodded. The Monkey Rumof Swansboro was wearing off. It was oneof the difficulties of being as hale andstrong as he was.

"Um-humph!" he acquiesced. "That'swhy I thought the Holiness people ought toknow—and if I'm to be one of them"

"You'd not be thinkin' of bein' one ofthem Methodys like The-oph Humphreyand his daughter, would ye?" Willis was

anxious. "Ye'd be a-courtin' hell," headded.

"When I come to the Lord "Hal Everett,sacrilegious, unholy, worshiper only ofthe flesh and the material, spoke as thehalf-awakened "sinner," "I'll come to Himwholly, believing He can sanctify andcleanse—that 1 can have no pain norsorrow effen I believe. I'll want no sinnersabout to cast their taint"

Uncle Billy Peters, saint in the HolinessChurch of Bogue, rose rheumatically fromhis chair. His white whiskers waved inthe pine-scented breeze, prophet-like. Hespread his hands benignantly above thehead of Hal Everett as there came a faintplaintive bleat from an underfed mother-cow in the Willis dirty farmyard: "Oh,

God!" he prayed, with closed eyesuplifted: "the heathen have come into thineinheritance."

Back of the wastes of sand, the sprigsof bear grass and the haunts of giantturtles, the lodge of Grayson Cardwell laysnug and secure, swept by the graciousbreezes from the Inlet and the oceanbeyond through the sweet scented bays,and Virgin pines, dogwood and hollys thathad taken on their spring verdure to forman almost impenetrable protecting massabout the log lodge.

On the wide porch of the lodge, with itsearthy smell from the decaying leaves ofthe fall and winter that the industriousHenry had hastily removed, lolled theowner, Grayson Cardwell. Across from

him in the porch hammock that the negrohad as hastily swung while his chargeswere busy with their first fishing, layClement Ashley, for once unconscious ofthe fact that the turned-down collar of hissports shirt showed a distinct line ofgreasy reminiscence of a warm afternoon'sfishing.

"Thought I had a shark on my line thattime," ruefully he proclaimed, glancing inthe direction of Meade who, from hisperch on the top step was watching thechanging sky line of purpling gold toduskiest blue through the tree tops."Wouldn't have minded if I had!" heboasted.

From his own comfortable lolling in thecushioned rustic chair in the porch corner

Cardwell drawled:

"You don't know a drum—yet! You gota minnow bite, probably"

"I got wet," cut in Ashley sharply."Clear to my waistcoat—if I'd had one"

"To-morrow," said Cardwell, "we'll goout after the drum with mullet. Henry andTheo'll get them to-night—somehow. Andget this, Clem—you can't be a beauty andget drum in the surf of the Atlantic offBogue Island. You've got to wade to yourhips"

A shrill whistle from the inlet landingside of the island cut short the broker'sdissertation on fishing.

"Halloo!" he cried. "Somebody with amessage. Wonder if anything's wrong on

the Humphrey side of the inlet." Hissharply clapped hands brought the wide-smiling black Henry to the railing of thelodge porch.

"Leave the marsh hens to do theirworst, Henry," commanded the master ofthe lodge. "See who's poling over."

The negro trotted obediently through thenatural avenue of cypresses toward theinlet landing. In the time it took Meade tocalculate the phenomenal growth of theSpanish moss that draped the bay treebeside the window of the room in whichhe was to stay, the black was back. Hehanded Cardwell a yellow envelope,which the latter tore open and carelesslytossed across the rustic porch rail to beinvestigated by an inquisitive lot of

stragglers from a black ant colony whichhad not yet called it a day.

"You can take it easy, fellows," heremarked, as he laid down the message,"we can go after drum heads, or sharks, orwild goats or whatever you please that'sin season—here's Captain Anderson'sreply—can't

get here for a week or more But if you'rethirsty,

there are still trains running fromMorehead City"

Clement Ashley yawned lazily.

"Where's that marsh hen I smell?" heasked. "Seems like I hadn't had anything toeat for a month!" Then his small face tookon the Puck-like appearance his friends

liked or dreaded, according to how theyliked Ashley. "A week, did you say?" hequeried wonderingly. "How perfectlydreadful for Steele I"

Down by the swift running little streamthat emptied into the inlet a few fathomsaway, the silence was suddenly disturbedby an alert-eyed rabbit that hoppedexcitedly from the thicket, looked abouthim a moment, then at the stream; oncemore back with haunted eyes at theunderbrush through which he had forcedhis way. Then, without a further quiver, heleapt boldly into the running stream. Sucha brave little cottontail! Bunnys weren'tmade for swimming! Out of the sameunderbrush a moment later, stalked abeady-eyed mink—with a fur coat, frayed

a little but still with a striped glossinessthat would have made many a FifthAvenue lady sit up and notice. His pointednose led his scent instinct to the brink ofthe swift-flowing stream. Almost acrossit, his beady eyes made out his quarry,floundering in the swiftness of water.Rabbits weren't made for swimming. Hetook off into the stream. The swiftdarkness of the night closed down. Goodluck, Rabbit!

CHAPTER VIII

IN spite of all his wishes to the contrary,two days after Lora Humphrey hadrescued him from a watery grave HarrisonSteele was almost as well as he had everbeen in his life. Better in some ways, forany further alcoholic stimulant than thatwhich had first been poured down thedrowning man's throat had been tabooedby the girl. Steele couldn't help gettingwell. It would not have been gratitude tohis faithful nurse not to. The hours thatkept him near her seemed fairly to fly byand had it not been for his faithful ally, Dr.Parson of Swansboro, who was stillanxious that the rich New York brokershould not recover too fast, those hourswould have been still fewer. Thanks to

him, Steele was still domiciled in theHumphrey home enjoying the ever-increasing delightful companionship of theold guide's daughter, while the others whohad come to North Carolina with him on afar different mission were passing theirenforced waiting in Cardwell's huntinglodge on Bogue Island, or hunting andfishing.

No longer was he propped up amongthe giant pillows in the white-curtainedspare room, though, but had beenadvanced to the slanting old woodenporch with its homey touch of outdoorliving that the girl had accomplished withher hammock, bright colored pillows,table and books and magazines and jars offlowering plants and vines.

It was from this vantage point and hiscomfortable splint bottomed armchair thatthe broker sat two nights after hisaccident, idly watching the channel lightsappear and the smaller flickers on landthat showed the Humphrey's neighborswere lighting up their homes for theevening. From inside the house he couldhear Lora singing as she completed herduties for the day. Harrison Steele sighedcontentedly as he scratched a match on thesplint bottomed chair and lighted hiscigarette. He looked up with a smile tosee the girl standing in the doorway, thelighted lamp in the room behind herforming a halo for her midnight hair. Sheshook an admonishing finger at him.

"Mustn't stay out so late!" she chided.

"Night air isn't good for invalids."

Steele laughed.

"Wish I could think I was an invalid,"he assured her. "It's the finest sensationI've ever known in my life." He looked outover the shadowy trees and pointed. "Iwas just wondering," he mused, "whatthose particular lights were way overthere. They seem to be so peculiar—sortof come and go—See! Away downbeyond the point."

For a flash, the girl glanced peculiarlyat her guest, then she laughed as sheshaded her eyes with her hands andpeered out into the darkness.

"Are you seeing the Money Lights?" sheteased him. "I don't seem to see anything"

"They're gone now," said Steele—"butMoney Lights, what are they? Can't sayI've ever had my way to money muchlighted."

A humorous expression flitted over thegirl's face, to be replaced by a halfseriousness as of one who believedsomething even against will and betterjudgment. "Were they over that way?" shepointed as she spoke, and at Steele's nod,she went on: "Then it's a good thing myfather didn't see them. Your party wouldbe without a guide for a day or two,though they never would know what hadbecome of him. Father's been chasingthose money lights for a good many yearsnow, just like most everybody else in thisneighborhood, but just like everybody

else, he wouldn't confess it for a newplantation. There are a lot of holes dug inthe sand dunes and around Teach's Holeand Ocracobe to the Eastward that showthere's been many a silent hunt, though"

"Tell me about this Teach person, won'tyou?" asked Steele. "You've beenpromising, but you've been so busy justwaiting on me, with everything else youhave to do, that you've never got around toit."

The girl came out onto the porch and satdown on the top one of the rickety woodensteps. She clasped her hands about herknees and stared out into the darkness withits flickering points of lights among thedark masses of bay trees and evergreens.

"Well, you must promise not to laugh if

I do," she began. "Sometimes I tell myselfI don't believe any of these stories I'vebeen hearing all my life, but then again Iknow I do. One can't be brought up withlegends and rumors and take them as fairytales."

Harrison Steele solemnly made agesture he had not made since childhood.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," heassured.

"Probably you've already heardsomething of the vague rumors afloat inthis section of buried treasure and piratesand things," she continued. "They havesome foundation in fact, for it was righthere that Captain Kidd and Morgan andthe still more infamous Edward Teach, orBlack Beard, as he was better known, had

their stamping ground. There isn't a doubtin my mind that there is treasure buriedsomewhere hereabout, for those naughtyold pirates never had a chance to take itaway—Black Beard, especially, for hewas killed in that place that has becomeknown as Teach's Hole. There is just onething that makes me, in spite of any betterjudgment I might have, believe that therereally is treasure hidden somewherehereabouts—that is, that while for ageswe've heard of money seekers, we'venever yet heard of any money finders. Andwhat isn't found must still be there. And ofcourse you know that the accumulations ofthose old pirates was immense; it's amatter of history."

"Good enough logic," commented

Steele, as he watched the girl, the wondergrowing within him as to what hadhappened to him where she wasconcerned. Why was it that this girl, out ofall the women in the world, had the powerto so quicken his heretofore woman-impervious heart? Her beauty— but hehad known many other beautiful women.Her strange mixture of rural simplicity andnaivete with the polish gained from herexperiences in the outer world? Steelegave it up. He leaned back, closelywatching her as she gazed out into thedarkness, content for the moment in thesweetness that her nearness brought tohim. He wished this time could go onindefinitely. He had no mind to think of thetime when she would not be with him. Hespoke again.

"I'm sorry to acknowledge myignorance," he told her, "but you'll have totell me more about your pirates. Ofcourse, I've always heard vaguely of Cap

*•' tain Kidd and Morgan, but believe Irather thought them mythical characters.As for your Black Beard— well, who wasthe gentleman?"

Lora Humphrey glanced up in realamaze.

"You really don't know?" Her archedeyebrows lifted. "Oh, he was very real, Iassure you, and if he were wanderingaround here now (and hereabouts wereonce his haunts) we wouldn't be sitting sosecurely on this porch. We've been toldmarvelous

things about him, but—wait a moment"She

jumped lightly to her feet and ran into thesitting room behind Steele. In a momentshe returned bearing a heavy volume andthe lamp which she placed on the smalltable. "You don't need to believe ourlegends," she went on, "just listen what theEncyclopedia has to say." She opened thevolume as she spoke, stopping to give itscover a light caress. "One of my chieftreasures," she offered in parenthesis."Ah, here it is:

'"EDWARD TEACH,' she read,'English pirate, popularly known as BlackBeard, is believed to have been born atBristol. He is said to have gone out to theWest Indies during the war of the Spanish

Succession, to have engaged inprivateering, and after the declaration ofpeace (1713) to have turned pirate. But heis not actually heard of in this capacity tillthe end of 1716. The following year hecaptured a large French merchantman, re-christened her "Queen Anne's Revenge,"and converted her into a warship of fortyguns. His robberies and outrages in theSpanish Main, the West Indies, and on thecoasts of Carolina and Virginia, quicklyearned him an infamous notoriety. Hemade his winter quarters in a convenientinlet in North Carolina'"

"That's our own Bogue Inlet," sheinformed, glancing up at the man who satwfttching her flushed face as it bent overthe big volume laid out under the lamp

whose flame was flickering unsteadily inthe soft night breeze. She glanced quicklydown at the printed page and read on:

"' the governor of which Colony wasnot above sharing in the proceeds of hiscrimes'"

Harrison Steele grinned.

"So they did it even then—the menhigher up," he interpolated.

"but the governor of Virginia at lastdespatched two

sloops, manned from the British war shipson the station, to cut him out. On the 22ndof November, 1718, Lieutenant Maynard,commanding the attacking forces, boardedTeach's sloop, after a sharp fight, andhimself shot the pirate dead"

Lora closed the book and looked up.

"And so ended Edward Teach, or BlackBeard," she said. "But if he had been agood man his memory could not havelived any more than it does hereabouts —for he never had time to get the money hehad hidden, and I don't suppose there's achild in this part of North Carolina whohas grown to man or womanhood withouthaving taken a try at finding it. Especiallyabout Teach's Hole to the East'ard—theplace he was killed"

"Have you?" Steele asked her, a teasinglight in his eyes reflected by the lamp'srays.

Strangely enough, however, Lora didnot smile back.

"I know you'll laugh at me," she said,"but you must remember I was born here,and I can't help believing there is sometreasure hidden somewhere, and I'vealways intended to search for it some time—but in a more methodical way thanmost. Why, you'll find hundreds of holesdug all over the sand dunes— dug bypeople who have stolen off by themselveswhen they have thought they saw the'Money Lights,' those mysterious lightswhich legend says appear from time totime to show the hiding places. I knowfather has done it more than once. But myprivate opinion is that most of the lightswere merely from lanterns in the hands ofsome other secret hunters. It has come tobe such a joke that no one will admit atreasure hunting jaunt, for the joke has

always been on the hunters when theyhave returned from their profitlessexpeditions. Some day I'm going to hunt,too, though, no doubt."

Harrison Steele sat ruminating. It allseemed so unreal, this talk of pirates whohad once made their stamping ground inthe very locality in which he sat— alocality which could not by any stretch ofthe imagination seem other than it was atits peaceful present.

"I always thought I'd like to have knownTeach." The girl dimpled. "He must havebeen such a picturesque old villain—withthat long black beard of his all tied upwith ribbons and curled back over hisears. Can't you picture him?"

Steele looked at her, his glance

showing his approval of her straight youngfigure, her curling hair and the skin withits peach blow touched to a glowing bythe dim light.

"You would not have stood muchchance," was his admiring comment. "Hewould have carried you away in a jiffy, asone of his choicest treasures."

Blushing at the broad compliment, thegirl caught up the book and started into thehouse.

"Now don't stay out here too long," sheagain admonished in her best professionalmanner. "You don't want a relapse"

"What say we make up a two-some andhave a treasure hunting party of our ownsome day?" the broker called out after her.

"I'll promise to get as well as well if youwill!"

From the doorway, the girl who wascoming to have such a disconcerting placein his scheme of things surveyed him. Shewas half serious, half laughing.

"You wouldn't tell?"

"Never a tell!" Steele shook his head sovigorously that the shock of thick hairprotested.

"Maybe "she began, then her laughterbubbled

out. "To think," she chided, "that a wisebroker from New York could stoop todigging in the sands for treasure. Seems tome I've always been told treasure for menlike you came out of stocks and bonds, and

somehow mysteriously out of tall stonebuildings and a lot of talk and noise."

Steele seemed to take no notice of herjibing as his hand sought and found amatch and he relighted the cigarette thathad gone out as the girl had read to him.

"Treasure," he announced, musingly andin the admonitory tone of a philosopher,"is, I have always been led to believe, asomewhat relative term. Now it seems tome—do you remember it, I wonder— thatsomewhere I've heard something about aman's treasure being where his heart is"

He looked past the smoke ring he blewto find that the girl was gone; had slippednoiselessly away. Another smoke ringwent up to chase the first. He regardedthem contemplatively.

"Treasure "he murmured softly. But thesoftness that came into his eyes, thetenderness of the tone that whispered theword would have been illuminative to thegirl who had left him could she have seenthem. It was a strange, an unusual countryto which chance had led Harrison Steele,he thought. A country that was old; farolder than the ever-changing new citywhich he had so recently left on a questwhich after only these few days seemed tohim so futile, so rather beneath him. Well,he thought, that hydroplane had, in a waydropped him down into his right niche. Hewas a pirate himself—or certainlyplanned becoming one. He wondered ifafter all he really wanted drink badlyenough to take the method proposed byCardwell, Ashley, Meade and himself to

get it. Then thoughts rose up to urge himon. It was not so much the liquor hewanted, he argued. But he would not haveany man, any government on earth, evenhis own, tell him he shouldn't haveanything. He was quite as much pirate atheart right then, as any of those who hadsailed the main in the old days and soughtshelter in the very part of the countrywhere he now sat and gazed out at thequiet night, felt the soft wind blowing histanned cheek, watched the wavering lightsin the cypressed darkness. They had notalone been such men as the infamousBlack Beard, or Captain Kidd or Morganwho had found piracy to their liking orprofit in the old days. He thought back tohis university days. There had beenSellers. Fine chap, Sellers. He had been

from North Carolina. One night that littleprig of a Wyckoff had been bragging, asusual, about his blue blood, his ancestry.If Wyckoff had it, it was about the onlything he had. In some way, the talk hadcome around to Sellers' own progenitors.Now if there was ever a gentlemen,Sellers had been one. He had been ageneral favorite. Steele remembered thelaugh that had gone up when Sellerstalked.

"Yes," he had told them, "once I thoughtI was just full of ancestry. I didn't thinkthere was any one in the country who hadit on me. We were such real Americansdown where I came from that I thought allI had to do was to trace back and have alittle chronology that would make the

Almanac de Gotha look sick, so I startedtracing. For a generation or so everythingwas all right—statesmen, a well-knownprofessional man or two, a few ratherfamous orators. Then things began to get alittle squally. I went on with my search awhile longer—but I stopped. I got to apoint where I realized if I lived just onemore generation backward, I was going tofind pirates. And I just wasn't going to doit!"

That was the way it was with theCarolinas. Piracy was one of the thingswhich first flourished best when Americawas in the making. It had almost reachedrespectability. But as the colonies grewmore settled, it became intolerable to theinhabitants and gradually died out. Except

where it lingered on the coast of NorthCarolina where, for many a long day itflourished because the robbers couldeither terrorize the scattered inhabitants orwere encouraged by dishonest officials.Even when the most notorious werekilled, it was a known fact that some ofthe very men who had been in at the deathof robbers like Edward Teach hadthemselves taken to piracy later. So strongwere the piratical traditions in the NewWorld that even men of supposed goodstanding often fell into it.

A heavy crunch on the graveled pathroused Steele from his revery. TheophilusHumphrey lumbered toward the lightedporch, coming from the lodge where hehad seen Steele's companions settled for

the night, exhausted after their day ofsport. The old guide pounded up the porchsteps and pulled forward a chair intowhich he slumped heavily.

"Howdy," he addressed his guest."How you come on?" But without waitingfor a reply, he continued. "Got a rale goodskeer, son, jest a spell ago. I was moseyin'along on my way home—I left the skiff aways down to the west'ard—a-thinkin'about that there wild hog hunt them fellerswant, and a-wonderin' what that Mr.Ashley would say did he meet up with one"A wide smile spread over his leatheredold

features. Steele, too, grinned broadly atthe picture conjured up. "—and suddenlythe bushes parted and old Uncle Billy

Peter Willis jumps right out into my faceand eyes with them white whiskers ofhis'n wavin' in the shadders.

"'Howdy, Uncle Billy Peter/ says I.'What you mean jumpin' out at a man likeyou was a panther or somethin'?

"He didn't answer me like a white manhad oughtex for a minute, then his eyeswas all a shinin' queer when he sort o'hissed at me:

"'I'm saved, sanctified, and I'm er goin'to git the Holy Ghost,' says he.

"'Fine!' says I. 'You reckon SalvationWillis is goin' to find it out?'

"He jes' kept a glarin' at me.

"'The curse of God on all unbelievers,'

says he. 'I'm goin' to git the Holy Ghost,then you'll find out something, Th'ophilusHumphrey—you and yourn!'

"'You hadn't ought to be a techin'Monkey Rum at your age, Uncle BillyPeter,' says I. But he just lifted up both hisfists and shook 'em at me and run away.But I will say the way he jumped out at meif I'd had my gun I'd a let loose both hullsat him."

"What do you suppose he meant?"asked Steele. "What has he against you?"

Old Humphrey laughed heartily.

"Oh, he's got a-plenty agin me," heaverred with a knowing nod and wink."He hain't got my farm for one thing—andhe would a had it effen I hadn't got this

here job with Mr. Cardwell. I hain't a-worrin' any about Uncle Billy Peter,though," he continued, "no tellin' what hemeant—if anything. He's a Holinesser, andthey git that way when they feel full ofreligion—can't say his religion has evermade him want to feed his family, though"

Steele was interested.

"A Holinesser?" he queried, notunderstanding.

Humphrey nodded.

"Yes," was his explanation, "a memberof the Holiness band down here. Youknow we got two kind o' religions downhere on the coast—the Holiness and theMethodys (though the Holinessers thinkthe Methodys are a kind o' worshipin' the

devil because we don't yell so much atmeeting, and have doctors when we'resick—I'm a Methody—and don't see nospecial salvation in handling hot lampchimneys and pizen reptiles while a-shoutin' and hollerin' in unknown tongues).Oh, we git along—we Methodys andHolinessers, jes' like two strange cats tiedup in a bag. 'Nother thing—we Methodysgot only one variety o' religion—have ahard enough time gittin* that and a-holdin'it, but it appears the Holiness got threeseparate and distinct brands. They gitsaved, then they git sanctified, then whenthey git the Thirtythird degree they git theHoly Ghost. They's not much livin' for 'emwhen they git the Holy Ghost"

"Do they cause trouble?"

"Oh, we hain't afeared of 'em, if youmean that, but they git pretty obstreperoussometimes and then we got to run 'em out.Be better maybe, if we run 'em out forkeeps." His tone of tolerance changed abit to something more serious. "I hain't onewho holds with the Holinessers," he wenton. "They're fanatics, yes, sir, fanatics—and iggerant no end—and while they seemharmless enough, you never can tell whatanybody's goin' to do when he gits allwrought up to a frenzy, whether it's in thename of religion or no. Sometime or otherwe're going to be sorry hereabouts forlettin' 'em run on so."

"Sounds rather interesting, though,"commented Steele. "Sort of ruralvaudeville show, I should say."

"Git Lory to take you to some of theirmeetin's some time," advised the old man,as he rose and pushed his chair back to theporch wall. "When you hear 'em all agabbin' and hollerin' to oncet, you'll thinkwe need an insane asylum for 'em, insteadof a church. Well, I'm going to turn in. Gota big day planned for tomorrow on theisland. Comin' in?"

Steele tossed away the end of hiscigarette and rose with his host.

"This certainly is a wonderful placeyou have," he complimented. "I hate to gointo the house at all. Think I'll feel wellenough to get over to the island in a day ortwo for a try myself at some of that greatfishing, wild boar and goat hunting you'reall bragging about."

CHAPTER IX

TWICE more the moon set and the sunrose rosily over the spring sweetness ofmorass and wooded hills. More and morewas Harrison Steele contented in the waysin which Fate had set his steps; more andmore he wished for the yacht hurryingfrom Florida waters to be delayed. Hehated to think that the calm, sweet daysand delicious evening companionship withLora Humphrey, who had awakened inhim that thing of which he had hitherto notknown, must soon be over. But must they?He had begun to think more than idly oftheir continuance. He had not yet fullyaccustomed himself to the thought ofabandoning his benedict days, but suchthoughts became more and more insistent

as he watched the girl in the daintygingham frocks she had once more donnedsince there was now no use for her trainednurse uniform, heard her singing about herwork, as alive, as much a part of the sceneabout her as the thrushes that warbled byday or the whippoorwills that made thenights musical.

Over in the lodge on the island therewas more restlessness, moreunwillingness to go on with their ruralexistence, more fretfulness to be up andabout the business that had brought them toCardwell's lodge in this off season.Undoubtedly it was the occurrence of twonights before that had much to do withthis, for it was then that Henry had mixedthe last drop of Cardwell's small supply

of liquid refreshment. It had been withgreat ceremony that the mint juleps hadbeen accepted and the last drop drained.With the lesson of their friend Russel inmind, the hunters, thirsting for theiraccustomed stimulant, had not made uptheir minds to resorting to the nativeMonkey Rum or the white corn whiskywhich at least one of the coast guardsmenand the progers of the neighborhoodconsumed with so much gusto.

Clement Ashley had risen from hishammock at last with a groan. The emptyglass he still held he observed gloomily.Then he had hurled it with all his forceagainst the boll of a bay tree where itsmashed to bits, some of them shiningback leeringly from where they had caught

in the long trailing Spanish moss.

"Good-bye, old top," he sighed."You've done good service, but you're notneeded now."

He strolled off down the paths betweenthe shadowy trees. Meade called to him.

"What in the world are you doing, Clem—walking around out there in the dark."

rAshley's voice came to the men on the

porch, hollow, lugubrious.

"I'm looking for a sail," he replied.

Rain came the next morning, with a mistthat obscured the ocean across the sanddunes. Hunting was out of the question—weather did make some difference to at

least two of these city sportsmen, andCardwell seemed to have no ambition togo out alone.

"Let's get Henry to pole us across theInlet over to the mainland," he suggestedwhen their belated breakfast had beencompleted. "About time we had a look atour invalid."

"And about time we had a talk with himabout our next move," agreed Meade as helazily pushed back his rustic chair fromthe table with its cloth wet from thepenetrating dampness that was soaccentuated by the massed verdure aboutthe lodge. "You know we haven't reallyhad time to plan much—first leaving NewYork with such hurried enthusiasm, thenthe accident. I, for one, am for caution, too

—these papers the old man has beenbringing us are showing a prettydangerous activity on the part of theProhibition fleet."

Cardwell nodded.

"Yes," he admitted, "and we'll want toknow what to do in a day or so. TheFalcon really ought to be sighted now anytime."

"Hurray! Hurray!" chimed ClemAshley, weakly.

Two hours later black Henry poled hisskiff up to the Humphrey dock. Three wetand rather woebegone adventurers shookthe drops from their clothes as best theycould as they climbed out on the wetterbeach. The hommock home was shrouded

in the over-hanging mist, but it lookedgood to the men who trudged toward it,chilled by their damp clothing and theunseasonable cool that had come with therain.

From the armchair where he was seatedin the Humphrey sitting-room beside a fireof crackling logs, Harrison Steele lookedup to greet his friends.

"Hello, strangers," he called, droppinghis magazine on the floor beside him."'Come in and draw up cheers.'"

Lora Humphrey fluttered in from therear somewhere to greet the newcomersshyly. She noticed their wet garments.

"Oh, you're wet," she commiserated."Just sit down and dry out a bit." She

looked around at them, "I prescribecoffee," she announced, professionally.She darted to the side of the fireplace andtossed a fresh stick on the fire beforeeither of the men who leapt forward toperform the task for her could reach her.Her merry laughter rang out. "Oh, I'm usedto that," she explained. "We.woodswomen are expected to do littlethings like that"

"And jump into the inlet and save anystray drowning men who happen along, inthe course of the day's affairs?" queriedCardwell, smiling.

Lora, too, smiled as she hurried fromthe room to bring coffee as though thematter were nothing.

Clement Ashley got up and leaned over

Steele. He took one of his wrists and feltit. He shook his head ominously as heglanced up, first at his companions, then atthe door through which the girl's pinkgown had disappeared.

"Um! Um! Bad! Bad!" he concluded,with a solemn shake of his head. "There'sno doubt he's a very sick man! Very sick!Recovery very unlikely!"

Steele drew his hand away while hisface flushed darkly.

"Idiot!" he declared. But Ashley onlysunk into his chair with a doleful shake ofhis head and a sigh.

"Don't even believe a good drink woulddo him much good!" he concluded.

"Speaking of which," broke in

Cardwell, "and changing the subject to amore cheerful one, it can't be long nowuntil we get one. Captain McMaster andthe Falcon ought to be here most any time.Wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't besighted to-day, if it wasn't for this mist."

Steele raised a cautious hand, as heglanced around at the door through whichLora Humphrey had gone. Ashley grinnedin his impish way, but his friend glared athim. "Don't be more of a fool than you canhelp, Clem," he advised. "You ought tohave enough glimmering of intelligence toknow we can't afford to let anyone—anyone—know the least thing aboutwhat we're up to. Lord, I've had hardenough time as it is explaining why thatyacht is coming— been spreading it

around that we had a sugar deal on inCuba and thought we'd combine businesswith pleasure."

"Have you thought what you'd say incase we had to come back here?" beganCardwell, but Steele interrupted him insurprise.

"Back here?" he wondered. "Why?"

"Probably the better part of wisdom,"was Meade's contribution. "Haven't youbeen watching the papers?"

Steele shook his head. "Too busy," hedeclared. He paid no heed to Ashley'schuckle, but turned as Lora Humphreycame into the room with a pot of steamingcoffee and cups on a tray.

When they were again alone, Meade

took up the conversation.

"See, here, Steele, I'm willing to gothrough with this thing—I didn't go into itblindfold in the first place, but if you thinkwe can run a cargo of contraband into anyNorthern port, then you're just out of luck—that's all I can say. I'd a whole lot ratherbe here breaking the game laws shootingducks than making little ones out of bigones in some prison gang. And that's aboutthe size of it."

"I'm strong for having enough drinksmyself," was Cardwell's addition, "butwe've been thinking it over a lot sincewe've been over on the island, and Ibelieve it would be a whole lot better tobring the stuff right back to my island—there's room a-plenty for a hundred caches

(as many an old pirate could have toldyou)—and then we can wait for the mostpropitious time to get it back toWestchester by hydroplane. What do youthink?"

Steele sipped his coffee meditatively.

"Do you think it's worth all thetrouble?" he asked.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking myself,and"

he held up his coffee cup. "This sort ofstuff suits me pretty well."

Ashley rose and yawned.

"Oh, well," he said, "if you're going toback out— I'd just as soon get back andinto some civilized clothes -—and there

isn't a bit of mustache wax in all ofCardwell's lodge—not even paraffine."

"Oh, I'll not back out," assured Steele,"but I can't help wondering if the risk isworth it—do we really; want liquor asbadly as all that"

"He came to North Carolina to get ajag, and he got religion!" Ashley threw upboth hands in a helpless gesture, butSteele went on, as usual, without noticingthe interruption from this particularquarter.

"You're probably right, Cardwell. We'lldo as you suggest, but there are two orthree other things to consider. We can'tjust run a yacht full of liquor onto yourisland without knowing exactly at whatmoment to do it any more than we could

enter the port of New York. Now it isobviously impossible to take any of thenatives into our confidence, least of allold Humphrey—why, I wouldn't have himknow I was breaking the law in thatmanner for anything in the world"

"He or his family," amended Ashley ina murmur.

"So," continued the big broker who wasplaying invalid so well in his armchairpropped with pillows, "some one of uswill have to remain behind to keep watchand be ready to signal the yacht on itsreturn. It might be the case that theProhibition fleet had got wind of whatwe're up to by that time, so we might haveto know whether to dump the stuffoverboard or not"

"That ocean struck me as pretty wetalready," commented Clem Ashley as heruefully regarded the once natty sports suitwhich had had its bath in the Sound. "Butyou can consider me at your service. I'llbe selfdenying—I'll stay behind."

Card well and Meade looked at thesmall man sarcastically.

"Didn't I hear you making some remarkabout backing out?" he asked. "No, thething to do is to draw lots. Here," and hetook from the pocket of his damp coat apair of well-worn dice which he tossed onthe floor in front of the fire. "High man isout! Agreed?" The others answered himwith a nod.

On the second round, Meade andCardwell by throwing a ten and a twelve

respectively had been elected members ofthe party who would go on the yacht.

Ashley scooped up the dice and heldthem a moment, with his small headcocked on one side as he regarded the manin the armchair by the fire.

"Heard 'em call me a quitter, didn'tyou?" he inquired, in his tone of injuredinnocence. "Got to vindicate myself. I'lladmit I'm not hankering for a chance towear a striped suit, but I've got to tell yousomething. You haven't a chance the wayGray Cardwell has figured it out. Why, Ican throw more aces than any man in theworld. Tried it out too often in the army—worse luck! What say we switch it. Lowman out—eh? How's that for a gamesport?" He looked at the others pridefully,

then to Steele he added: "Are you on?"

"Suit yourself," Steele repliedlanguidly.

Ashley rubbed the dice between hishands and held them out to Steele.

"Shoot!" he invited.

Steele took them and carelesslydropped them onto the floor. A five spotshone in front of him in the firelight, butthe second die rolled over beside the pileof wood at the side of the hearth. On hishands and knees Ashley went after it. Hegroaned comically as, on moving a stickof wood a four was displayed. Then he satcrosslegged on the floor and with the dicebetween the palms of his hands, hecaressed them, crooning to them.

"Big Dick! Big Dick! If you ever lovedme, come to me now!"

He shot the dice across the floor. NearSteele's foot an ace showed plainly. In themiddle of the hearth, its mate, a deuce,came to a standstill. He grinned wryly.

"Elected by an overwhelmingmajority!" he nodded, as he scooped upthe little ivories and clambered to his feet."Well, congratulations, old top," as heturned to Steele. "Send me some flowersand a box of cigarettes some time whenI'm far from the madding throng, with thehuge gray walls curbing all my youthfulenthusiasm!"

But Steele did not laugh.

"I'm sorry, Clem, old chap," he said,

and his voice showed his earnestness. "Istarted this thing, and I wanted to finish it.I don't like my friends taking such risks fora fool scheme of mine. I want to see itthrough."

Cardwell yawned languidly.

"Think back," he requested, "andremember whose scheme it was. But youneedn't worry. You'll have your own workcut out for you on land—and rememberthat if you slip, or let anything interferewith the watch you're keeping, life mightnever be the same again to at least threefriends of yours, to say nothing of a mightyloyal captain of your yacht."

A great scuffling outside the doorstopped their conversation quickly, butwhen the door opened to admit what might

have been a dozen people from the sound,only old Theophilus Humphrey hove intosight.

"Wall, I'm consarned!" he shouted."How'd ye git here? Thought ye'd be overon the duck ponds sich a great day. Ye'd ahad a rale good time, providen the gamewarden didn't come by.

"Fine weather for ducks," was Ashley'sirrelevant comment

"Yes, sir, I was comin' right over ralesoon, but I had some business I must tendto about the farm critters and some landthat must be risin' for a pasture this spring.Them cow-beasts shore eat food. Notgoin'?" he asked surprisedly as Cardwelland Meade rose and shook out their wetcaps. "Hit's a right smart warmer over

here than on the island, and Lory'll havedinner rale soon. Yes, sir, I 'low to-dayhit's two blanket warmer here."

But shaking their heads in refusal of theold guide's hospitable invitation Meadeand Cardwell started toward the door,with Ashley trailing behind.

"Thanks awfully, Humphrey," Cardwellrefused, "but we've got to get back tomake some preparations. CaptainMcMaster ought to be here any time, andone of those letters you brought meshowed me I couldn't be fooling aroundhunting and fishing much longer whenthere's business to be attended to. But,"and he indicated Steele who sat stillstaring at the fire, "you'll have company.Old Doc Parson thinks our friend here has

had enough sea for the time being, andadvises against a sea trip. So if you thinkyou can look after him for a week or twolonger and show him a little within-the-law hunting and fishing on the finest littleisland in the world, we'll drop back forhim and pick him up after our littlebusiness matters are attended to."

Theophilus Lopstrop Humphrey rubbedhis hands gleefully. This suited him to theground. His mouth had fallen when heheard Cardwell was so soon to leave, buthe chirked up when he found he was not tobe alone. Humphrey might hunt and fishthe year round, law or no law, as allprogers do, but that was nothing to thechance of showing his prowess to a "cityman."

"Shore!" he boomed. "Shorest thing yeknow. All the fishin' and huntin' ye eversee! Maybe we'll git one of them bigboars. Oh, we'll take good keer of him,Lory and me. Won't we, Lory?"

They had not seen Lora Humphrey, whohad come quietly into the room as theyannounced their departure. Neither hadthey noticed the glad light that had sprungup into her eyes as she heard theirannouncement that Steele was to remainbehind. But it was a light which wasdimmed in a moment, and it was the sameshy, but hospitable country girl they hadcome to know who assured them of herpleasure in doing anything further for theirfriend. Watching them, Steele was of twominds. He was heartily disappointed that

he was not to be one of the actual piratingparty, now that he had made up his mind toit. It was not like Harrison Steele toremain on the side lines as a signalerwhile others took chances. But then histhoughts changed when his glance traveledto Lora, sweet and demure as she sped herparting guests. Yes, it would be pleasant—more than that—to remain near this girlfor a time longer. He could not help butadmit that—and what the days

might bring forth Well, that was still in thelap

of the gods.

The three men whom negro Henry poledover to Bogue Island did not go at once tothe lodge, though they promised him not tobe late for their midday meal.

"Ducks to-day, Marse Cardwell," hetold them, smacking his lips. "A-plenty ob'em. Mallard, three of Cap. Humphrey'scultivated ones, yum! Yum! An' some ofthat there speargrass whut Cap. Taylortoted up las' trip."

"We'll be on hand, Henry, never fear,"Cardwell assured his serving man. "Withan appetite, too— we get it here whetherwe do anything or not. Just going to take astroll down to the sand dunes to see theocean come in."

"Yah! Yah!" yowled the negro,delightedly showing his teeth. "Doan yesay the beatenes' things, Marse Cardwell.See the ocean come in! Jes' lak you-allwas talkin' about ole Numbah Six lakwhen I used to lib up Morehead City way

to the East'ard!"

Both Meade and Ashley believed theyhad seen sand dunes before they had seenthose which lay on the ocean side ofCardwell's island lodge. But these weredunes! Sand hills and mountains, morestrictly speaking, which it taxed a man'sbreath to climb; which made such idealspots for the wild goats who had a chanceto emulate their Rocky Mountain kindredas they leapt from sand crag to sand crag;dunes that the waters and winds of ageshad piled up hill ,and mountain high,washing them in from the long sandysweeps that made the ocean bed of thatpart of the coast—those sandy bottomswith their everchanging formations whichhad wrecked more mariners whose

vessels were run upon them than many arock-bottomed shore line whose dangerscould be charted.

Up one of these sand hills Cardwellclambered, followed by Meade and moreleisurely by the panting Ashley. Theystood for a moment looking out at the graysea with its tossing waves and the mistthat stopped their vision. Then happenedone of those queer things that are foreverhappening on such misty foggy days. For amoment the gray pall lifted and they couldsee far out to sea. There (and not so manyfathoms away at that), they could see thespars of a trim yacht that had droppedanchor. Cardwell glanced at hiscompanions.

"That will be the Falcon" he nodded.

"This time to-morrow"

Ashley laughed hollowly.

"Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum!" hechanted.

"Lead me to it," dryly commented thesilent Meade.

Clement Ashley sat down unexpectedlyat the top of a sharp slant of sand. Hewaved his hand as a sudden propulsion ofhis wiry little body shot him downward.

"Come on, then!" he shouted.

"'Sailing! Sailing 1 Over the bounding main, For many a stormy wind shall blow, Ere Jack come home again.'"

At the foot of the slide, he pickedhimself up, gave a nautical hitch to hissports trousers, and spat into the sand.

"Rum!" he growled. "Rum! Give me r-r-rum!"

CHAPTER X

ON the top of one of the highest sanddunes Harrison Steele stood at anunearthly hour (for him) and gazed out atthe sea. But the waves that had frothed andfretted and dashed themselves against thesands on the day of the rainstorm weregently lapping the golden grains in amatutinal kiss. All signs of storm hadvanished and Steele's vision encompassedmiles far out into the blue Atlantic to thedeep violet of the sea's horizon where thesun was just peeping over the world's rim.

But it was not at the glory of the sun hegazed, nor yet at the green and gold andpurpling glows that glinted on the movingmass of water. Far out at sea he could seea yacht—his yacht, the Falcon—which

was bearing his friends and his loyalcaptain forth to an adventure for which henow felt that he had little of the zest he hadhad when it was first planned.Momentarily the yacht was drawingfurther away, bound for the port ofHamilton in the Bermudas where mencould still slake their thirst as bestappealed to them. Hamilton had beenselected as the port of call when theFalcon sailed without the formality ofobtaining clearance papers for severalreasons, the chief being that it was not sofar away that the adventurers might nothope, with fair luck and barring accident,to be back on Bogue Island with theircargo intact in about ten days or twoweeks.

A wish came to Steele as he stood therein safety that he might be aboard his trimvessel with his friends, might sharewhatever was in store with them. Butswiftly, unbidden, there passed before hiseyes the vision of Lora Humphrey as hehad seen her but an hour or so before. Shehad seemed surprised to see him up soearly, and going to see the yacht sail, buthad waved to him gayly as she fled downthe path in her bathing suit for her morningdip in the sound. It was pleasant—very—he mused, to realize that he would be hereand free to enjoy her companionship for awhile longer. After the yacht's return—well, that, too, was something for thefuture. He shifted his position and glancedspeculatively at the sand dune on which hestood.

"Hrara!" he mused. "A likely spot righthere. Let's see—One fagot fire if the coastis clear—two if there's danger—Hmmph!"and he smiled humorously —"soundssomething like Paul Revere! Wonder whatthe old boy would think if he could knowwhat so many of his countrymen are doingto the constitution of the country he wentriding for?"

The jaunty yacht grew smaller as itdrew nearer and nearer the glory of thehorizon. Steele strained his eyes to watchthe last of it. Then it disappeared, hulldown, right into the rising sun. The bigman drew a deep breath.

"And that's that!" he affirmed, but therewas not his usual assuredness in his voiceas he spoke aloud. Something

unaccountable, unaccustomed had come tohim. He felt a lump rising in his throat; hecould not swallow it. With all thesuddenness of an explosion it came to himthat he had taken the first step towardbreaking the law of the land of his birth.He was a pirate; nothing less. As much ofa pirate as those notorious men of old whohad sailed the same seas, of whom LoraHumphrey had told him. He wondered ifCaptain Kidd or Morgan, or Teach, he ofthe black beard and ribbons, had ever feltas he was feeling in taking their first steps.

Far down the coast, further inland, hecould see the virgin pines and dogwoodswith their starry white flowers that fringedthat part of the country known as Teach'sHole. Well, here was another pirate. Two

hundred years hadn't made a lot of changein human nature.

"I wonder, now," he mused, his eyes onthe hiding place of the once feared high-handed sailor of the Spanish Main, "Iwonder, old chap, if they ever tried tokeep your rum away from you. If they did,I don't blame you so much, after all." Hisexpression changed to a mirthful grin."Wonder if the old boy ever hid any of hisrum along with those fabulous pearls andemeralds and gold doubloons they've beenseeking so long. If he did, think I mighttake a chance at treasure hunting myself.Would be nice and mellowed by now."

Steele had said goodbye to his host andhostess in the Humphrey home the nightbefore, for though he had not told them his

real reason (which was that he feared hiscontinued presence there might bringdown gossip of the neighbors on thelovely girl's head) he had said that hebelieved it best to move over to the lodgeand try a bit of hunting and fishing whilehe was recuperating. He had thought, as heintended seeing his yacht sail, to be offbefore they were up.

The sun was not three hours high whenhe began to realize how much he wasenjoying it all. Old Theo had brought himan outfit from Swansboro that seemed thelast thing in comfort. To the man to whomcreased trousers, immaculate linen andstiff collars had always been such anecessity, as well as the valet to care forthem and attend to himself, the change

was, though novel, an exhilarating one.Briarproof khaki and snake-proof leatherboots seemed the epitome of comfort.Until he heard his black serving man'shorn announcing dinner, Steele strolledthrough the closely grown trees and triedto penetrate the underbrush which hefound could not be done save by an animalmany times smaller than himself. Hepoked about the sand dunes, picturing tohimself what the pirates of old had donewhen they had wandered about the placeas he was wandering. He might have beena thousand miles from civilization, hethought, as he realized the only sign of lifeabout him was the occasional bleat of awild goat, or the chattering of marsh hensin the swamps, preparing for theirbrooding. Only down near the sand dunes

was there a sign that man had ever been inthis wilderness before. There he spied atall post, not unlike a patrolman's box suchas he had often seen in the outlyingsuburban districts. This, he knew, fromhaving been told of it, was the watchman'sclock device of the coast guard, which hehad to punch with regularity to show thathe was not neglecting his duty, out herewhere there was none to keep a watchfuleye. It stood up conspicuously out of placein the waste of sands that reminded so ofdesert islands. Rather gloomy, lonely lifethese coast guardsmen led, he pondered.No wonder they sought for life and thecompanionship of women (he rememberedhow Everett had come to see Lora, and afrown of displeasure crossed his face)when they were off duty.

Steele's first night at the lodge was apeaceful one. Henry had supper readywhile the sun was still high, and served itfor him on the wide rustic porch. While heate the delicate beaten biscuit of thesouthland, and enjoyed the wild honey thatwas served with them, he sighed withcontentment as the cooling breezes thathad followed the heat after the rainstormtanned his face. Those same breezes werekicking up the waters of the Sound intolittle whitecaps, and their gentle murmurwas more soothing than any softly tunedorchestra the broker had ever heard in thecity which had been most of his life. Greatpelicans, with jet markings in their whiteplumage stood f riendlily about at theedges of the marshes, satisfied withthemselves and their own picturesqueness.

The noisy cackle of the marsh hens, andthe chirps of Virginia rail, darting amongthe grasses of the shore line, chimed intothe orchestration of the whitecaps likeobbligato instruments.

Steele gazed past the shore line to theone opposite where lay the hommocklands. He could just make out the white-washed cottage of the Humphreys fromwhere it was half hidden in its little groveof live oaks and pines. A queer pang shotthrough the man. A moment before he hadhad no thought of loneliness. Now as hepictured Lora Humphrey going about herhousehold duties, mentally visioned herlithe figure and so nearly perfect-featuredface with its wild rose coloring, he had aconsciousness of being more alone than he

had ever been before. He wanted to bewith her. He knew it. His loneliness didnot come from the lack of masculinecompanionship as it had always comebefore. He found himself wondering if thatcompanionship, or the wild parties he hadso often been a member of were worthwhile, after all. Down here it was sopeaceful. Life was so real—so worthwhile. And Lora

He came out of his revery with a startas Henry placed a fresh plate of steamingbiscuits before him, and set down anotherpitcher of milk, its top beaded with thefrothiness of fresh coldness. The negrogrinned.

"'Scuse me, Marse Harrison," heapologized. "Wuz you-all thinkin'? I gits

that way sometimes out here—it's solonesome like, and all them critters a-makin' a hullabaloo, and a boy gits tothinkin' of his rifle and fishin' rod—butyou-all mustn't fo'git your biscuits."

"I couldn't forget them, Henry," Steeleassured, as he split one open andmoistened its steaming surface withyellow butter. "I don't think I've ever eatenanything so good in my life!"

The negro grinned delightedly.

"I wuz jes' thinkin', Marse Harrison," heoffered, "as how mebby you'all'd like togo for some drum fish

to-morrow mawnin' Effen so, they's noneed to

wait for Marse Theo—I knows all 'bout

fish,"

he drew himself up pridefully, "and I 'lowI kin show you-all how, same as him."

Steele's quick glance showed him thenegro's childish eagerness to serve.

"All right, Henry, I'll go you," he said."But I'm due for a fine night's sleep first.This air is a sure cure for insomnia."

"Yas, sah! Yas sah! You-all go on—I'llfix ebery thing! Git all the rods an' reelsand bait all ready tonight before lay in'down time!"

"All right," once more agreed thebroker. He yawned. "Think it's about'laying down time' for me right now.Fancy being ready to retire at twilight!"

Had Harrison Steele's gray eyes beentelescopic enough to have peered throughthe oaks and pine grove about theHumphrey home to its interior, he wouldnot have found Lora Humphrey at the timehe was thinking so deeply of her—thinkingof her, in a way altogether strange to him,by her first name.

As the twilight closed down, with itssoft scented breezes, the girl of thebroker's thoughts knocked softly at thehalf-open door of Uncle Billy PeteriWillis' tumble-down shanty. Inside sheheard Salvation Willis crooning a nativelullaby. The music hushed and a tiredvoice called:

"Come in!"

Lora, pushing open the door, entered the

shabby room, with its clutter of brokenfurniture, its ragged home-made carpet,worn through to the floor in many spots,its dank odor of lightless days and stalecooking. In the center of the floor,Salvation Willis, in a low home-maderocker that creaked its protest over itsburden on its one good rocker, sat withher dead sister's "breast baby" in herarms. Its small plaintive moans lent agreater dismalness to the scene thatgreeted the bright eyes of Lora Humphreyas she stepped inside.

"Hello, Salvation!" she called. "Hello,Babe!"

A glad light of welcome came to thedull eyes of the girl drudge who held thebaby. Then she looked about her

cautiously, uneasily.

"Howdy, Miss Lora," she answered."Come— come in an' draw up a cheer!"

Lora shook her head.

"Only have a minute to stay, Sal," usingthe old childhood phrase. "Just droppedover to bring that prepared food for thebaby I told you about. Captain Taylorbrought it up from Morehead City thismorning. Now don't you be afraid to giveit to the baby— I've seen it used so oftenin the hospital I know it will do him good.How is the little one?" she asked, comingover and bending over the two. The childonly moaned, in the sickly way of a babysuffering from malnutrition. The Willisgirl wagged her head mournfully.

"Porely! Porely!" she answered, then ina voice of compassion as she hugged theemaciated infant to her breast. "Pore littlething! If he could only go! He wouldn't behere now, if it wasn't for the things youfetch him, Miss Lora."

Lora straightened up and shook herfinger with mock sternness at the othergirl.

"Salvation Willis!" she demanded,"how often have I told you not to call meMiss Lora. Haven't you known me all mylife?"

"But you've got so fine," demurredSalvation, "and eddicated, and all, and —such beautiful

clothes "Her gaze held for a moment on

Lora's

crisp white frock with its orange sash oforgandie, then dropped shamefacedly toher own bedraggled, much faded calicomother hubbard.

"Nonsense!" Lora spoke sharply. "Wewere children together and playedtogether, and you must have a pretty pooropinion of me if you think a few clothesare going to make any difference. Why,with half a

v

chance—and a little care of yourself,you'd be the prettiest girl in theneighborhood!"

The other shook her head.

"No chance!" she said, with thebitterness of finality. "All I'll ever git isplenty of work, but I wouldn't mind if thebabies could have a chance. But pap isgetting so tight about the milk, and fussesso"

Lora Humphrey's eyes blazed.

"It's a shame! That's what it is!" shecried. "Why don't you leave him?"Guarded and cared for as she was, LoraHumphrey could not understand the tamedspirit that would put up with all that wasthe lot of her old friend. But Salvationonly clasped the child closer.

"The babies," she demurred,"—theyhain't nobody

but me, and effen I "she broke off, then

added

passionately: "Why, Miss—er, Lora, mostof the time I'm not thinkin' of goin',—I'mwonderin' effen he's goin' to let me stay!Jes' last night he put me out, and I had tobeg and plead"

"Put you out?" Lora could not believeher ears. She could not believe that evenpenurious old Billy Peter Willis would letthis girl who was his drudge and slave getfrom under his clutches.

"Umph! Humph!" Salvation nodded."He got

s bilin' mad at me at supper time, 'count o'me soppin' my bread on both sides—said I

was a-ruinin' him."

"The old "Lora forced herself to keep toherself her opinion of the father of the girlto whom she spoke. "It's a shame—that'swhat it is!" she repeated. "My fathersending me away to school when he had torake and scrape, and your father, whocould buy and sell half the county, treatingyou like this—never giving you a chance.Well, I'll say one thing, Salvation Willis!You're a good girl—lots better than I am,to stay here and stand it all for the babies.But if anything of the kind happens again,you just pack up and come over to ourhouse. Father'll see that no harm comes toyou"

Salvation Willis smiled ruefully as shelistened.

"Pack up?" she repeated whimsically.

"I 'low hit wouldn't take me long."

Lora turned toward the door. "I'll haveto hurry," she announced. "Dark's comingon fast, and I didn't bring a lantern." Sheknew, without having to be told that in thishouse she would never be offered one inthe neighborly fashion of the hommockdwellers who always offered this courtesyto belated visitors. Uncle Billy Peterwould have counted the drops of oil usedand made somebody pay. "Now, you givethat food to the baby, and let me knowhow he gets on, and if he doesn't improve,we'll manage somehow to get Dr. Parsonaround to see him "She snatched

up the shade hat she had dropped onentering the room. Salvation Willisregarded her guest, and tears stood in her

eyes. Though her life had taught her all therestraint of her kind, something brokeinside her, and she burst out passionately:

"You're just an angel, Lora Humphrey,and"

Lora's laugh rang out to interrupt her.

"An angel!" she chaffed. "And youraised by a Holinesser! Why, Holinessangels don't wear lownecked dresses, norbathing suits, nor go to 'furrin' lands' toschool, or get to be trained nurses, nor"

Salvation put out her hand to stop her,and even the shadows of the room did nothide the concern in her eyes as she spoke.

"Miss,—er—Lory, is that man gone?"she asked. Lora's face showed herwonderment, but Sal Willis went on: "I

mean that man from the North'ard I heeredye was a-nursin' over to your house. Pap'sbeen makin' a pretty big to-do over hit—him and that Hal Everett that's got so thicklast few days—Oh, I wisht he was gone!"she ended plaintively.

Lora's face that had clouded withindignation at the girl's first reference toBilly Peter's or Hal's comment about heraffairs, softened as she saw the realconcern of the Willis girl. She spokelightly.

"Now, don't you go to worrying anyabout me, Sal," she said gently. "I can takecare of myself—and if I couldn't my dadcan take care of me. When, oh, when I"and she threw her arms out in a gestureallembracing, "will the people around

here learn that a trained nurse is doing noharm if she nurses a man who is in bedinstead of a woman? No, Sal," and shecame over and put her arm about the slightfigure huddled in the chair, hugging thebaby, "there's nothing to worry about. Thatman was not giving me a thought—exceptthat he was a little grateful I think, becauseI pulled him out of the water, and if he hadthere would have been no wrong in it"

Salvation Willis continued to weep andto shudder convulsively. She clutchedLora's hands with one of her workhardened ones.

"Just the same, I'm skeered, Lory," shetremored, "I'm skeered for ye—oh, I wishthe would go away!"

Lora patted the rumpled hair of the

sitting girl.

"Sallie, child," she told her, "some daythings may be different for you, and youmay not always know only the sort ofignorant, fool idiots of men you've alwaysknown around here. Some day you mayknow gentlemen—gentlemen like Mr.Steele—and when you do, you'll knowhow much safer a girl is with them thanwith those who can think only evil." Shetook the girl's head in her hands, andlooked deeply in her eyes. "Don't youbelieve in me, Sal?"

Sal's look was one of adoration.

"I believe you're an angel!" sherepeated, slowly and with pent-up passionin her tones.

CHAPTER XI

THE combers that were tossing in towardthe sandy beach were mountain high. Howoften he had heard the expression, andhow silly it had always seemed toexaggerate so. But these were —that wasjust it, mountain high. Strange lookingcombers, too. Topped with deepyellowish-brown froth; clear brown andsparkling. He had never seen such waterbefore. Looked a good deal like beer hadlooked in the good old days when a mancould look upon it. Why, it was beer. Hecould tell by the never-to-be-forgottenodor as the combers rolled in and broke infroth at his feet as he stood on the sanddunes.

But as he looked about for some

receptacle to hold the amber fluid so thathe might further prove by another sensethat the ocean had turned to malt brew, hisgaze was transfixed by another sight.There was a ship out there a-top one ofthose combers. In trouble, too. He couldnot make it out well at first, in the semi-darkness, but as it rose to the crest of thebrown-white foam it took shape—a shapeas queer as the combers themselves. Why,this ship was in the shape of a huge bottle,but there were people in it,

usqueer little figures struggling to clamberout and throw themselves into the foamingbrew. Such a huge bottle. Then a comberhuger than the rest rose and the bottle shipand its crew and passengers came flying

toward him on the sand. He felt the impact—felt himself thrown into the wet brownsand. He was strangling. He struck out, butwas only smothered more futilely in thesand. Then he felt a hand pull him out,gradually, fighting against the turmoil ofsand and water that was beer. Dimly hecould make out that it was a woman'shand, and as the brown brew for a momentdashed the sand from his eyes, he couldsee the owner of the hand. Why, it wasLora! Lora Humphrey—come to save himfrom that welter of beer and sand and thebottle ship that was careening sothreateningly

Harrison Steele opened his eyes to seeblack Henry Beck standing over him, hisface one ivory-toothed grin as he pulled

aside the blanket with which the brokerhad all but asphyxiated himslf.

"Mos' strangle yo'self that time, MarseHarrison," he said, as Steele sat up andtried to collect his senses, to wonderabout the sudden disappearance of thebottle ship and the girl who was for thesecond time in the act of rescuing him."Yo' all had them kivers so tight about yo'neck, I couldn't ha'dly distangle 'em!"

"Hmmph!" grunted Steele. His eyespeered out through the vine-shadedwindows at the dim flicker of light thatcame through the moss-hung trees. "Did Iyell? How'd you happen to come in just intime to pull me out of the deep dark depthsof two blankets? What time is it?" Heyawned sleepily and shivered slightly in

the chill as he started to pull up thedisordered blankets. "About two or threeo'clock?"

Henry opened his mouth so wide thateach of his full set of strong white teethglittered in the dusk.

"No, sah!" he exclaimed. "No twoo'clock, sah —time to git up. Ole sun'll beup over the tree tops befo' you-all kin sayJack Robinson—an' them bait is jes' awrigglin' to be et by a drum fish. No, sah,I was jes' a-comin' in to tell yo-all thatlayin' down time was all over, when Iseed yo-all a-wrestlin' wid dem kivers,an' a-hollerin' like all git out"

"Hmmph!" murmured Steele. Hewondered just exactly what he had beenhollering all git out about, but hoped that

the name of the girl who had been such avivid rescuer in his dream had notescaped him. "All right, Henry," he agreedsleepily. "I'll turn out—be ready by thetime you have breakfast set—but I mustsay it's the first time I ever got up in themiddle of the night to go fishing." He slid,half protesting, out of bed as the negrohurried away to do his bidding.

As his man servant had prophesied, thesun was just coming up over the tree topsas the two stepped off the lodge porch andswung off down the winding trail that ledto the ocean side of the island. The cityman opened his lungs deep to breathe inthe salt tang of the air that came to hisnostrils from the sea, scented with theodors of the aromatic growths through

which it came. Little lakes, or ponds withwhich the island was fairly dotted cameinto view as they went along. Startled atthe approaching footsteps, wood ducksrose from the waters with a musical whirrof wings. More than once, Steele spied analligator slipping off his log bed into thewaters beneath the ducks. It was wild, thisisland—there was no doubt of that.

So engrossed was Steele with his drumfishing in the breakers at which he soonpromised to become adept under the wiseguidance of black Henry, that the sun hadrisen high in the heavens before he noticedthe passage of time. To the negro,however, the time was passing moreslowly. He would not have noticed it hadhe been fishing himself, but he was put to

it to find a way to pass the time while hispupil, no longer needing him, cast for thebig drum. So he had set about huntingseaturtle eggs in the sands, and histriumphant yell came from time to time tothe fisherman. At a particularly exuberantcry, Steele turned to glance toward thenegro who was some distance down thebeach struggling with something.

"Hi, Marse Harrison," he yelled. "Gothim dat time! A big fellow! Jes' come an'look!" The negro gave a final grunt and astruggle and stood back to look at histrophy. He had run down a big sea turtleand turned him over on his back so thatSteele could get a good view of him.

But as Steele had turned to see Henry atthe latter's cry, he had also seen some one

else on the sand dunes. The appearance ofanother man at this wild spot brought backto him how lonely it was, how removedfrom civilization. He might indeed, hethought, have been a Robinson Crusoe ona desert island and Henry his man Friday.A true desert shore—save for one thing.Near where Steele was fishing was a tallpost driven securely into the sands. It was,he knew, one of those scattered postswhich have been erected by the coastguard, fitted with a watchman's clockwhich the coast guard patrolman mustpunch at regular intervals to prove that noteven the most remote spots along the seaare left unguarded. For miles, Cardwellhad told Steele, these widely separatedcoast-guard posts were the only signs thathuman beings were any more plentiful than

on the shores of the wildest of the islandsof the South Seas. A single post was awelcome something, too, in thiswilderness of ever-changing sands. It wasthe one thing that was fixed; the one thingfrom which calculations might be made.

It was a man in the garb of a coastguard whom Steele saw approaching thepost near him as he turned lo see blackHenry's catch. The broker's face lightedup. Solitude might have its advantages, butalready he was beginning to be a bit tiredof it, and the prospect of a little chat, outhere, in the wilds, with a man other thanthe negro who had made himself Steele'sguide and teacher of drum fishing was awelcome break in what had already begunto be a bit monotonous.

Apparently unconscious that there wasanother human on the wide stretch of sanddunes and hollows, the man had advancedto the post and punched the clock beforehe turned to face Steele who advancedtoward him with a smile of welcome. Butthat smile faded as Steele looked into thedarkened face and sullen eyes of the manwho confronted him. For a moment he wasat a loss. Himself so gregarious, so eagerfor companionship, he could not imaginewhy the coast guardsman should be, in thelanguage of the natives, so "stand-offish."Then he remembered. He was facing theman whom he had first seen over theshoulder of Lora Humphrey as he lay inthe Humphrey's spare room recoveringfrom his accident. The man was HalEverett, the man whom he had been told

by the girl's father was her suitor, andwhom his own eyes had told him had a bitmore than resented his, Steele's, presence,in the girl's home.

Steele advanced toward Everett, whostill stood stock still beside the guardpost. He would speak to the man anyway.It was foolishness for the fellow to act ashe had before, and was now acting. Buthis welcoming hand dropped to his side ashe saw the guardsman scowl.

"Good morning," greeted Steelepleasantly. "Nice day—but pretty lonelyout here for anything but a turtle, eh?" andhis hand waved toward Henry's capturedtrophy as it lay on its back, its thick shortlegs kicking futilely in the air.

For a moment Everett did not answer. A

nasty sneer curled his lips as he stuck bothhands in his pockets and surveyed Steeleinsultingly.

"Lonely, maybe," he grunted at last, "butI can't say it hain't better than makin' theacquaintance of a man of your stripe"

Steele flushed, and he took a stepforward, but before he could speak, couldresent the insult, Hal Everett went on, ashe jerked his thumb over his shouldertoward the resounding breakers: "Talk tothe likes o'you? Hell! Why, I wouldn'tlend a hand to haul you out if you wasdrownin' out there!"

For a moment more, Steele's musclestensed, his jaw protruded in the mannerthat his intimates could have told bodedno good for an enemy, and he seemed

about to spring on the insulting coastguard. Everett's eyes glinted as he bracedhis legs in the sand for the expectedonslaught. But as suddenly as Steele's facehad clouded, a sardonic smile passed overit. He stepped back with a contemptuousshrug.

"Don't know but what I'd rather go toDavy Jones' locker any time than have tosubmit to the humiliation of being rescuedby the 'likes of you,'" he retorted, then thedevil of taunting which possessed him fora moment made him fling back, as heturned away and walked over to observeHenry's turtle: "However, it's veryunlikely I shall require any further effortsof gallant heroism in my behalf while Iremain on Bogue Island. But," and he

could not resist a meaning laugh as headded: "when I did need help, it was abrave woman who came to my rescue, andnot a bally rotter!"

One minute, that drew itself out to two,then three, passed as the darkening floodof anger flushed the guardsman's face. AsSteele remembered them from his firstmeeting with the man, his teeth were baredover his drawn-back lips in an animalsnarl. The wide eyes of black Henry werepopping from his head as he watched thetwo white men. There was nothing to itThey must clash in a moment. He lookedaround for a handy weapon so that hemight enter the fray. He could not let thisfighting guardsman get the best of hisMarse Harrison. Only Harrison Steele,

himself, seemed unimpressed, and hiswhole attention seemed upon the turtlewhich he was investigating with the toe ofhis heavy boot. But with as greatsuddenness as had come his anger, anothermood overtook Hal Everett. For somereason best known to himself he decidednot to fight the man from the Northward—not just there and then at any rate. With amuttered oath, a hint of a future timecoming, he turned on his heel and swungoff down the beach, his giant strides eatingup the miles of the sand dunes.

"Lawsy!" The whites of Henry's eyesrolled in the direction of the retreatingman, but all his teeth were shining as hespoke to Steele. "Lawsy massy, MarseHarrison," he ejaculated in wonderment,

"effen dat had been a nigger usin' suchconfusin' words to me, him an' me'd a fit,sho'! Humph!" and he shook his woollyhead wonderingly, " 'pears lake whitefolkses an' niggers do things a heapdiffunt!"

Steele smiled calmly.

"There was no reason for me wanting tofight the man, Henry," he explained. "Ihave, or at least had, nothing against him—and if he wanted to be a cad, there wasno particular reason I should be one, too"

But the negro still shook his head. Heglanced at Steele a bit inquiringly, thenhesitated as he stammered: "Yo-yo-allwa'nt afeared of him, was yo', MarseHarrison?"

Steele's tolerant smile deepened to agrin as he shook his head in return.

"No, Henry," he replied. "Don't believeI was. Believe I could have taken care ofmyself had it come to that, but—I've donea bit with the gloves in my time," headded, and it was a reminiscent smile ashe recalled the real prowess he hadgained in his university and since at themanly art. "No, it was just a matter of'what's the use.'"

Misunderstanding Henry's headwobbled mournfully. A new idol hadtottered a bit.

"Wisht you had a-mommicked him up alittle bit, though, Marse Henry," hemourned. "He needs it. Ah tell yo-all thatHal Everett's a bad man. Fellow's got to

be keerful has he a grudge agin 'um." Andhe gathered up the fishing tackle withSteele's morning catch as they prepared tostart back to the lodge for the noondaymeal, a matter which to the broker,stimulated as he was by his unwontedmorning exercise, was of far greaterimport at the moment than any thing thecoast guardsman might think of him, orhow great might be the grudge he held.

Harrison Steele was idly finishing hisafter-dinner

cigar as he watched the flamingos daintilydressing their gaudy feathers on the edgeof the swamp nearest the lodge whenHenry came out to him in a twitter ofexcitement.

"Company, Marse Harrison," he

announced proudly, and at his master'sinquiring gaze, added: "That gal from thehammocks is just a-polin' her skiff right upto the landin'. She'll be here in a minute."

The man's lassitude dropped from himlike a cloak. Forgetful of his desire foridleness of the moment before, he leapt tohis feet and bounded down the pathtoward the landing on the land side of theisland. Lora Humphrey was poling herslight craft into the shallow waters.

"Ahoy, there, ashore!" she called gayly."Is the hermit of Bogue Island preparedfor visitors?"

"Always! Some visitors," was the man'samended reply as he lightly caught thebow of the skiff and pulled it ashore,giving the girl his hand to assist her to

alight. "Didn't know how lonesome I wastill I heard your voice."

The girl laughed as she reached downfor a basket in the bottom of the skiff.

"Henry may be insulted," she declared,indicating the basket as Steele took it fromher, "but I had a notion that even hermitsmight like a bit of woman's cookerysometimes. Besides," and her laughterwas as lilting as the songs of the birds theman had heard all day in the forests,"you're still under my care, you know, andI must attend to your diet."

"Fine!" thanked the man, "and more thanfine for you to bring it over yourself. Ofcourse, I'm delighted with your gift, butthe gift of your presence in the desert is agreater one."

"Then if you're so glad to see me," thegirl went on, as they strolled up thetangled path toward the lodge, "you won'tbe bored with what I want you to do—andyou won't laugh at me?"

The man shook his head decidedly."Never a laugh," he affirmed. "I've toldyou that before. But what is it—have youbeen having an ouija message fromBlackbeard or something of the sort?"

Lora Humphrey shook her finger at himwarningly. "You promised not to laugh,"she chided, but then something in her tonegrew more serious as she went on. "Not amessage exactly," she said, "but oh, Mr.Steele, I do want to have a try at findingthat treasure —and I want you to help me.Sometimes things have come to me that

make me think I could almost go right tothe spot where the old pirate hid his golddoubloons and everything—I'm almostsure I would know the spot if I saw it, forit has come to me so much plainer than adream several times—but I would have toexplore the island likely, and—and—er"

She stopped embarrassed.

Steele finished for her: "And there areother dangers here than snakes andalligators wearing their natural skins—coast guardsmen and so on, I should makea hazard." But Lora stopped him with aflush as she sunk into a cushioned chair onthe lodge porch.

"No, no—not—er—Hal!" sheexclaimed, and there was scorn in hereyes as she went on. "You don't think I'd

be afraid of him?"

Steele laughed admiringly as heremembered how the girl had faced heradmirer. "I believe you can handle him,"he declared, "but"

"Well, you know those proger squattersdown on the end of the island," the girlexplained. "They aren't always on theirend of the island, either, and— oh, well,they're queer! The principal thing I wantyou to go with me for, though," she hurriedon, "is that you don't belong around here,and you promised you wouldn't laugh atme. Everybody here laughs at everybodyelse who goes treasure hunting, but"

Steele eyed her keenly as he satswinging his feet from the rustic porch railof the lodge.

"Then you think you have an idea ofwhere to look?" he asked her. "Have youbeen seeing the money lights?"

She nodded soberly. "Last night," sheaffirmed. "At first I thought I wasdreaming—probably I was —but then Igot up and looked out of the window, and—and—I saw them. I almost believe Icould go right to the place"

Steele dropped down from his perchand picked up his cap that had rolled tothe floor.

"Shall we have a try?" he asked, and thegirl, closely watching him, saw that hewas keeping his promise to take the matteras seriously as she wished.

The sun was dropping low over the sea

scape a few hours later when the twocame to a stop at the top of a sand duneand gazed about them. In the girl's eyesthere was an expression of disappointmentthat was greater than the wearinessbrought on by their hours of tramping, asshe looked about her.

"And I could have sworn I could goright to the place where I saw the lights,"she complained, as she dropped down onthe sand. "But I won't give up."

"Better chart that dream the next time,"suggested Steele with a flicker of humor."This is a bigger island than I thought."

As he gazed out over the turbulentwaters of the Atlantic, the man's thoughtswere a jumble of many ideas. Howstrange it all seemed! Just a day or so

before, he had been high up in the granitechasms of Wall Street, with no otherthoughts than the figures a ticker wasclicking forth. Now here he was, on adesert island, practically with a girl hehad not known then, but whom it somehowseemed he must have known for a long,long time, perhaps ages. Somewhere outon the sea in front of them, his own yachtwas sailing away on a piratical mission inhis behalf, and he—he was here with thisgirl in all the world, seriously searchingout treasure that another pirate had hiddensomewhere in the sands beneath their feettwo centuries before. His thoughts strayed,too, to the smart homes where smartmothers had so often tried to gain hisinterest in their ultra smarter daughters.His smile was a little wry as he thought of

what they would say if they could see himnow, could know anything of the thoughtsabout the girl at his side that were flittingthrough his bachelor mind. How had itcome about? What had happened to him!He only knew that he was contented as hesat there beside her and looked out at thesea; that he had never known suchcontentment before. He—the woman-impervious. Then his glance strayed to thegirl. He saw the deep shadows ofenchantment in her wide eyes; he saw thewild rose flush on her smooth cheek; thesame little curl that strayed maddeninglyin that soft spot at the nape of her neck;another shiny

tendril that swept her cheek There was a

glow

Harrison Steele was roused from hisreverie by a mournful wailing fromsomewhere not far away. It rose and fellin solemn cadence, as it drew nearer andnearer. He sat up and looked off in thedirection of the sound. Presently he coulddistinguish words in the half musicalwails of intermingled masculine andfeminine voices. Those voices heldpleading. Nasal tones above the generalclamor, exhorted:

"Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus! Come toJesus, just now— Ju-M-st now He willsave you"

Steele looked wonderingly at LoraHumphrey. She jumped to her feet with alaugh.

"Oh, I didn't know it was as late as

that!" she exclaimed. "We must hurry"

"What is it?" queried Steele,nonplussed. "A sort of North Carolinaangelus?"

The girl's shoulders shrugged. "Justthose proger squatters from the end of theisland on their way to a Holiness meeting.They're having a sort of revival over inthe meeting house in the hammocks andevery Holinesser from everywhere aroundgoes every night. Of course, it goeswithout saying that the squatters are allHolinessers—that's their mentality."

"You don't seem to hold a very bigopinion of that particular religious sect,"Steele commented with a smile.

The girl shook her head, but was

serious when she spoke.

"Religion is one of the most wonderfulthings in the world," she said dreamily, asshe started off down the trail toward thelodge. "But I can't bear fanaticism! Oh, ifyou only knew the harm that is done bythem in the name of religion!" She waspassionate in her earnestness. "You maybe surprised, but I love every soul in thiswhole neighborhood, and I can't helpregretting the harm that is coming to themthrough fanatics. They're ignorant enough,God help them, without being urged togreater lengths. You would understand, ifyou went to one of their meetings once"

"Your father promised you'd take me,didn't he? You say they're performingevery night now. How about to-morrow

night?"

Lora nodded thoughtfully.

"If you really wish it, of course," shesaid. "But I do wish you wouldn't laugh atall of them—some of them mean so well,but they're so ignorant, and their leaderssuch fanatics"

Fanatics! Again she had used the word—had shown she despised them. With aqueer shudder, Steele wondered whatLora Humphrey would think if she knewthat his own real mission on this islandwould never have been brought about hadnot he, himself, and his friends, rebelledabout what a certain sort of fanaticism hadbrought to his country. Still —there werefanatics and fanatics!

As Steele helped Lora Humphrey intoher small skiff a little later, he could stillhear the mournful singing from other skiff-fulls of people who were being poledtoward the mainland:

"Do not tarry; do not tarry; do not tarry just now Ju-u-u-st now, do not tarry"

"To-morrow night," Steele assured theworld at large as the girl took up her polein her strong young arms and shot it far outinto the stream.

CHAPTER XII

LIKE many another such community in theSouth j where the inhabitants are theoffspring of pioneers who had come thusfar, settled down and gone no further, theprogeny for generations following to dothe same, the natives of the hommocklands surrounding Bogue Inlet were areligiously inclined sort. That is, to allintents and purposes. Church with them,prayer meeting, and when the spirit wasmoving particularly high among them, lovefeasts, camp meetings and revivals were ahabit. All their lives these natives hadheard the good word about strong drinkbeing raging, but there were, alas, times ofbacksliding. Even among the mosthidebound of them, the gentle practice of

slipping backward was not uncommon, asmany a well-meaning parson could testifyafter his siege of keeping his deacons andelders sober at Christmas time.

In the particular community of whichHarrison Steele found himself sounexpectedly a member, two particularsects of religious zealots held sway. Forthe more intelligent, those who laid claimto more or less education, there was theMethodist church, with its circuit-ridingpreacher who came at his appointed timefrom Swansboro to minister to his flock,leaving them to their own devices and thetender ministrations of lay brothers andsisters for the other three Sundays of themonth during which he saved souls inother localities. But the Methodists

seemed to bear up under the burden fairlywell, and as a general thing would havegone on quite placidly in their spiritualway had it not been for the thorn in theirflesh of the opposing religion seekersknown in so many sections as the Holinessband. Religion, to a Holinesser, as thenatives called them, was, as Steele was tocome to know, more than a form. Church,its forms, their beliefs were to them theonly emotional outlet for a primitivepeople taught by the years and theirnearness to the soil a repression thatwould never have found vent otherwise.To them, the Holiness Church, its tenets,its practices, were the breath of life itself.To one like Steele who had never knownof them, it seemed incredible, at his firsttelling, that sensible human beings could

go to the extent of emotionalism inreligion's name that was the regularpractice of the adherents of the Holinessband. Faith, they claimed; faith was all—the faith their ministers told them wouldmove the mountains as proclaimed in theBible. Wanting visual evidence of whatfaith would do, they did not take itallegorically, but in their services soughtto see for themselves what might be donewith their faith of the size of a good manygrains of mustard seed.

Abstaining with them, was the nextthing to—or rather the thing above—doing. Women of the band were abjured toabstain from even the suggestion ofworldly vanity; even the men came in formuch of the abjuration, the resulting

picture of a worshiping band thereforeholding a picturesqueness that one notinured to the beliefs and practices of acountry people far removed from theinfluences of a latter day civilizationcould little realize until actuallywitnessed.

The May revival of the Holiness band,when visiting ministers and "overseers"from other localities swooped down onthe hommock lands of Bogue was the greatevent of the year, rivaling in significancethe summer camp meetings of the"Methodys" who did their spiritualreviving after the stagnation of the shortwinter with rather less religiousfireworks. The revival drew great crowdsfrom all about, and every little home of a

Holiness believer was thrown open tovisitors. Each day was lived through withprayer and praise and an anxious longingfor the shades of night when they mightgather in the small wooden church— thoseof them who could get in (for manycamped outside on the steps, or hung in thewindows, or sat in the wood carts andbuggies, or draped themselves on thepicket fence surrounding the meetinghouse to hang on what words of revivingthey could hear from such vantage points).It was at this late May revival that theharvest of souls was ripest, that brethrenand sistern could shout their hardest oversinners that repented—no matter that therepentance might last but a few shortweeks after the fervor of shouting was buta faint memory in the trees about the

meeting house.

It was in a quaint old church that theHoliness band held their revivals—in achurch instead of in camp meeting groundsas did the "Methodys," whose religiousgatherings held a savor of worldlinesswith their parading lovers and sightseersfrom miles around who preferred thesawdust paths to the wooden benches infront of the exhorting ministers who soughtto save them. Holinessers boasted thatthey went to church!

On the evening that Lora Humphrey hadpromised to take Harrison Steele to seethe revivalists of the Holiness band atwork, the little wooden church began totake on life activities before the sun haddropped low. Every road leading to it was

filled with travelers who sought theHeaven-ward guidance they believedwould be found within its portals.Buggies, drawn by horses whose droopingheads proclaimed a hard day in the fieldsduring the season their proger masters hadchosen to "put in crops"; ox-carts, amblingalong at the will of sleepy-eyed beasts ofburden whose day the occasional swift-flying aeroplanes and hydroplanesbecoming such familiar sights in theneighborhood proclaimed was done;"pony-beasts," ridden by youths andmaidens whose repressed laughtershowed their acknowledgment of theseriousness of the journey in spite ofyouthful exuberance; bands of trudgingmen and matrons and sleepy children—their goal was the wooden church where

the minister who had come to bring themthe word would exhort from the setting ofthe sun until the stars dropped low. Amotion picture camera traveling along thelength of the procession would haveshown them all Holinessers. Here washumility of raiment. Women in calicomother hubbards (corsets wereinstruments of the Evil One) ; women inlinsey woolsey, bare feet sometimesshowing beneath humble garments in away that would have been befitting afemale John the Baptist; men, trailingalong, or stalking on ahead, as showingtheir several positions in their households—but always men, whether with only thesoftness of silky beard of adolescence or(like Uncle Billy Peter Willis with thecareless gray growth of years covering

chin and chest) collarless and tieless. Forbe it known that collars and ties with men,as with corsets with the women were anabjuration with members of the Holinessband; as further, should a man of the bandbe discovered wearing a "boiled shirt" (asoccasionally happened on visits to thenearby towns) he was automaticallyremoved from the Holiness band. Duringthe May revivals, there were no collarsand ties; there were no "boiled shirts."

It was an old church—this one of theHoliness band of Bogue Inlet—an oldwooden edifice that had seen muchservice. But not always in the capacity itnow served. There had been a time thatsome itinerant Catholic fathers had tried toset up their religion among the abandoned

of the inlet. They had long since goneaway discouraged. Following them, twoor three sects had occupied the smallchurch for a time, but always had foundtoo well-intrenched the Methodism thatdominated the progeny of an old timesettler few. Then, off and on, had come theHoliness band, to make use of anabandoned edifice. Off and on—for it wasno new thing with the Holiness band inBogue, as in other sections where theytook up the work their fanaticismdemanded, to be driven from thisstronghold, as from others—only to return.

The sun, dropping low, cast its last rayson peace and quiet, a subduedness ofreligious intensity, and drifted through theopened front doors down the aisles to

make geometrical shadows pointing outinto the small graveyard* through the twodoors at either side of the box-like pulpit—a graveyard filled with forgottenmembers of other bands who had sought afoothold in the locality, with here andthere a newer grave showing care and anupstanding headstone of rude cut graniteas a memorial to a Holinesser not yetforgot. One or two green graves andheadstones showing through the tangle ofmyrtle and long hanging Spanish moss thatformed the "backyard" of the church of theHolinessers.

It was a box-like edifice, too, much likethat a child first learns to draw inkindergarten. Weather boarded, and with acupola it would have taken no steeplejack

to negotiate. Once it had been painted, orwhitewashed, but the proger propensitiesof its present worshipers had allowed itsweather-boarded sides to scale. Twodoors in front led to uncarpeted aislesbetween three sections of wooden benches—one on the left for the women, one onthe right for the men—the middle sectionsreserved for the unregenerate, or the"courting" couples who had not as yetdecided to choose right or left. In whatmight be designated as the chancel of thechurch, two sections of wooden pews, theamen corners reserved for the electflanked the pulpit, at the top of three worncarpeted steps above which it proudlyreared itself, draped with its red velvettable cover and Bible, and dignified in itsposition with its high-backed chair behind

it. The communion wine was usually keptin a small cupboard under the box of thepulpit, but before revival the practice hadbeen discontinued since the son of thecaretaker had been found more or lessincompetent on the church steps withcracker-bread and wine both missing. Thetwo doors, one on either side of the pulpit,opened toward the small graveyard andthe mass of overhanging trees in the rear.In the day services, there was a smell ofhot honeysuckles and a drowsy hum ofbees, but at night there was asaccompaniment to the honeysuckles thesongs of whippoorwills—when they couldbe heard above the melee of theworshipers. Small kerosene lamps hungon the walls near the windows; lights hunglow enough, with a purpose and easily

detached from their sockets in front of theflyspecked reflectors that augmented in theleast bit the moonlight that was the greatillumination of the May revivals. Hitchingposts outside a tumbling picket fence, astile-block where equestrians might alightfrom "side saddles," and a rude tree-branched shelter for "horsebeasts" andvarious wagons outside the fence, provedthat the Holiness church in times ofrevival took care of its own.

The last Saturday night of revival weekwas the great, the vital test of spirituality.Then, if ever, souls were to be saved.Harrison Steele, asking Lora Humphrey totake him to a Holiness meeting, knewnothing of this, knew nothing of time itselfsave that the sun rose and set, and that

with each setting, he had to climb a sanddune and repeat to himself a formula thathe was more familiar with as areminiscence of schoolboy oratory than asa real, existing thing.

"One if by land—two if by sea—hell ofa thing if I get it twisted," he remarked, ashe placed the last bit of tinder under thesecond stack of drift wood before he lefthis sand-dune hill top to play hookey withLora Humphrey at a Holiness revival.

His first thought as he approached hisfirst Holiness meeting was a distinctfeeling of disappointment, as though hehad been promised a knock-out at avaudeville show and it had failed tomaterialize. Lora Humphrey drew rein onher horse a good hundred yards back from

the "stile block" to the meeting house andput her finger to her lip.

"S-s-h!" she warned. "Don't make asound! They haven't begun yet. We'll getoff here and picket our horses out of sight.They're not always anxious for outsiders.Now, be on your good behavior, no matterwhat happens."

"Hmmph!" remarked Harrison Steele,characteristically, "what could?"

Only the eerie sound of the eveningbreeze from the Sound through the treesbroke the hush of the moment Then, asfrom a distance, there broke in on theman's ears the same wailing he had heardon the island but a short time before.

"It's the old-time religion, the old-

time religion, The old-time religion—it's good enough for me"

"We're in time," whispered Lora."Come on." Harrison Steele slipped thedrop loop over his horse's head that hehad learned once from a traffic policemanin New York—not, he remembered with agrin, as befitted an adventurer, from acowboy or his ilk—and followed the girlwho went forward decorously, smoothingthe wrinkles out of a riding habit whoselength of skirt and high-necked bodicewould not have caught the eye of theeditor of a New York pictorial, hethought, with another inward grin. Buthow attractive she was in it.

The silence actually pricked. Then, asthough from the distance, but near at hand,he heard sonorous words. It was thevisiting minister to the Holiness band,giving his text from where he stood in thebox pulpit.

"Isaiah: 13-6. Howl ye! For the day ofthe Lord is at hand; it shall come as a dayof destruction from the Almighty."

A single unisoned groan from thoseoccupying the benches flanking the pulpit—the already saved—those in the seats ofthe Almighty—answered the openingwords of the prophet. The trees seemed toshiver with the repressed feelings of thosewho had come to seek— and to howl—butso far saw no reason for it.

Lora Humphrey and Harrison Steele

slipped silently into two vacant seats inthe middle section of the church. Lorasmiled in neighborly fashion at the girlwho drew aside for her, but her smile wasmet gingerly by the child of the hommockswho drew her calico one-piece garment(fashionable had she but known it) asidein an unconsciously coquettish gesture tomake room for Lora and the man from theNorthwards.

The two were marked figures in thecrush seeking salvation. The girl's smartriding habit, her finish that spoke ofworlds beyond their own; the man'sundoubted cosmopolitan outlook on thenaive meeting all had their influence onthe crowd who either drew more togetheror stared openly at the intruders. Craned

necks obtruded on the prayer thatfollowed, as Lora and Steele, followingthe example of the companions, turned andknelt, face downward, at the seats theyoccupied.

Steele leaned over to whisper to Lora.

"How long must we do this?"

"Just a moment—and don't let it hurtyour feelings too much"—she covered hermouth with her hand, "you're not half asbadly off as the man father loves to tellabout"

The sonorous chant of the men kneelingby the box pulpit, with the interjections ofthe saved in their amen corners reachedthe whisperers:

"He is so precious to us! Glory to His

name. Oh, if the unsaved could realize thegreat love He has for them—He sureblesses them and feeds our souls—Wepray they will sure turn from sin and

"My knees hurt," whispered Steele. "I'man invalid

Lora Humphrey, knowing something ofthe length of improvised prayer of theHolinessers, edged a little nearer herNorthern guest.

"And as I was saying," she went on, asthough there had been no interlude ofprayer and following a custom of many ofthe youth of Methodist and Holiness faithwhose wooing is done on their knees,literally, "dad tells about this girl. Hername was Sallie Skinner. She was at arevival meeting, but the coast guardsman

who was her sweetheart, didn't think muchof that. They'd had a good deal of anargument up at Swansboro and she had lefthim and her only trail led to the meetinghouse. He came in just as all the prayerhad been said and they were calling forlost souls to be saved. Down the aisleparaded our coast-guard friend. 'Glorybe,' shouted the preacher, 'another lookingfor salvation!' 'Not on your life,' said thecoast guardsman, 'I'm lookin' for SalSkinner '"

Harrison Steele smiled asappreciatively as though the story had notbeen an old favorite in his salad days.

The prayer ended with a chorus ofAmens and half eager groans as thoughsome of the worshipers could scarcely

wait until it should be their own turn totake part in the services. Steele and Lorarose and took their seats decorously, theireyes attentively on the minister, flanked byvisiting brothers occupying ricketywooden chairs at either side of the pulpit.Men and women settled themselves backto listen. Even before he started hisdiscourse, there was a wildness in theeyes of the minister which the man fromNew York could not but note, and wonderif there was any real message that such afanatic might have to convey. There wasrepression in the very atmosphere,pregnant with a sort of emotionalelectricity that one felt needed but thespark to start an explosion. There was astrange quality of leadership about theman, nevertheless, which the Northerner

wondered might not have accomplishedmuch had it been bent in other than thefanatical direction it had taken.

He straightened up his tall thin body toits greatest height as he began. Then, as hewarmed up to his discourse, that tall bodywrithed—he told them of hell. damnation—all that the unregenerate might expect. Itwas a vivid picture of red hot coals andfrying sinners that he pictured as thegroans of the congregation grew more andmore frequent. At first there had been astillness through which the whippoorwill'ssongs could be heard as obbligato to theparson. Gradually they were drowned out.The speaker waved his long arms likeflails. He pointed familiarly at hisaudience as he accused them of

unregeneracy; pictured what they mightexpect if they did not seek and find thesalvation he held out to them. Into thehawklike face there came the look of theavenger; he was not picturing a God oflove or pity; his was only a God of wrath.He exhorted that they find the way tosafety through the only portals open tothem—the narrow, narrow path painfullytracked out to Heaven by himself andothers of the Holiness faith. That hisdiction was anything but pure, that hefrequently fell into colloquialisms in hisfervor, that he so often made use of theword "sure" fell on ears all unheedingsave those of Steele and his girlcompanion who could not refrain fromslight smiles at each other at its fortieth orfiftieth repetition. The man's hearers might

have been hanging on the words of theGodhead. His grip on his audience wasundoubted—his oratorical power crudebut powerful. In the flicker of misery thatoccasionally swept over his raptcountenance, it could be seen that,according to his lights, he was fighting adeath battle with the powers of darkness,but fighting them in a fanatical way thatwould brook no tolerance toward thosewho in the slightest degree thoughtdifferently from himself or the sect herepresented.

From the vision of hell he firstdepicted, he dropped into more intimatematters. He told the hearers what theymight expect in a very near future.

"A great avalanche of tribulations is

hanging over the world," he thundered, hisgaunt flails of arms threshing the warm,perfumed air. "No one can tell when it isgoing to let loose its overwhelming forceupon this world and do its deadly work ofdevastation and carnage. It is only restingfor a moment to give the Lord's people achance to scale the heights of Pentecostalglory, but when this is done, the delugewill break, and what will take place thenis sure indescribable.

"The time is so near that the firstspatterings are dropping down. Oh, mybrothers and sisters, it sure does behoovethe people of God to strive to lay hold oftheir zenith of glory. It is always true thatwhere sin abounds God gives more graceto His people. There was plenty of grace

given the saints of old when they weretortured by fire. His true children shall notbe dismayed. While men's hearts arefailing them for fear of those things thatare coming on the earth, the saints of Godshall be covered with glory. It is only amatter of a little time until people shall becompelled by an unseen force to join ourranks—the deepest spiritual people of alltime. Yea, they will sure be glad to droptheir silly notions and false teachings andget under the protection thrown over andaround the true blue saints!

"The anti-Christ is now mustering hisforces, though he has not yet made hispersonal appearance. His agents are atwork. But, oh, if the unsaved could realizewhat great love Jesus has for them, they

would accept him before it is too late"

He wiped the beads of perspiration,that had gathered with his increasingfervor, from his high bony forehead. For amoment his arms dropped to his sides.Then, with the instinct that belongs only tothe truly dramatic orator, he raised onehand and spoke in an intimate tone to hishearers—as though man to man.

"Sinners," he pleaded,conversationally, "Jesus is coming soon.Won't it be awful to be without God?"

For a moment more he stood in thatattitude. The hush was unbroken, save bypent-up breathing. Not even the whisper ofSteele caused a tremor in the atmosphereas he spoke almost inaudibly out of thecorner of his mouth to Lora.

"The old chap is 'sure' an orator," hecomplimented. "Even makes me a bitgoose-fleshy."

Through that silence, the voice of thespeaker boomed out with suddenness. Hisdiscourse had ended as abruptly as it hadbegun. He had sensed the dramaticmoment.

"Come to Jesus!" he exhorted, with astrength of lungs that shook the rafters ofthe building. "Now— now—is theaccepted time! Turn from your sin, for yeknow not the day that the Son of mancometh!"

Motionless as a statute he stood, hislong bony arms outstretched over theheads of his emotional audience. A brokensob; a long tremulous sigh; a slight

fluttering of electrically charged garmentsbespoke the first breaking of the tension.

Lora Humphrey gripped Steele's arm.

"Sit still," she advised. "Don't besurprised at what happens. They're"

CHAPTER XIII

ROM over in the Amen corner on thewoman's side of the church a woman'squavering soprano was lifted in a thinthread of song.

"Come to Jesus—come to Jesus—come toJesus just now!"

One after another joined in as thewailing song was taken up by a sister orbrother in various parts of the meetinghouse.

"Just now He will save you—come toJesus just now!"

Visiting ministers stood up and lookedeagerly about them, ready for theministrations they knew to be at hand. A

thin hag of a woman rose from her seatand swayed backward and forward as shecovered her face with her hand.

"I've sinned! I've sinned!" shescreamed. "Have mercy! I've sinned"

An overseer made his way to her tolead her to the altar, taking her from theministrative hands of sisters and brotherswho had bounded forward to uphold her.Groans and sighs from all parts of thechurch attested that the harvest of soulswas ready for garnering. It seemed but thetwinkling of an eye before the place wasin a turmoil. Steele saw the drawn whitefaces of those who rose to totter forward,aided by the willing hands of theregenerate who busied themselves inleading the lost sheep to the altar before

the box-like pulpit—an altar hastilyimprovised from turned-down chairsvacated by the visiting ministers andoverseers. They groveled there, theirgroans of anguish rising above theexhortations of the saved, the shouts ofGlory! Hallelujah! as one after anotherproclaimed the wanted salvation. Abovethe din could be heard the wails of thecalico-clad woman who had started thehubbub.

"Oh, I must be saved! I've sinned! I'vesinned!" she shrieked. "I must dosomething to be saved. I must wash thefeet of the saints!"

From somewhere appeared a wobblysister in Israel bearing a tin basin of waterwhich she placed before the altar. In all

gravity, men and women who had neverceased their singing, allowed their shoesand stockings (Steele could see that therewere not many of the latter) to beremoved. With tears streaming down herface, the seeker of salvation took up hertask of foot washing. But when she cameto the minister, his feet she dried with herdrab straggly hair. One after another tookup the ceremony.

"It is the foot-washing," explained Lora,not in a whisper, however, for it could nothave been heard. Steele nodded, his face astudy, whether to laugh or to have pity onthese woods children.

Still in his bare feet, the parsonclambered to his pulpit.

"The harvest is ripe, my brothers!" he

boomed. "Have faith! Have faith!"

A scream from an hysterical woman inthe center of the church answered hischallenge.

"I have it! I have it!" she howled. Herbony arm shot up and removed the hotchimney from one of the side lamps. Shewaved it above her head, clutching ittightly. "See! See! It cannot burn me! Ihave faith!"

One after another followed herexample. Hot chimneys waved aloft, amidthe din of exhorters. Chimneyless lightsflickered smokily and licked against thewoodwork of the window jambs.

"They sure have faith the church won'tburn down," was Steele's low-toned aside

to his companion who only answered himwith a gentle pressure on the arm to besilent. But she turned her head aside andher face was sickly white as she saw thenext move of the barefooted leader. Fromin back of the pulpit he produced awrithing bronze copperhead which hewaved aloft over his head. The reptile'sshimmery body caught all the glints of theflickering lights as it strove to get itsvenomous head in a position to strike at itsenemy. Howls, shouts, screams of victoryand fanatical believing greeted theperformance. Lora Humphrey hid her faceon the coat sleeve of Steele—anunconscious performance on her partwhich brought a thrill of delight andprotective impulse to the man—as handsreached up to clutch the snake from the

minister's grasp, to be passed from hand tohand amidst a babble of strange languagethat smote the ears queerly.

"Their supreme test of faith," Loramuttered chokily, "—and do you hearthem? It has given them what they call thepower to speak in unknown tongues."

To Steele's ears, the sounds were notunlike what

he imagined the chattering of a primitivepeople would

have been. Higher and higher it rose, averitable

Babel of sound. From one corner of thechurch a

small band were singing, their song

interspersed with

shouts:

"It's the old time religion

It's good enough for me"

Quite unconscious of rivalry, fromanother section came a slower wailing:

"Just as I am, without one plea, But that Thy blood was shed for me"

A sound of crashing glass rose abovethe other sounds. Another and another.Steele saw the lamp chimneys hurled ontothe floor. Those already barefooted sprangforward to dance upon them. Other shoesand hose came off to be thrown feverishlyaside as their owners joined in the dance.

"Glory! Hallelujah! It can't hurt me! I'msaved! I'm saved!"

A carpet was ripped up, and its tackshastily strewn beneath the feet of thedancers. Steele took notice of the big hulkof a man who performed the service. Hislook was one of surprise as he turned toLora.

"Why, isn't that "he began.

She nodded, and there was a scornfultilt to her bright head.

"Yes, that's Hal—Hal Everett," was heranswer, a contemptuous note in her voice."He's been playing with the Holinessersfor a week or more now; why, no one canguess, but I haven't a doubt he has somemotive. He's deep, is Hal. Hasn't seemed

even to mind the jibes of the other coastguardsmen a bit, they say, but is alwayswith Uncle Billy Peter Willis —youremember I told you all about him, andhow he never practiced his religion in hishome, don't you? Uncle Billy claims Halas his own particular convert."

"That the old fellow with thebenevolent shiny face and white beard?"Steele pointed out the old man who was inhis element, exhorting, praying, shouting,dancing in his bare feet as though he werea score or more years younger. Again thegirl nodded, and a humorous glint came toher eyes as she answered.

"Yes, that's Uncle Billy Peter. Perhapshe's happy over getting his feet washed. Ishouldn't guess it to be a very frequent

occurrence. And see—over there in thecorner—the girl sitting so quietly—thegirl in that faded old blue calico? That'shis daughter, Salvation—Sal, they callher. Her father makes her come here, butno one knows better than I what she isthinking when she sees her father so full ofthis

kind of religion "The girl's voice trailedoff as

to her mind there came a vision of a half-starved baby to whom the religious fanaticthey were watching denied the milk sonecessary to the little one's life.

Instead of abating, it seemed to Steelethat the religious fury of the Holinesserswas but gaining strength at each newestexcess. Women, unheeded by the dancing,

shouting fanatics, lay here and there onfloor or benches where they had fallen ina coma from sheer exhaustion. Bloodstained the hands and faces and garmentsof the singing, sweating crowd, bloodfrom broken glass and from sharp knivesthat had passed from hand to hand, but asfar as any physical pain was concerned,there seemed to be none. Voices wereraised louder and louder as another andanother,: led from what sanity they hadhitherto shown were caught in theemotional malestrom, tottered up theaisles to seek the salvation that theminister and his visiting cohorts had neverceased to urge upon them, Steele lookedabout him with distaste, and a slightshudder went through his frame.

"Come on," he told Lora, "let's go. I'vehad enough salvation for one evening."

The girl smiled up at him as she rose tofollow. Neither of them saw the glancethat was turned in their direction as HalEverett, his brow clouded to the blacknessof a thunderstorm, saw them for the firsttime. Nor did they see him quickly makehis way to the side of the sweating UncleBilly Peter, grasp his arm with a grip ofsteel to bring him out of his religiousfrenzy and whisper to him. With somethingof a snarl, the old man turned and saw theman from the Northward and the daughterof his enemy as they stood up andprepared to leave. A wild shout, louder,more compelling than all the rest brought asudden check to the groans and shouting.

Uncle Billy Peter Willis stood like anavenger in the middle of the crowd ofworshipers, his arm outstretched towardSteele and Lora, one gnarled old fingerpointing them out. One word he thundered.

"Jezebel!"

If there had been silence following thetension of the parson's exhortation, it wasnow a thousand times intensified. Ahundred tongues clove to the roofs ofmouths, stopped in their clatter ofunknown tongues. Dancers stood stockstill and stared. But the small blue eyes ofUncle Billy Peter never wavered from thetwo to whom he called attention. Thensolemnly he began to speak.

"The Lord has delivered them into ourhands," he shouted, sonorously. "They

have been sent that the people of the Lordmight make of them an example. Brothersand sisters, you may know nothing of it,but before you stand two people whowould make of our little corner of theworld a spot despised of the Lord! Let metell you"

And as Lora and Steele stood,transfixed, horror stricken at the venom ofthe old man, he poured forth vituperativeaccusation that could but bring gasps ofamazement from their lips. In thebackground, leering cunningly, they couldsee Hal Everett.

The girl was the first to recover speech.She whirled toward her accuser.

"Uncle Billy Peter Willis," her voicerang out, clear, cuttingly, "you ought to be

ashamed of yourself! How dare you! You—to call yourself a Christian! You, tohelp anyone seek the way to God! Oh, Iknow you—they all know you, if theywould come to their senses enough toadmit itl You, with your own grandchilddying this minute because you're too stingyto give him food! Oh, OH! You're toodreadful, you horrible old creature!" Shewas trembling in her righteous wrath. Shedid not even feel the tug Steele gave hersleeve, urging her to come with him.

But the old man stood his ground. Hissmall eyes flashed back glance for glance.

"Jezebel!" he hurled at her once more."'The dogs shall eat Jezebel by the wallsof Jezreel.'"

"Ugh!" shivered Steele. "I'd like to

wring his wretched old neck. Will, too—but come, let's get out of this now!" TheNorthern man had seen mobs before. Hedid not like the temper of this one hangingon the words of the gray-bearded oldfanatic, the glints in their eyes ominous.One never could tell what mobs would do.Again he urged the girl to haste, but shehad not had her say.

"Billy Peter Willis," she cried, hervoice vibrant with righteous indignation."You'll hear from this —you and yourwhole band of make-believe religionists!You're—you're, why you're just awful!"

His sharp glance also took in thewaiting throng that hesitated for his nextwords.

"Brothers!" he shouted. "Sisters of the

Pentecostal Band—the Lord has deliveredthem into the hands of his anointed—thiswoman of scarlet and the man from theNorth'ard who would bring ruination toour homes, then come here to make a mockof our

religion Shall they go free—withoutchastisement

from we-all, His chosen"

Muttered grumbles answered the oldman's outburst. Slowly, first one, thenanother edged up the aisle toward the spotwhere Steele was urging Lora from herseat. With cat-like stealth, a mockingsmile on his lips, the light of revenge inhis eyes, Hal Everett made his waythrough the throng toward the door throughwhich they must pass.

"No! No! No!" came the answer, then aroar as the crowd surrounded the twoabout to step into the aisle. A woman'sshrill shriek took up the taunt.

"Jezebel!"

One voice after another joined in—afeminine chorus, for most part, it became.

"Jezebel! Jezebel! Jezebel!"

From the first outburst, the parson hadstood transfixed. It was evident thatviolence had had no part in his exhorting,and now he was for the moment awed,helpless to stem what his own oratory hadbeen most responsible for. He leapedtoward the front pew and mounted it in hisbare bleeding feet.

"Brethern!" he shouted. "Remember

where you are! Sisters!"

But his words fell on unheeding ears.They were as blood hounds who hadscented their quarry. A woman's longtalon-like claw reached out and plucked atLora's riding habit. A rip of hooksannounced the tearing of the garment. Itwas as the blood scent Steele, leaping infront of the girl, both arms outstretched toprotect her from the advancing femininemob, frenzied with their recent religiousfever, emotionally alive to the fact thathere was a concrete way in which theycould show their religious superiority,was unable to check them. On they came.For the first moment, he hesitated to usehis strength against women, but as handafter hand reached for the girl at his side,

and his glance showed her proud, butfrightened eyes, her garments from viciousonslaughts, beginning to hang in ribbons,all thought of chivalry save toward herwas forgotten. One arm reached round herwaist and he swung her onto the woodenbench behind him. Then, his arms workinglike flails, he beat back the waves ofinfuriated females bent on destruction.Above the melee could be heard the voiceof Uncle Billy Peter urging them on.

"The Lord is on the side of right!" hebawled. "He shall rend the evil limb fromlimb!"

Lora Humphrey, standing on the benchbeside her defender, was not inactive. Herlithe arms shot out with rhythmic precisionas one assaulter after another measured

her length on or between the benches.Steele caught sight of her as he drove hisright into the crowd.

"Atta girl!" he panted. "Give 'em thehell they're afraid of!"

But numbers were too many for him.The man's feminine opponents did notfight with any idea of technique. Teeth,claws, pins, broken glass—everythingavailable was brought to bear on the manin efforts to get to the girl whom so manyhad called neighbor and loved, but whomnow an insane fury bade only to destroy.A moment he was borne back by a freshonslaught. Then he felt a viciously strongarm clutch him about the waist, and, takenunawares, he was pulled from his vantagepoint between the benches, to roll over

and over on the floor beneath kicking feetin the arms of his assaulter. He felt a hotbreath on his cheek; saw two fiery eyesclose, then a harsh voice.

"Well, we'll have it out, me bucko!" Itwas the voice of Hal Everett. "Now is asgood a time as any!"

Steele squirmed from the strangleholdto land a blow full in the sneering face,but it apparently only slightly dazed thehardy coast guardsman.

"You—you "he began, but breath wasprecious.

The man had him down again. Over andover they rolled, each struggling foradvantage.

But as Steele had gone down, another

champion had come to the aid of the girldefending herself from the furious women.Kicking, biting, pulling hair, using asuperhuman strength to force her waythrough the mob, a girl in a faded bluecalico gown had reached LoraHumphrey's side and leapt beside her,throwing an arm about her as with theother she struck out with vicious blows.

"Oh, Lory! Lory!" she sobbed. "It's me—I'll not let them hurt you, Lory!" Then tothe oncoming crowd who had beendeterred but a moment, while many ofthem were fighting among themselves, soinsane was their reasoning, she flung outfuriously: "Don't you dast touch her—youhear me? Don't you dast!"

A raucous gust of laughter answered

her.

"Another one!" jeered a fat dame whosejelly-like sides were shaking in hereagerness to get near her prey. "The Lordsho' has delivered 'em to we-uns thisnight!"

But it was another hand that firstreached the two girls clinging together onthe wooden bench. Uncle Billy Peter camethrough the struggling mass like a rocket.With all his strength he tore his daughter'scircling arms from about Lora and flungher over two benches into the aisle.

"Hussy!" he roared. "Would youinterfere with the people of the Lord in theperformance of their duty? Begone!I'll'tend to you!"

It was the same hand that gave the finalrip to the skirt of Lora Humphrey that toreits protection from her and left herstanding there, boyish in the tight knickersthat had been beneath it, her coat hangingin shreds from torn white shoulders.

So quickly had the assault been made,so dumbfounded had been the Holinessleaders at what was taking place, that theyhad not gathered their wits quickly enoughto stop it. Now they were trying, but withscant success. Even their exhortations,their prayers were of no avail in face ofthe humor of the feminine mob intent on acumulative revenge, born partly ofreligious insanity, partly of long months ofsubconscious envy of the girl before them.But they did their best to press back the

infuriated women, so that the girl was ableto leap to a more protected spot. Even inher own distress, she found herself givinga quick thought to what was happening toSteele. She shut her eyes and a quick sobcame to her throat, a sob that ended in aprayer, as she saw the man she knew sheloved struggling on the church floor withthe other man who had aspired to be herlover.

What she had not seen in those fewminutes, though —what no one in all thecrowd saw—was the other girl who hadbeen thrown aside by her own father.Salvation Willis lay for a moment, halfstunned. She tried to rise, but there was apain in her right shoulder that sickenedher. She gritted her teeth and glanced

toward the open church doors. No chanceof escape there. The overflow fromoutside had filled them to overflowing inthe desire to see all that could be seen.Slowly, painfully, she half raised herselfto peep over the top of a bench. Shegroaned as she realized the uselessness oftrying to go back to the aid of the girl whowas her best friend. Then, with one hand,she crawled, cat-like, toward the openwindow nearest her. As painfully, sheraised herself to grasp the sill. Sheglanced about her. No one was watching.Gritting her teeth for a final effort, the girlin the faded blue calico lifted herself upwith the aid of her injured arm, anddropped out of sight into the darkness ofthe night outside.

Lora Humphrey was never able to givea coherent account of the ten minutes thatfollowed—minutes each of which were alifetime. She had an indistinct memory ofa few men (those cooler headed ones, ledby the parson and visiting clergy, shediscovered later) striving with shouts andprayer and main force to stem the tide ofinfuriated women who sought to get at her.She saw them try to separate the two menfighting on the floor—heard the shouts ofthe combatants as they pleaded to be leftalone. Then there was an infuriated roarfrom some of the women onlookers at thefloor battle; a sort of animal-like cry ofrage and bafflement. She uncovered hereyes to look. She was just in time to seeHal Everett stagger against a pew,unbalanced for a moment at an unexpected

blow of his skilled opponent. Then, in thetwinkling of an eye she saw Steele plant aheavy right-handed blow on the bull neckof the coast guardsman who fell heavilyacross a seat. He did not rise. He couldnot. Hal Everett was asleep for some timeto come, all thought of fight gone from himfor the time being. He was dreaming of theangels about which he had been listening.

A sudden roar from angry throats camefrom outside. It reached the doorway.Here onlookers hastily fell, or werebrushed aside by the new element thatentered the fray. Men piled through thedoorway, rushed the unseeing mob; menarmed with shotguns, with pitchforks,hammers, hastily collected weapons of alldescriptions; men headed by a wild-eyed,

frothing leader—Theophilus LopstropHumphrey.

The irate father was not the first toreach his daughter's side, though. Allunconscious of nearby allies, HarrisonSteele turned from the man he haddowned, and leapt to the side of the girlwho was striving all she could to forceback the women who were determined toreach her. It was a Steele few would haverecognized, though, this battered,bleeding, dusty caricature of a man whoseonce immaculate garments hung on him inshreds. He lifted the girl in his arms andsought to force his way through the mobaided by those who had tried to protecther.

"Courage, little girl!" he whispered.

"We've got 'em going! We'll be out of thisin a minute!"

Such prophecy would have beendoubtful of consummation had not thecohorts of Theophilus Humphrey arrivedwhen they did. At the very sight of thedetermined rescuers, women who hadbeen fighting animals but a momentbefore, fell back, whimpering, crying,pleading, trying to pull together their torngarments and (womanlike) make orderlydisarranged hair. Uncle Billy Peter Willisslunk pulpit-ward like a scared rabbit.Theophilus Humphrey fixed him with hiscold gray eye.

"You, Billy Peter Willis!" he shoutedsternly. "Come here before I come and gitye! Would set your female tigers on my

little gal, would ye? I've a mind to blowyour useless brains out here and now, yeold hypocrite!" He raised his riflemenacingly. The white-bearded old mancringed near the pulpit.

"Now, Theo," he cried. "Ye don'tknow"

Then a semblance of bravado came tohim, and he leered. "What ye think GodA'Mighty goin' to do to ye, harborin' ascarlet woman—be she your owndaughter?"

Old Theo's rifle that had been loweredby one of the men with him once moreswung to his shoulder.

His lips were set in a grim tight line.

"Say them words agin," he demanded,

"and"

It was Lora who prevented the tragedy.She flew to her father's side, tugging at theweapon.

"Pap! Oh, Pap!" she cried, her voicebreaking hysterically, the only sign ofwhat she had endured before hisappearance. "Don't—don't do it! He isn'tworth it! And I can't spare you!" The armswung down at her tugging. "There's a somuch better way!" She pulled her father'shead down to whisper. Slowly, as thoughunwillingly, the father's angry lipsstraightened out, till a grin spread over hisface. But he never took his eyes fromthose of the man who was his avowedenemy, the man whom all the countrysideknew for what he was. He, as well as the

girl, was unconscious that the church wasfast being emptied, that where there hadbut a few moments before been a mob,were only torn bits of garments, brokenglass and overturned benches. Theavengers were dispersing.

Theophilus Lopstrop Humphreygrinned. He did not notice that the menwho had entered the church with him werequietly herding the now exhausted womenin groups through the doorways. Henodded, pleased.

"Yes," he admitted, "that would hurthim a durned sight more than a bullet." Heturned to the gaping few who remained,and to the parson who mopped his beadedforehead and shook his head inbewilderment at it all. "Neighbors," he

announced, "ye-all have seen how this oldbuzzard tried to do for my little gal. Effenit hadn't been for her, I'd a shot himstraight in his face and eyes. As for thatother one," and he turned to touch theunconscious body of Hal Everett with acontemptuous cow-hide-clad toe, "wal, I'low as how our friend from the North'ardhas mommicked him up a-plenty already.Now it's your turn." He turned savagely onthe old man who cringed behind his bench."These here neighbors," he went on, "arewitness to what I've got to say, an' whatyou're a-goin' to do. To-morrow we'llhave papers drawed up, legal-like. Lory'lows, an' I 'low she's right, that it'll hurtyou hardest to be hit in your pocketbook.So now, let me tell you that from this nighton, you're goin' to give them grandchildren

of yours all they want to eat and wear;ye're going to

feed your live stock, and "and he lifted hisfinger

to point impressively, "what's most of all,ye're going to give that gal of yours aneddication"

Uncle Billy Peter Willis gulped. Surelythe Lord was laying a heavy hand on him.Old Humphrey went on.

"You agree?"

His adversary nodded. For once BillyPeter IWillis was beyond speech.Humphrey swept his hand to include allhis hearers.

"Ye hear, neighbors?" he inquired.

"Ye're all witness? Good! And let me tellye that gal Salvation desarves hit. Effen ithadn't been for her poppin' up out of thedarkness with a busted arm and tellin' meand these here friends of mine that was a-passin' near on our way to clear out a nesto' moonshiners down toward the East'ard,no tellin' what would have happened"

Steele smiled grimly. So that was howit had happened. He had been wondering.He inwardly gave his meed of praise tothe grit of the country girl whom he hadlast seen being thrown over a churchbench by an irate father. Lora Humphreysmiled tenderly.

"Darling Sal!" she murmured,appreciatively.

From outside came the rumble of carts

and patter of horses' feet as the Holinesscongregation took their homeward way.They spoke in hushed whispers.Occasionally a sob from some over-wrought woman testified to theemotionalism that had possessed her, butin the main the congregation were quietly,hurriedly leaving. Not though, without theknowledge that they had something to talkabout for many a moon to come. Holinessmeetings had never been noted for beingsubdued; still nothing quite equal to thishad ever occurred before. From down theroad, one wagonload, more brave than theothers, quaveringly, hesitatingly took up arefrain, but it had lost its electric quality u

"It's the old-time religion, the old-time religion,

The old-time religion—it's good enough for me"

"Do you think you can ride back allright?"

Harrison Steele was solicitous as LoraHumphrey, leaning on her father's armstood by the side of her tethered horse.She laughed, rather a ghost of the merrylaugh she had flung him a short hourbefore in the same spot.

"How else would I get home—unlessyou and pap want to make a basket of yourhands and carry me? Why, of course, I canride—but can you ride—that's more to thepoint? You see, I didn't get particularlyinjured, except in the feelings and theriding habit,

but you "There was pity in her eyes forSteele

as she extended her arms to her father wholifted her to her saddle.

As they rode homeward through thestar-spangled night, Steele spokeruminatively.

"What," he asked, "was that text weheard that long parson giving out when wegot to that meetinghouse? I want toremember it."

Lora shook her head.

"I can't remember," she regretted, "but itwas something about 'howl.'"

She could not see the humorous quirk tothe big man's lips as for a moment he was

silent.

"Off-hand," said Harrison Steele, "Ishould say, they did."

CHAPTER XIV

FOUR days later the first of June hadarrived. Practically all evidence of thescrimmage which Harrison Steele had hadwith Hal Everett had disappeared, savefor a slight blue line under one eye whichtestified to the ferocity with which thecoast guardsman had sought to use his uglytactics of gouging. Healthy and strong ashe was, Steele usually recovered from anysuch disability in record time. They hadalways said at the university that HarrySteele could show up the next day, withoutcourt plaster, after the most strenuousglove battle, when his opponent morelikely than not was a subject for hospitaltreatment. So it was in this case. Hardenedas he was, Hal Everett had not recovered

as had Steele, and it had not softened histemper, or his furious desire for revengeon the man from New York, that he hadbeen the victim of jibes and laughter fromhis chosen companions down atSwansboro where he had first gone forsolace after his captain had laid him offfor a few days in which to recuperate."Being licked" was something thatheretofore had had no place in the coastguardsman's lexicon. And in his then state,he was not in a position to resent with hisready fists anything that might be said tohim. The lump on his head where it hadcome in contact with the edge of thewooden bench in the church was stillpainful, and— what was worse—constantly reminiscent of his downfall inmore ways than one. His battered

countenance did not make him a thing ofbeauty, nor even a subject for condolenceamong the fair sex who hitherto hadalways looked on him with admiring eyes.Indeed, he more than once was able todiscern distinct titters as he passed alongthe street, and this had in no wise gone tomake his anger against Steele any the less.Hal Everett was a fallen hero. And it didnot set well with him. Likely it would besome time, too, before he could resumehis coast guard duties, and be alone tonurse his vengeance as he patrolled thewild coast. So, after a few suchexperiences as had met him in Swansboro,the big brown man had sullenly sulked offby himself. No one knew exactly where hewent most of the time, but there were talesthat said he could be seen at nearly any

hour of the night, furiously stalking alongthe sand dunes, muttering to himself.Sometimes he was not stalking, either, forthere was an illuminating reel to hisstagger. Venders of Monkey Rum werefinding in Hal Everett a steady customer.

Though rumors of his adversary'scondition came to him, along with adviceto beware of the man who was known tobe treacherous, Harrison Steele was notworrying. His set-to with Steele heconsidered a closed incident. There wereother matters of more moment, moreweighty, to claim his attention. First, therewas the wonder of his newly recognizedlove for Lora Humphrey. To a man likeSteele who had so successfully escapedthe nets of the feminine for all the years of

his young manhood, only to find himself atlast a helpless captive at the feet of a girlwho, undoubtedly, never even imagined it,was a wonder that needed seriouscontemplation. He wanted so to tell her.Whenever he saw her, the words thatwelled to his lips all but slipped fromthem. But there was a hesitancy. He couldnot understand it. For the first time in hislife, Harrison Steele, though he had neverconsidered himself conceited in his beliefthat he was good enough for any one (thatwas self-respect, he argued) now had anunaccountable feeling that he wasunworthy. And it was the happenings ofthe last few weeks that had made him so.He was engaged in an enterprise thatcould not bear the light of day. While hewas, he felt that he could not, must not, tell

this wonderful girl how he felt about her.

Then there was the second thing toclaim his attention. Just a week or sobefore, it had been the paramount thing. Itwas paramount now only in that it kept hislips closed as far as the girl wasconcerned, and that he still felt his duty tohis New York companions until such atime as he should find they were safely outof it. He was worried greatly about them.Two days before, according to his ownand their calculations, the Falcon shouldhave put back into Bogue Inlet. Whatcould have happened? He reviled himselffor having allowed them to take the fooljourney. All the booze in the world wasnot worth it.

There was not much sleep for Harrison

Steele during the days that followed hisexciting church-going experience. It wasin his head that his companions from NewYork would try to make the island in thedarkness, if possible. Indeed, this hadbeen the idea when the scheme of thebonfires had been devised—so his vigilson the sand dunes were late ones at night,and early—very early—ones in themorning. Often as early as three o'clockfound him at his lookout, and he had cometo know the night scenes as well as theday. For once in his life, he knew howdarkness melted into daylight. He watchedthe stars and the moon go out, and thedawn come in. Not until the first rays ofthe sun rising far out at sea tinged the darkblue of the ocean with its rays of purpleand gold and crimson and violet, did he

leave his post. Old Henry was in aquandary. He went about muttering tohimself.

"Dat Marse Harrison's jes' desleepinest man," he complained in hisloneliness. "Thought he wanted to fish fordrum or go gittin' marsh hens, and hyar heis a-sleepin' come dinner time."

Suffice it to explain that Steele had nottaken Henry, any more than any one else,into his confidence as to his nightlyprowling.

It was on a misty night that HarrisonSteele slipped down the path to his sanddune. Mist was rolling in from the sea,much as it had on the night he had had hisfirst glimpse of it off Bogue. Reaching thetop of the dune, he lighted a bit of the

kindling under one of his laid bonfires tosee if it would work. It went out with alittle sizzling sound.

"Hmmph!" muttered Steele. "Won't bemuch of a bonfire if they make it to-night.Doubt if they could see it in all this mist,any way. Wonder what's happened!"

He set down to begin his long, lonelyvigiL As always, though, it was not somuch of the fate of his friends of which hethought as of the lovely girl sleepingpeacefully over in her home in the grovein the hommocks across the Sound. Thefirst faint streaks of a battle gray dawnwere lighting the mist when he arousedhimself. Some sixth sense told him thatsomething was about to happen—something was happening somewhere out

there in the black expanse of sea beforehim. He stood up to listen. At first only thebooming of the surf on the sand was all hecould hear. Then, faintly, very faintly, hecaught the sounds of the explosions of anengine. That must be the Falcon. And shewas in a hurry. Coming dangerously closeinshore, too, he thought. Surely they musthave warned Captain McMaster of thedanger of those submerged sand hills offthe coast—those dangers worse than rockson which so many a good ship and truehad floundered and foundered in otherpirate days. He turned to his bonfires.There was no trouble by land. He wassure of that. His vigil had been too longthis night. His hand trembled just a bit ashe struck a match to light a bonfire. Itwould not light. Then the other. With

another sizzling sound the wet tindersmothered out. A muttered imprecation ashe heard the sounds at sea once more,above the surf's roar, and another matchwas set to the first bonfire. As it blazedweakly, then caught, he ran down the sandhill and toward the beach. He coulddistinctly hear the yacht's sounds now, butan augmented lighting behind him madehim turn to see that both his bonfires wereblazing briskly, fanned by the breeze thathad sprung up with the coming morning."Damn!" he imprecated. "That'll beach 'emsure!" He realized that with the lighting ofthe second fire he had given the signal forall haste ashore, since there was troubleby sea. One fire would have proclaimedthat all was well on land—it was takenfor granted that they could tell for

themselves if there was trouble at sea."Well, it can't be helped," he mumuredphilosophically. "Maybe there is troubleat sea, and perhaps the old Falcon canstand a beaching, after all."

As if in answer to his musing, a suddenboom came across the expanse of waterand mist.

"Damn!" repeated Steele. "Revenuecutter! Now for it!"

He heard the yacht's engine give anexplosive sputter, then a whir; then stop. Itcould not be far from shore, but in the misthe could see nothing. But he knew that theyacht had stopped; beached probably, orcaught on one of those ocean sand hills.He wondered what to do, and as hewondered, there came another roar across

the water, farther off this time, as thoughthe revenue cutter that was doubtless afterthe yacht was shooting at random. Then, ashe stood there helplessly, as on a previousoccasion, the mist lifted for a moment andhe saw, clearly outlined against the blackof the water, his own yacht; its prow sethigh in the air, where it had run aground.Men were hurriedly lowering a lifeboat.He saw two of them drop overboard intoit, then something in heavy bags washurriedly lowered to them. They started topull for shore. Far out, nearer the horizon,he saw the smoke from a cutter's gun, butit was not pointed toward his yacht. Then,as suddenly as it had lifted, the mistclosed down once more.

Steele ran out waist deep through the

combers to clutch the small boat that washurriedly making its way inshore. Themuffled voice of Card well came to him.

"Take a hand there, old top!" he said."We'll beat 'em yet! Your two lights savedus—but say, how in Tophet did you makeout Uncle Sammie's little plaything outthere through all this mistl Just in time,too, I'd say—Cap McMaster was formaking the Inlet"

There was no time for Steele to explainthe accident that undoubtedly wasresponsible for the cutter's failing to pickup its quarry. He heaved mightily on thesmall boat with its heavy load as theothers leapt into the water to help pull itinshore. Billy Meade, as little talkative asever, was, however, busy.

"Brought this stuff too far to have to turnit over to the revenuers," he announced."Don't think much of vacationing inFederal pen anyhow. Got to get it ashore.Bury it—pirate stuff—all that sort ofthing."

The willing hands of the three menlifted the heavy filled burlap bags from thesmall boat and tossed them on the beach.

"Can't leave 'em here," advisedCardwell. "Got to bury them, as Meadesays. Got to hurry after the other stuff, too—Clem Ashley'll be having a fit to get ridof it. We left him as custodian, and I willsay he was game, even if he did facehaving that revenue cutter spot him whilehe was in sole possession. Here, Steele,you chase back there in those sand dunes

and find a place. Dig! Not too close toshore. We'll heave back for the rest beforethis mist rises." Cardwell had been headof the expedition for so long that he didnot now turn any authority over to Steele,or acknowledge that he was only nominalhead. The habit was too strong. But Steeledid not notice. Events were occurring sorapidly, that his one thought now was inobeying the coolest head, in doing what hesuggested. He turned toward the sanddunes, as the small boat headed yachtwardthrough the mist.

Twenty minutes later, the contrabandcargo from Bermuda had all beenremoved from the Falcon, and was safelyburied under a flattened heap of wet sandbehind a high dune. Cardwell stood on the

shore and stretched wearily.

"Whew!" he announced. "I've earnedmine all right—could use one right now,too, if it wasn't all so safely buried"

Clem Ashley spoke hesitantly, as thoughhe might be considered a naughty schoolboy.

"Left a couple aboard," he told them."Rheumatism, epizootics; all that, youknow. In case—too much water, youknow"

"Well, you're not quite a fool after all,"was Cardwell's comment. "I'm for it!Jump in, Steele, we'll go aboard forrefreshments."

To their astonishment, Harrison Steeleshook his head in refusal.

"No, I think not," he said ruminatively,but Ashley broke in with a jeer.

"Well, wouldn't that freeze you?" heasked the universe at large, then to hisfriend: "What's the matter, old top? Gotreligion while we were sailing the briny?"

A broad grin, enigmatical, spreadacross the face of Steele.

"Religion?" he queried. "Well, I'll sayso! Tell you all about it later. Better begetting back to the yacht, though, now—that revenuer will be calling on you soon,or I miss my guess. You'll have to receivethem in state—and not such a state asyou're in now— Say, though," and heseemed to think of something, as hisfriends started to their boat, "there'ssomething else. We'll want to find that

stuff again, and when the marks of diggingare swept away, we'll have a hell of atime in this sand waste. Nobody knowsbetter than I by now how much every bitof this shore is alike. No wonder those oldpirates lost their treasure. I've no mind tolose ours, after all this trouble, andnarrow escape. I'll have to chart it." Helooked about him as he spoke, thenindicated the coast guard clock stationnear at hand. "There's the only thing alongthis whole blasted waste that isimmovable. I'll take my markings fromthat." He pulled something from his ulsterpocket. "Got a small compass here—found good use for it, too, when I've beenprowling around."

Clem Ashley waved to him from his

seat in the stern of the ship's boat.

"See you later!" he called mockingly, asthe strong arms of Grayson Card well shotthe small craft through the foam of surf."Pray for us!"

Harrison Steele stood watching themfor a moment. The light of morning wasfast lifting the mist. Plainly he could seethe Falcon as it reared itself like afrightened steed on the submerged sandreef. Its position was not in the leastdangerous, he knew—as he also was surethat the yacht would in time be able tofloat itself, when its prow should havewedged itself further down in the sand andhelped the waters to push it aside. Hegrinned appreciatively, too, when he sawdimly through the lifting mist that the

revenue cutter had undoubtedly spied itsprey and was bearing down on the coastof Bogue Island at a pretty clip. Then heturned with his compass in hand towardthe coast guard pole to begin hiscalculations.

A half hour later, once more from hisvantage point atop the sand dune besidethe charred remains of his bonfires, Steelesaw the cutter bear to near the yacht, andheard the megaphoned announcement incurt tones that the officers were comingaboard.

Surprise was on the countenance of theofficer in charge of the boarding party ashe was met at the rail by GraysonCardwell, immaculate in yachtingflannels, his suave manner expressing

delight at the visit. Lolling in deck chairsaft, a bit uncomfortable because of theyacht's tilt, but urbanity itself, ClemAshley and Billy Meade watched the blueuniformed men clamber over the rail, thenrose and came forward to extend theirgreetings. It was more than evident that theofficer in charge was nonplused at theirappearance and the manner of vessel hehad come to board. It was so evidently agentleman's pleasure yacht. Cardwell,seeing this at a glance, inwardlycongratulated himself on the foresight thathad caused him to insist that the entireparty outfit themselves as becomingmembers of a yachting party while theywere at Bermuda.

"I am Lieutenant Barrows," the chief

officer introduced himself, "you willpardon me, I'm sure, but I— er—wethought that you"

Cardwell smiled condescendingly, hiseyebrows lifted a trifle as he replied witha nod. "I understand. You—er—thoughtwe were engaged in what I believe isvulgarly known as rum running."

The officer nodded uncomfortably.

"Of course, it is hard for us todistinguish," he said, apologetically, "wecan't trust any one, it seems, and when yourefused to stand to back there"

"Our mistake," magnanimously offeredCardwell, "but we could not imagine youmeant us!" Surprise showed in his verymanner. "Something went wrong with our

compass last night, and we got lost in themist, and"

"We're not much as mariners anyhow, Iimagine," came from Billy Meade, withhis slow smile. "We're guests, you mightsay. This is the Falcon, owner HarrisonSteele, the New York broker, you know.We have just come up from Biscayne Bay,headed for Bogue Inlet to pick up theowner who is here at Mr. Cardwell'slodge," his hand indicated his friend whobowed at the introduction, "for a bit offishing and end season shooting, and"

It was Clem Ashley who took up theexplanation. His little face twistedhumorously as he spoke.

"I'm not a sea-faring man, agreed," hecommented. "If I were I'd know how to

say what has happened us—but as it is I'dsay we've come something of a cropper."His small twinkling eyes swept the tilteddeck.

Lieutenant Barrows was distinctlyuneasy.

"I—er—I'm sure you're right," he againhesitated, "but—well, the facts of the caseare that we've orders

to search you for contraband "He lifted hishand

at Cardwell's shocked face to still theindignant protest he imagined about tocome. "Merely perfunctory," he added,still more apologetically, "but orders"

Grayson Cardwell bowed politely.

"By all means," he said. "What wouldthe country be without men who obeyedorders?"

As Lieutenant Barrows disappearedthrough the cabin door, Clem Ashley whohad again dropped into his wicker deckchair, called after him impudently: "Hopeyou find something! If you do, would yousave a small nip for me—could use it!"

Perfunctory the search was. AsCardwell afterward explained, had heknown that he and Meade and Ashleywere capable of such good teamwork,they would have been saved an earlymorning wetting, for there was many aplace aboard where their preciousrefreshments could have been safely,hidden while the men who had brought it

were successfully playing the ancient andmore or less honorable game of bluff.

Back on deck, Lieutenant Barrows wasprofuse in apologies. He even offered aidin taking the Falcon off the sand bar, andit was always a favorite jest of Ashley'sthereafter that there is no such aid toproficient rum runners as revenue cutters,if one only knows how to treat them.Certainly, the Falcon easily afloat at heranchor a short time later, was a testimonyto the efficiency of the cutter crew.

Lieutenant Barrows remained aboard tosee that all was well as the yacht wasshifted from her position on the sands. Hewas making his adieus at the rail whenAshley came forward with his impishgrin.

"Thanks awf'lly, old top," he thanked,"but—but I'm constrained by yourkindness to tell you that I've held out onyou——"

The officer's face was a study. Hewheeled around, but Ashley stopped himwith an uplifted hand, much as thelieutenant's had been lifted, as he turnedand walked to his wicker deck chair.From under it he produced two bottles ofreddish-brown liquid which he plumpeddown on the small wicker table. Hereached for glasses, and looked at thegaping lieutenant. "Will you join us?" heasked.

Only for a moment the officer gaped.Then his face broke into a broad grin, andan anticipatory.

"Well, you did put it over, didn't you,"he began,

but as Ashley calmly poured the drinksinto glasses, his eyes twinkled."Everything in moderation, has alwaysbeen my theory," he remarked.

"Even the amount of liquor a vesselmay safely carry?" queried Meade,smiling slowly.

The other nodded emphatically.

"Even the amount of liquor a vessel or aman may carry," he declared. "And as Iwas saying, far be it from me to take awaya gentleman's highball—in moderation"

Ashley passed him a filled glass, thengave others to his friends. They liftedthem. Lieutenant Barrows spoke solemnly.

"Here's how!" he toasted. His headtilted back as the liquor disappeared inone gulp. "And apologies," he added, ashe handed back his empty glass.

"Our privilege," declared Ashley."Don't mention It!"

Lieutenant Barrows dropped over therail to his waiting small boat. The threewatched him pull away toward therevenue cutter waiting in the last of thelifting mist. Billy Meade smiled at hiscompanions, a smile more deliberate,more pregnant with meaning than even hisusual ones.

"'Everything in moderation,'" he quoted."It seems to me, doesn't it to you, that ourfirst sally into a new occupation is whatmight be called a moderately successful

one?"

From the sand dune, Harrison Steelewatched the revenue cutter pull his yachtoff the sand. His smile was a pleased oneas he pictured what his companions mighthave said, how they had received thedefenders of the law against modernpiracy. He started to clamber down tomake his way toward the lodge where heknew breakfast was waiting.

"Well, so far, so good," he murmured."But it's a bit too much of a strain for aregular occupation."

At the top of another sand hill fiftyyards away something stirred, but he didnot see it; his back was turned to it. Atfirst it looked like shifting sand. Then ittook form as it rose higher. The growing

light showed a man in a slicker, so nearlythe color of the sand beneath him that ithad proven a perfect camouflage in theuncertain light. A first slanting ray of thenewly rising sun touched the man's face.Hal Everett's still battered features,further bloated from the night's debaucheryfrom which he had but a short time beforewakened, blinked at it. He rose to akneeling posture to stare after Steele'sretreating figure. There was venom in hisbleared glance as he watched.

"So that's your lay, my fine bird!" hesnarled under his breath. "Booze runnin'!Must a hid away a fortune in licker downin that sand. But I 'low hit'U be aconsiderable time before you-all ever seteyes on it again. If ever!" He showed his

teeth evilly, a caricature of a grin on hisface, bloated and marred, wearing theevidences of the continued debauch ofMonkey Rum which he had consumedduring the time of his enforced idleness."Hmmph!" he went on, as he saw Steele'sfigure disappear through the lane of pinesand wild oleanders, "wonder if I'd bestturn him up, or keep the booze! Hmmph!Hit'd keep me from workin' some time tocome—keep me in good licker, too, I'low."

He stumbled to his feet and halftumbled down the sand dune toward thebeach, headed for the coastguard station inthe distance. It had been the sound ofvoices in the mist that had awakened theman when Cardwell's boat had come

ashore. He had been sleeping where hehad fallen the night before, too overcomeat last with his libations to go further.Then the slicker he had worn had provedso effectual that, though he was but fiftyyards or so away from Steele's own sandhill, the latter had not seen him. So HalEverett, through the haze of his hang-over,had seen what the men had brought ashore;seen where they had hidden it Some cannysense, urged on by his hatred of Steele,and what his half-consciousness told himmight be a chance for further revenge, hadbidden him remain quiet. So he hadwatched to the finish; watched quietlyeven while Steele was making hiscalculations with the compass from thecoast-guard post. Now, and for quite atime before, he was in his sober senses,

and he knew what to do.

It was an easy matter for him to findwhere whatever the burlap bags hadcontained were hidden. The marks werestill fresh. From there he made his way tothe shore. A hard twisting wrench, and theguard post was pulled from the sand inwhich it was imbedded. Quickly the holewas filled; quickly a peculiarly shapedshell-rock placed to mark where it hadonce been. Then, bearing the post over hisshoulder, crouching as near the beach ashe could, in case of eyes prying from theyacht, he made his way down the beach.

Fully a quarter of a mile further downthe beach, at a spot so identical with theone he had lately quitted that not even acoast guardsman familiar with the place

could have told the difference, he stopped.There, with grunts and painful evidencethat his injuries were not yet healed, thepost was once more set in place where itstood starkly, the one lone sentinel in thewaste of sandy shore. Hal Everett stoodback and regarded his work.

"There, now, dang ye!" he exploded."Hunt! When ye're through hit'll be myturn. I 'low there's no hurry."

CHAPTER XV

WITH so much liquid refreshment so nearat hand, and after such an exciting time toget it there, it followed as a matter ofcourse that the party installed at the lodge,ostensibly hunting and fishing, but inreality awaiting a report from their aviatorthat the hydroplane was once more allright and ready to resume its journeynorthward to Westchester County, shouldbecome a bit restless under an enforcedabstinence.

Abstinence had been counseled bySteele, and he had been upheld byGrayson Cardwell.

"I know these natives better than you,"Cardwell had told them, "and they're adeep lot. I feel as sure as Steele here that

no one knows anything about what hashappened, but we had better be sure.Some of those prowling progers fromdown Salterpath way down at the end ofthe preserve might have been abroad andseen things, and we can't afford to takechances. Better wait awhile and be sure,before we dig it up."

Strangely enough, it was for quite adifferent reason that Steele showed apathytoward his buried treasure. He could notunderstand it himself, but he seemed tohave lost any taste he ever had had forintoxicants of any kind. Life seemed somuch better without them. He did not likethe idea even in his thoughts of associatinghimself with Lora Humphrey with liquoron his breath. He tried again and again to

put from him the thought of what shewould think and say if she knew what hadbrought him to Bogue and of thecontraband there now which his moneyhad purchased; but it kept recurring tohim. They were not pleasant thoughts. Hewas not accustomed to feeling as guilty, asuneasy, about any of his actions as he wasnow.

So, at least for the time being, he wascontent to let his store remain where itwas, even in the face of Ashley's repeatedgrumblings.

"Rum! Rum! Most everywhere and not adrop to drink!" complained that gayindividual moodily. "Say, what do youchaps think I took a chance on Federalprison for anyway?"

But his grumblings were overruled byCardwell and Steele.

"You'll have parties enough," Cardwellperemptorily told him, "if you'll have alittle patience. Tell you what—if you're agood little boy you can have one the nightDon gets here with his air wagon. We canget it in a jiffy, eh, Steele? You've thatlittle map all right, eh?" addressing the bigbroker. "Here, let's see it." Steeleobediently passed over the envelope onthe back of which he had drawn his crudemap when taking his compass bearingsfrom the guard post. "Hmm," praisedCardwell. "That's plain enough—but youbetter hang on to it pretty tight."

"So tight that nobody else can get thatway," grumbled Ashley, but as usual he

was ignored.

Two days later Don Baldwin'shydroplane swooped gracefully downover the still waters of Bogue Inlet andcame to rest as lightly on the inlandwaters' bosom. Ashley, watching it, gavea whoop of delight.

"Hurray!" he shouted. "Also'yo! Ho!Ho! And a bottle of soda pop!"

They smiled indulgently at him, for,unless it was Steele, not one of them wereaverse to the promised celebration, tiredout as they were with a long day's huntingand fishing. But the stars were beginningto come out, supper was over and from thekitchen Henry could be heard chanting hisgood-night song over the dishes before hislaying down time, before the quartet

sallied out to dig for treasure—a moderntreasure, very modern, it is true, andunaccustomed in this land wherecenturies-old gold and jewels werereputed to be buried—but, nonetheless,treasure.

At the guard post they came to a stop.Steele took out his map and the ratherround-about course to where theysupposed the contraband to be buried wasgone over. They stopped back of a sanddune—so much resembling that where thebags had originally been buried that noone could have told the difference.

"Dig here!" ordered Steele, as he set theexample by sticking his shovel into theshifty sand. Even Ashley, carefully gottenup in some of his Bermuda purchased

raiment, fell too with a will. For themoment, other things were paramount tohis grooming.

For the better part of an hour they dug.Only sand and more sand rewarded them.Steele's brows puckered querulously, asagain and again he consulted his rude map.

"I know it's the right place," he repeatedfor the tenth or eleventh time. "I can't bewrong."

"Someone has blundered," bitterlyregretted Ashley as he stood up, flung hisshovel from him and sank into the sandwith a groan, rubbing his aching arms.

For the fourth time they returned to thepost and carefully went over the ground,step by step.

"He's right, according to the map," atlast agreed

Cardwell, "but I don't see "He stoppedand

rather suspiciously eyed Steele. Ashleyroused himself at the look.

"Oh, but I say, old dear," he protestedto Steele, "are you having us on? If so,enough, I should say is plenty. I'm thirsty."He sounded like a small boy teasing forcake.

Steele growled at him, and the glancehe bent on the other held something ofblackness.

"I need hardly say," he remarked, "thatthis thing is as unaccountable to me as toyou. I know I made the map alone, but I

am equally sure that here is where I putthe stuff. What object could I possibly

have "He grabbed up his shovel. "Go onback,

if any of you wish, but I'm going to have atry at tearing up this whole end of thebeach." His lips were set in a grim line.

But at the end of two hours more, whenthey were all exhausted to the point ofdropping into the holes they had dug, theyhad found no sign of the burlap bags.Tempers, too, were frazzled, and musclessore.

Billy Meade straightened up suddenly,leapt from the hole in which he had beendigging and flung his shovel over hisshoulder.

"Dig all night if you want to," hedeclared, "but I'm through. All the boozein the world isn't worth it. And if you askmy opinion, I would say that someone hasbeaten us to it—someone who waswatching when it was put here. We'redamn lucky nothing worse than losing ithas happened to us"

Cardwell and Ashley, the latter withwhat alacrity was left in him, followedMeade's example. Steele was the last togive up.

"Oh, of course, it's all right with youchaps," he complained in a voice mostunusual with his complacent self, "but Ithink I'd like to locate it. You're onlylosing a drink, but if you'll recall, I hadquite a bit tied up in those burlap sacks."

"And I had quite a drink," agreedAshley, "but we can't dig all night. To-morrow's another, day."

So to-morrow was—and the next andthe one following it. Hunting parties werethe order of the day among GraysonCardwell's guests at the lodge on BogueIsland, but they were strange huntingparties. They asked no guide, andinvestigation would have shown that, onstarting out, they carried shovels and picksinstead of the more usual rifles or fishingtackle. All, however, to no avail. HalEverett had done well in going thedistance he did, for in their search manyhundreds of square feet felt the force ofthose shovels and picks. It began to lookhopeless. They were, for the most part,

inclined to believe what Billy Meade hadsuggested was the proper solution, buthope was not yet gone, and still theylingered. But they could not by any stretchof the imagination be described as a happyhunting party. Grouches werepredominant; relations becoming partlystrained. Still the hydroplane dancedlightly on the waters of Bogue Sound andwaited its cargo.

In desperation one night over the gloomthat had settled over his companions,Steele determined to escape to a happieratmosphere for a time. He had kept awayfrom the hommocks for the last few days,but now the yearning to see LoraHumphrey took hold on him and he longedto talk to her, to listen to some one talk

about something save bottles that couldnot be found.

Henry poled him across the Sound atdusk. He found the girl swinging in herhammock on the slanting little woodenporch. In her arms she held a baby and shestopped her crooning to the child longenough to welcome Steele and to indicatethat he should make himself at home. Butbefore the man could drop into one of thesplint-seated chairs that were tippedagainst the wall, another girl who sat onthe other end of the porch swinging herbare feet from her perch and cuddling achild a little older than the baby, leapt toher feet and timidly offered the courtesywhich Lora's burden had kept her fromdoing.

"Thought you were lost in the sanddunes," Lora laughed, "or maybe some ofHal Everett's bites were beginning to takeeffect after all. I must say, though, that hehas proven one thing to me. I alwaysthought before that his bark was worsethan his bite." She stopped to wave a handat the girl who offered the chair. "This ismy very dear friend, Salvation Willis, Mr.Steele," she introduced, as the other girlflushed and sought to hide her bare feetbeneath totally inadequate skirts. "Youhave not had the chance of meeting herbefore," she added quickly, and, Steelethought, with a trace of chiding in hervoice, "but it is to Salvation that we owethe fact that our adversaries did not followtheir Biblical teaching and tear us limbfrom limb."

Steele gave the calicoed hommocks girlhis deepest courtesy.

"I have wanted to thank Miss Willis,"he deplored, "many times—but I havebeen a bit uncertain as to wisdom of theprocedure. It seemed that I had doneenough damage already without addingother victims. But," and he turned hiswhole attention to the daughter of UncleBilly Peter Willis who stood awkwardly,not knowing what to do in this unexpectedemergency, "I do want to thank you forwhat you did. I'm glad of this opportunity.It was—well, it was sporting of you—Idon't know of another girl anywhere,unless it should be "and his roving eyes

took in his hostess, "who would have donewhat you did"

Salvation Willis slithered to her end ofthe porch and clasped the small child toher as she sunk down.

"Hit—hit warn't nuthin'," she assuredhim, modestly. "I jes' couldn't a-bear tosee 'em a-hurtin' Lory"

"Neither could I." Steele gave theassurance, but his eyes sought those of hishostess in an effort to give strongermeaning to his simple words.

Salvation Willis clambered once moreto her feet, leading the small child towardLora Humphrey and her hammock. Shereached out her arms to her for the baby.

"Gimme the 'breast baby,'" she said,"we-all must be a-moseyin' before papcomes home."

Lora held the baby a bit closer to herfor a moment.

"You're sure they'll be all right?" sheasked. "Enough to eat and everything"

A slow smile spread over the countrygirl's face.

"Umph-humph," she nodded. "Pap's gotreligion —the real kind—for a spellanyhow. Even the beast critters air gittin'enough to eat."

"You see," Lora turned to Steeletriumphantly. "We're missionaries! What'sa black eye or so in a good cause? Why,Sal's getting ready to go to school to theEastward, and Uncle Billy is going tohave a woman in to tend the babies as theyshould be. And they're such fine babies!"

She gave another cuddle to the sleepingbundle she held. "Come here, Little Billy,"she called to the larger child who clung tothe skirts of his aunt, peeping shyly out atthe man from the Northward, "come andshow Mr. Steele what you can do!Remember that little piece about theMethodists?"

A little more urging, and a ratherscared, but valiant young edition of UncleBilly Peter stood on the rickety porch andtwisted his pinafore as he lipsed out inquavering accents the first verse of hischefd'oeuvre. His high quavering accentscut into the growing stillness of thehommock night:

"My gran-dad's a preacher, And he's a Methodist, too

I think they're the nicest folks in theworld, don't you?"

Steele's eyes were fixed on the girl inher light hammock whose own Madonnaeyes were contemplating the sleepingbaby she held. He heard the highquavering accents, felt that a reply wasnecessary. Lora was a Methodist, he hadheard. He looked up at the skinny smallreciter. '"Quite right! Quite right 1" heaverred.

Young Billy Peter went on with hisrecital of his own attempt to follow theteachings to shout if he were happy, andthe dire results that followed. He rushedhis words. He had a sort of stage fright atthis sort of high-class audience. Steeleonly half heard him, save at the end, when

the child breathlessly finished:

"But I guess I learned a lesson, Thatjll suit all little girls and boys, When you go to Methodist meetin', Be sure and don't make any noise."

He retired hastily behind the scantskirts of his retiring aunt. Steeleapplauded.

"Quite so! Quite so!" he repeated."Then you know, son, that Methodists aredifferent from Holinessers—I've onlylearned it and I'm quite a bit older

than you Here," and his hand reacheddown into

his pocket and pulled forth a big silverdollar at which the boy's eyes grew round.

There was more of Uncle Billy PeterWillis in him than he could realize at thistender age when he did not, or could notaccount for the exhilaration caused by thesight of money. "Here," said Steele, "buyyourself a lolly-pop or something"

Lora Humphrey laughed as sherelinquished the baby she held toSalvation Willis.

"Maybe he'll buy a farm, but he'd haveto get a long way from Bogue to knowwhat a lolly-pop meant."

"We'll be a-moseym'," repeatedSalvation Willis. "Got to git the babies'supper, and pap's. He's more hongry thesedays than common."

Lora and Steele watched the Willis girl

as she slithered down the path between theshadowing pines, with one baby clingingto her skirts, another in her arms. Thoughslouching, her gait was a pace-eating one,and she was soon lost in the shadows ofthe coming night. Steele turned to the girl.

"What a wonderful thing for the peopleof this country that they have you!" hecomplimented feelingly. "What you musthave done—are doing for them!"

In the girl's answering smile, there wassomething of a far-away wondering. Shepicked up the light shawl that had fallen tothe floor and draped it around herorgandie-clad shoulders.

"I wonder!" she said musingly. "Iwonder if I am doing them good—orharm. There are so many ways of looking

at things—and one way to happiness liesalong the road of content. I can't sayexactly that I am making them allcontented with their lot—by example, atleast. But I'm trying"

For a moment more she was silent, asher eyes searched out the moon that wasmaking its way up the horizon to cast itsrays—silver rays, first rays—« throughthe moss-hung verdure. Then she turned tolook full at Steele.

"I'm trying," she repeated, "after all, Ican't help it. I'm sorry for these people,just as I've been sorry for a lot of peoplein a whole lot different environment. I'malways sorry for people who don'tunderstand. And I'm so sorry for them thatI make a more or less fool of myself. I'm

always apologizing for all I am and standfor, in an effort to make them feelcontented with themselves. It's a questionwhether or not people should becontented. Why, I've been telling thesepeople down here what all their blessingsare, and giving them to understand that Ienvy them —envy even their ignorance—when the facts of the case are that I'msorry—sorry to death for them. But can Itell them? No! I never have been able totalk to people whom I havesubconsciously or consciously known tobe my mental inferiors. I am alwaysapologetic—telling them how great theyare—until they believe it, and feel sorryfor my inferior position.

"Why, I remember," and Steele caught

the humorous little quirk to her mouth,"how I was thrown with a lot of womenduring my war experiences who were, orshould have been, my mental superiors. Ialways seemed to know, somehow, awaydown deep inside me—you'll understand,won't you," she looked anxiously atSteele, who nodded his comprehension,"that I'm not so entirely conceited, but Idid seem to feel that they—well, er—theydidn't quite understand. I could afford tobe magnanimous, but in being so, I'mafraid I haven't always held my dignity. Ijust don't know how to talk to people whoare not, well, not my sort." Steele oncemore nodded his complete understanding,but he was gaining an insight into thenature of Lora Humphrey that all theirprevious acquaintance had not given him.

Lora laughed.

"There was one woman," sheremembered. "She used to come often tothe hospital where I was working, doingall I could to make things as easy as theycould be for a lot of soldiers who wouldnever see again, or never be themselvesagain. I was a graduate nurse, but all of ushad forgotten any distinction that mightcarry in doing whatever we were asked.This woman came again and again. Poorsoul, she thought so well of herself;thought she was doing so much. And yet,sometimes, I wonder if she were not in alittle degree pandering to her own vanity.She was an authoress of sorts, and shespent hours reading to the soldiers—allsorts of things when they demanded it—

but mostly from her own novels or poemswhen she got unprotesting victims. Oftenshe took occasion, to tell me how greatshe was, and I told her again and againhow wonderful it was for her to do whatshe was doing. One day, after some of thissort of thing, she patted me on the arm.'Oh, my dear,' she said, 'it'll all come toyou. If you'll keep on trying as you are,some day you'll do just as much for thesepoor chaps as I'm doing.'"

Steele's roar of laughter rung out on thequiet air. This sense of humor in the girlhe had come to love came to him as thepleasantest of surprises. It was the onething needful, it might seem, to make herentirely perfect in his eyes.

"Women are queer things," he

commented, in the wisdom of his smallexperience, "they so usually think well ofthemselves."

"Most always too well," Lora agreed."I can think of just another experience toprove it. There was another woman whoseson was under my care. She was a womanof means, and her son had never knownwhat it was to have his slightest wishthwarted before he went in the army. Thenhe was wounded. He wanted me to comehome with them when he was partiallyconvalescent, and the woman's influencewas sufficient to have this whim of hisgranted. I rather hesitated, for I didn't justexactly like the idea of going out toservice, as you might call it, in that way.We people of the hammocks may not be

all that some of your high fliers are incertain sorts of culture, but we have ourdistinctions, and nursing under theexigencies of war and going into a privatehome were different things to me—withthis peculiar training of mine. Anyway, Ithink I stood just about as muchsuperiority and condescension under theguise of kindness as I could. I couldn'topenly rebel, because of that peculiarityof mine of never being able to talk back tomy mental inferiors. But one day it wastoo much. The kindness that almostpartook of the qualities of a tip stung me toopen rebellion.

"'Oh, Mrs. Tolliver/ " I cried in ecstasyat what she had offered. 'You are entirelytoo good to me. You almost make me

forget that I'm a hired girl!'"

"What did she say? Hmmph!" Loracurled herself tighter into her hammock asshe reminisced. "Nothing much except, incondescendingly shocked tones: 'Oh, mydear! You really mustn't think of yourselfthat way—we never do!'"

"Hmmph!" repeated Harrison Steele inmonosyllabic reply, as he mentallypictured the girl before him as the mistressof Broad Acres.

The shadows had closed down to thevery edges of the inlet and the virgin pinesand cypresses were mere shadows on thelandscape. They started up to listen as ahalloo in the distance proclaimed the nearapproach of old Theophilus Humphrey,home from his long day's work in his

fields in another section of the hommocks.Even a proger must work in the springtime, and Theophilus Humphrey was fastbecoming a man of worth, with thewindfall of real money that had beencoming in from Grayson Cardwell and hisguests from the Northward.

Old Theo's greeting was a hearty one.

"Goin' to stay for supper?" he asked,and showed his real disappointment atSteele's refusal and explanation that hemust get back to the island to prepare forthe next day's sport of goat hunting. Thiswas the one thing that the New York partyhad not yet tried, but though disappointedin their newest search, they had decidedthat they would not leave the islandwithout one day's try at the sort of hunting

that so many men of their acquaintancecrossed the continent to get, and believedcould only be found in the RockyMountains. But it had only taken them thefew days of their residence in BogueIsland to know that not only could goats,as wild as any in those bigger mountainfastnesses be found roaming at will on thesand dunes with their only vegetation thesprig or two of bear grass peeping up hereand there, but that deer there, too wereplentiful, and wild hogs and a plenitude ofsmaller mammals that would make asummer's dream for a huntsman.

Theo Humphrey reached into his pocketand brought out a huge plug of tobacco.

"Have a chaw before ye go?" he invitedwith a grin.

Lora Humphrey's "Father!" was sternlyremonstrative.

"Aw, no harm, Lory," he explained, ashe winked hugely at their guest who roseto depart. "I promised ye I wouldn't buyany more chawin' tobacco—hit hain't jes'proper toward the East'ard where she'sbeen schoolin'," he explained to Steele,with an affectionate nod toward hisembarrassed daughter. "I promised, an' Ikept my word. I got this offen aHolinesser"

"But, father," Lora's voice was still fullof rebuke for an erring child. "They mayhave their faults, but I know that they arenot allowed tobacco in any form, andwouldn't buy it"

Her father bit off a huge chunk of the

pressed black weed. He spatvoluminously through his teeth out into thesand path.

"Oh, Isaiah Fermer didn't buy this forhisself," he explained solemnly. "Heboughten it for his horse— that one as hasthe botts!'"

CHAPTER XVI

"De mawin' light am breakin' De da'kness disampears"

FROM the region back of the lodge blackHenry was greeting the new day with hissoftly crooned melody with all the wailingsymphony that is the gift of his race. Asubdued rattle of pots and pansorchestraed the harmony, and thelifegiving odor of newly made coffeewafted out on the breeze and into the openwindow where Harrison Steele and ClemAshley lay sleeping the sleep ofexhaustion engendered by unwontedexercise.

Steele stirred sleepily and opened hiseyes. They were the words of the negro's

hymn that first impressed themselves onhis consciousness, but there wassomething more. He had a most peculiarsubconscious feeling. He seemed to bewaiting for something that was going tohappen. Something quite nice. He had notfelt this way since he was a boy, and hadwakened much in the same way with theknowledge that a long-planned campingtrip, his first, was about to materialize. Heyawned a bit less sleepily. Now whatcould be going to happen that would givehim this feeling? Maybe they were goingto find the cache. He laughedunhumorously. That wouldn't undulyexcite him. As a matter of fact, he hadcome to care little whether it were everfound or not. If it were not for Clem andCardwell and Billy

Meade

He found himself humming the words ofthe hymn the negro was crooning. Strangethat he should remember it fromchildhood. It had been many a day sincehe had been in a church, but with thehummed words, there came back to himthe memory of a great vaulted church,subdued lights, his own rather awestruckfeeling as he sat in the high-backed pewwith his mother and father; of how he hadto climb down by the aid of his mother'sfoot cushion when they stood up to sing.

"The sons of earth are waking, To penitential tears"

Harrison Steele laughed outright. Heglanced over at Clem Ashley with his

mouth half opened as he slept his deepestin the dawn of the new morning.

"Tears, maybe," mused Steele, a flickerof amusement on his face, "but hardlypenitential, I should say. Wish they couldfind the old stuff and be done with it—getting to be a nuisance."

One more luxurious yawn, and the bigman tumbled out of bed and made for thelodge bath room. Good thing Cardwellhad seen to having a bath, he thought as hestood under the spray and felt the new lifetingle in his veins. Probably the only onein a good day's journey, too. But allthrough his morning ablutions, thereremained with Steele that feeling ofpeculiar exaltation of something going tohappen. What could it be? He tried to

laugh it off, but it persisted, stillsubconsciously.

Henry grinned his wide grin whenSteele strolled out back of the lodge.

"Mawnin', Marse Harrison," he greeted."See yoall's gittin' to know when layin'down time's ovah. Nevah could seem tomake Marse Cardwell know it, and himknowin', too, that the fishes bites bes' jes'about day-break—and the wile hawgs isa-comin' out to see whut they kin fin' fohbreakfus, an' the goats jes' a-caperin' ovahthe sand dunes huntin' foh somfin besidesbeah grass"

Steele smiled at the enthusiasm of thenegro who flourished his skillet as hemight have a fowling piece as hedescribed the game of the island "jes'

waitin'," as he had expressed it, for somehunter to come along and bag them.

"Hunting means a good deal in yourlife, doesn't it, Henry?" Steele askedsmilingly as he indicated that the negromight bring him a cup of coffee and hisfruit outside the lodge where he couldwatch the morning growing as he assuagedhis also growing appetite. The black cookput a plate of steaming hot biscuits withfresh yellow butter and a cup of coffee ona tray which he set down beside Steele onthe fallen log on which he had perchedhimself.

"Yas, sah, Marse Harrison," headmitted, "I 'low they hain't much mo' funin the worl' than huntin', lessen hit be goin'to meetin'—Yas, sah, I 'low I done hunt

'bout most kin' o' critters de Lawd made indese parts"

"Ever hunt for treasure, Henry?" thebroker asked abruptly. Strangely histhoughts were running in this direction thismorning, probably because of the days offutile digging he himself had been doing insearch of a different kind of treasure thanthat of which he spoke. The negro's eyesrolled.

"Lawsy Massy, not me, MarseHarrison!" he denied with a vigorousshake of his woolly head. "Plenty peoplehereabouts been doin' hit a long time, butwe black folks—no, sah! Effen dey's anygol' hid in de sands, hit's debbil's gol'—dem lights folkses keeps a-seein', dey's dedebbil goin' about wid his lantern to see

his gol' hain't teched. No, sah, no gol'huntin' foh dis niggah—hard 'nough tokeep the witches off without temptin' deol' debbil, too"

Steele smiled inwardly. It was evidentthat they need have no fear for their well-cached store as far as Henry wasconcerned. He wondered what the manmeant about witches. Such weird notionsthey had down here in this primitivecountry.

"Witches?" he asked, with lifted brows.

"Yas, sah, Marse Harrison—didn't we-all know what to do, dey wouldn' be achicken in Bogue or the hammocks."

"What do you do?" Steele was mildlyinterested, for his thoughts had once more

flown to the girl across the bay at thenegro's mention of the word "hammocks."

"Come yo-all seen de ladders agin thehouses round-about?" asked the negro.Steele nodded. He had often seen them inhis wanderings in the last few weeks, andhad idly wondered why all of the peopleseemed so indolent that they never seemedto get their roofs in condition so that theladders might be removed. "Wall," wenton Henry, "dey's for de witches. Witchesin de hawks—hawks kill all de chickens.Den de ole woman in de fambly, she jesclimb up de ladder an' cross her fingers onde south side de chimbley, and blooey—old Mis' Witch she go away an' de hawkskain't kill de chickens." The negro noddedsolemnly as he gave his bit of wisdom for

the edification of the Northern man whoseemed to him, in his way, as benighted asthe negro himself was to Steele.

A hail from the doorway notified Steelethat the rest of the party had decided tobegin the day's sport. Cardwell wascalling for coffee.

"See you've had yours, Steele," henodded. "But you might come up off yourperch onto the porch while we plan for theday. Think it'll be wild hogs to-day—Ashley's so sure he can get one, he won'tbe happy till he tries. Of course, we'llkeep our eyes open, and if we see anysigns of other game, ground hogs or such,we can dig, but I'm off the shovel for oneday at least."

Even the day's furious sport of wild hog

hunting did not entirely erase from thebroker's mind the idea he had had onwaking—that something was going tohappen. Even in the midst of the chase, hefound himself stopping for a moment towonder what it could be. But when theevening had come, and with it tiredmuscles and a desire for rest and muchfood, he began to feel a distinct sense ofdisappointment. Whatever it had been thathe had been waiting for sosubconsciously, had not materialized. Ithardly would in the gathering shadows.He trudged wearily with his companionsover the jungle island, his tread lightenedby the soft carpet of pine needles andmossy gray whiskers that had fallen fromthe trees. The smell of roasting gameassailed the huntsmen's nostrils and

accelerated their gait toward the lodge.Henry was a treasure. He had everythingready.

"Now, if we could only have acocktail," complained Clem Ashley, whohad had enough of wild hog hunting forsome time after his near encounter withone of the wild beasts whose chargewould have resulted disastrously save forthe prompt attention Cardwell, moreexperienced, had given the animal—"justone— life could hold nothing dearer."

Steele felt a distinct sense ofannoyance.

"Oh, cut it, Clem," he admonished."Can't your thoughts rise above booze?"But Ashley was not silenced.

"Booze can't rise above the sand," hebemoaned, as he limped hurriedly along.

As the others passed into the lodgeintent on a shower and a hurriedpreparation for the waiting meal, Steele, alittle behind the others, saw Henry fromaround the corner of the porch, signalingmysteriously. He went toward him. Thenegro slipped something into his hand.

"Dat gal of Uncle Billy Peter's she fotchdis in her skiff awhile ago," he informed."Said let nobody see hit but yo-all "Hegrinned mysteriously, enjoying the thoughtof being in on some secret.

Steele took the note, but even before heopened it, he felt a thrill pass from it upalong his arm, a thrill that could comefrom nothing else than the knowledge of

who had sent him the mysterious missive.Then there flowed over him all the feelinghe had had through the day. Somethingwas going to happen. It was not too late.Something out of the usual; somethingmost pleasant. He stepped out into theshelter of a grove of virgin pines to scanhis message in seclusion.

"Dear Mr. Steele," he read;

"I've had it again—the dream. Halfwaking and half sleeping I've seen thelights, and they were so plain, the positionin the sand dunes so decided, that I havethe clearest kind of a chart in my head.This time I know I can go straight to theplace indicated—even if I wereblindfolded, perhaps even better if I were.

"I don't know how silly this may seem

to you, but even in spite of all my newertraining, there is in me the strong urge tosee this through. You have promised not tolaugh, and I am depending on you to helpme find the treasure as you also promised.

"I know I am breaking every rule ofconvention in what I am going to suggest,and did the Holinessers know of it, theymight have cause to think mereprehensible, but I know you'llunderstand. May I depend on you to slipaway about nine o'clock this evening—themoon will just be rising—and meet me atthe clump of cypresses just above thelanding, in the direction of Sakerpath? Ifyou can have some little light with you, I'llbe able to find you better than you can findme. Then—for the treasure 1 "Hurriedly,

"lora Humphrey.

"P.S. Of course, you know you're tohave whichever half of it you choose."

Slipping away from his party was notthe difficult thing the girl might haveimagined. Long before the early twilighthad settled down, Ashley was alreadynodding in his porch chair, and Cardwell,inside the lodge attempting to read, wasready to give it up as a bad job when thelines of his magazine were runningtogether. Billy Meade laid down theukelele on which he had been idlystrumming, and yawned.

'Think I'll turn in," he remarked, "To-morrow, as our young friend here wouldremark, is another day. Comin', Steele?"

Steele shook his head.

"Think I'll have a little stroll in thetwilight while I finish my cigar," heanswered, as he turned lazily away fromhis companion. Ashley half woke.

"Haven't you strolled enough for oneday?" he wanted to know, querulously."Think you can find a drink by yourself?Well, joy be with you—I'm going to turnin with Meade." He got to his feettotteringly. "Oy, yoy, my back!" hegroaned. "Save one for me if you findany," was his farewell rejoinder, as Steelestarted down the steps of the lodge porch."I'm going to recuperate."

Long before nine o'clock, Steele'scompanions were sleeping the sleep thatcame as the reward of their day's

strenuous hunting; sleeping with no thoughtthat the big broker had not returned to jointhem. Henry, too, had completed hischores for the night, and was audiblyreporting from his cubby hole off thekitchen that his "laying down time" hadcome, too.

Armed with splinters of lightwood, thenatives' favorite means for lightingthemselves in the darkened places of thebig outdoors, Steele waited the approachof Lora Humphrey. He strained his ears tohear through the darkness the swish of thepole that should herald the approach of thegirl's skiff. The first light through the treesthat proclaimed the moon ready to rise (asshe had predicted) had made itsappearance when he heard the long

awaited sound. He could not see her,though, but as he heard the skiff gratelightly on the sand not far from him, helighted one of his pieces of light wood. Hestarted to go forward with its flickeringglare.

"Stay where you are," he heard thegirl's sibilant whisper. "I'll find you!" Shemade her way swiftly toward him.

The flare of the lightwood lit up herdancing eyes, but there was also anexcitement in them brought about by theadventure that made her seem to Steele assome wood fairy of the night.

"Do you think I'm crazy, Mr. Steele?"she asked, with an odd laugh.

"I think you're delightful," the man

could not restrain the admiration in histone, "and deserve to find —everythingyou want." The girl laughed lightly at theseriousness of his tone, and the meaningwhich she could not fail to catch.

"We must hurry," she admonished. "It'llbe quite a little jaunt, in spite of myknowing exactly where we're going. Oh,Mr. Steele," she added, and there was realwarmth in her tone of thanking, "it's sogood of you to humor me so. I just had tohave my try at treasure hunting, after thatclear dream, and I couldn't go alone.Neither could I tell any one around here.I'll admit I'm not above not wishing to belaughed at."

"I'll not laugh, I promise you," saidSteele soberly, but with a twinkle in his

eye she could not see. "Only hope you'llfind it"

"I will," said the girl firmly."Something tells me I cannot be mistakenand that the secrets of the pirateshereabouts will be one no longer after to-night."

"Have you thought what you're going todo with it?" Steele's query was a bitteasing, but the girl's voice was sober asshe replied: "Oh, there's so much! There'salways so much to do in the world,—butcome, hurry, we haven't time for talknow!"

But her words gave food for thought tothe man whose wealth had never doneanything for others, unless one counted thegood times he had afforded his friends

who might have been far better off withoutsuch good times.

With his improvised torch lighting theway, man and girl started off through theunderbrush. Steele noticed that Lora, likehimself, wore heavy snakeproof boots, butinstead of khaki breeches such as he haddonned, she wore the trim knickers of herriding habit—a garment usually hidden, indeference to the prejudices of herneighbors, by a sedate skirt. The girl ledthe way, unerringly guiding the twothrough the dense growth which Steele,admiring, admitted to himself he wouldnot have been able to negotiate alone. Forthe most part they went in silence. Notuntil they came out into the sandy wasteswhich lay stretching out so far from the

beach with their hills of sand dunes andspears of bear grass outlined like littlelines on the smudged surface of adrawing-board, did she speak.

"Let me see," she mused. She gazedabout her at the monotonous landscape ofsand that was just beginning to be lightedby the moon. "I think I know which way togo, but I believe I can tell better if I shutmy eyes. Now, don't say a word for aminute."

The girl shut her eyes, and as she stoodthere swaying in the moonlight, it seemedto Steele, watching her, that there wassomething trance-like in her behavior. Hebegan to wonder if there might not be sucha thing, after all, as some strange sensethat had come to Lora Humphrey bidding

her to dig in a certain place. Out here inthe eerie quiet of the sands and themoonlight, with only the distant boomingof the surf, things did not look soimpossible as they might have, viewed inthe light of day. Lora opened her eyes, andstood for a moment, half dizzily.

"I know now," she said simply. Shedarted off ahead of him, winding her waybetween the sand dunes leading towardthe beach. Between two of them shehesitated a moment, then turned to gobehind one of them. Something in theirformation seemed strangely familiar toSteele, but he remembered how all thatwaste looked so much alike and put itdown to the impressions he had gainedfrom his wanderings among the dunes.

Lora stuck the light shovel she carried intothe sand.

"We'll dig right here," she commanded,but as Steele sought to take the implementfrom her, she waved him aside. "You useyour own shovel," she told him. "There'llbe work enough for two, and the time isshort." She glanced up at the skyappreciatively. The moon's rays werebeginning to make the place as light as itwould be in late twilight. "Fine!" shecommented. "We needn't be remarked bylightwood torches. That's why I picked outa good moonlight night."

For a long time they dug in silence, onlytheir labored breathing adding its sound tothe booming of the surf some distance off.Steele smiled somewhat grimly as he

thought how well he was becoming fittedfor a trench digger's job in the last fewdays, and of how like had been thefevered digging of himself and hiscompanions—just as silently. He couldnot but hesitate for a few moments though,to compare the workmanlike manner inwhich the girl tackled her job ascompared with that of his New Yorkfriends. He was put to it to keep up withher, but, though he well knew he wasdoing it only because the girl wished, andwithout any thought whatever of what theadventure might bring in the way ofreward (nothing, he was quite assured), hedid not intend that she should find himlacking in enthusiasm. He dug with all theenthusiasm of one who had a morerational reason.

Before the moon was an hour higher,man and girl had excavated a hole abovethe top of which only her head andshoulders could be seen as she stood up totoss aside each shovel full of sand. Shestopped wearily, something ofdiscouragement in her eyes, lighted by themoon's rays, as she looked shamefacedlyat Steele.

"Go on," she said, stubbornly, "call mean idiot— I know you want to—but I'mjust sure there's something here"

In her voice was a half sob ofdisappointment. She stuck her shovelviciously into the sand. Something like thetinkle of breaking glass was heard as theshovel struck the sand.

"Oh! Oh! I've struck something!" she

cried. "Oh, Mr. Steele"

She knelt down to inspect her find. Thesand was getting wet at the spot where theshovel had struck, and gave off anunmistakable aroma. The girl started toher feet as the man bent over.

"Oh! Oh!" she repeated, then indisgusted accents, "Whisky!"

"What the "exploded Steele. "Say,how'd you

know where I'd put"

Lora Humphrey drew back from him asfar as the confined space of the hole inwhich they stood would permit.

"Mr. Steele," she said sternly. "What isthis? What do you know about it?"

For once in his life, Steele foundhimself unable to explain or condone anyaction of his own. He was tongue-tied,stammering.

"Why, I—er—why, Miss Humphrey, Isay now, don't think too hardly of me—Iwas going to explain "he began, but shestopped him.

"Explain that you're a modern daypirate," she finished scornfully, "and thatyou're using our little part of the countryfor this "and her boot kicked at the brokenglass which stuck up through its burlapsack covering, a covering that so plainlycovered other bottles like the broken one.

"I say now," he began again, sparringfor time, "I can tell you—I've meant to allalong, except"

The girl started to clamber out of thehole she had helped dig in her search fortreasure, only to discover the contrabandthat had been hidden by the man whom shehad begun to know meant more to her thanany other in the world. She had uncoveredhis unworthiness. A sob stuck in herthroat, but she choked it back proudly, asshe sought a foothold in the shifting sand.Steele leapt toward her, to remonstrate,or, through gentlemanly instinct, to helpher out of her predicament, half buried asshe was in a hole in the sand, partiallyimprisoned with a man whom her facetold him she loathed.

Steele's foot caught in something halfburied. He stumbled, and as he did, heheard a crash beneath his feet as of rotting

timbers giving way. Then a flurry of sand,a swift flinging out of arms, clutching atthe sand where no clutch could hold, ascream from the girl, a melee of arms andlegs as two bodies were catapulateddownward, and Steele felt the earth giveway beneath his feet. Even in falling,however, he sought to protect the girl whotumbled after him. But he was too late. Heheard her head bump against an obstacle—he prayed it was not a broken bottle—and together they went down! Down! Itflashed through his mind, in theunaccountable way that suchinconsequential things do flash throughone's mind in crises, that he wasexperiencing much of the same sensationshe had gone through when he and hisfriends had come crashing down into

Bogue Sound to be rescued by this girlwho was now falling with him.

Only the time for the flicker of aneyelash had actually been consumed in thefall, but to Steele, whose consciousnesswas acute, it seemed interminable. Wherewere they falling to? Then, as suddenly astheir tumble had started, it stopped. Sandcontinued for a moment to rain in uponthem, but Steele knew that they would gono further. There was a feeling ofsolidness beneath him. But there was anacute pain in his ankle as his weight camedown upon it—not so acute, though, as thepain that stabbed his heart as the girlcrumbled down beside him in an inertbundle. He made a grab for her.

"Lora! Lora!" he cried wildly. "Are you

hurt?"

No answer from the girl who lay so stillin the sand.

Unmindful of the pain in his ankle thatstabbed with knife sharpness, he reachedover and picked her up in his arms. Hereyes were closed, but she was breathing.

"Oh, Lora! Loral My little girl!" hesobbed, chokingly.

CHAPTER XVII

HARRISON STEELE had no time to thinkof where he was—or what he had falleninto. His whole thought was for the girl.Had she been badly hurt? One glance atthe high sides of the place in which hewas imprisoned showed him theuselessness of attempting to get out of thehole, twice as deep now as the one theyhad dug. As peculiar as his situation was,though, the hole he was in did not interesthim. His whole attention was bent on thatstill face of the girl upturned to themoonlight that filtered down upon them.Frantically he chafed her hands, calling onher in words of endearment to speak

to him. If he could only get some waterHis

head bent over the girl's heart showed itbeating regularly. She was only stunned bythe fall. It flashed into his head that theremust have been something besides sand,or even a bottle that had hit her to givesuch a stunning blow. If he could only getsome water! Once more Harrison Steelelooked about for some means to climb outof the cave he and Lora Humphrey haddug. Once more, the twitch of sharp agonyin his ankle showed him how impossiblesuch a thing would be, even could he finda way. His hand, groping in the sand, laidhold of the corner of a burlap bag. In spiteof his fright for the girl and his own pain,a cynical grin spread over his features. Hepulled the bag toward him and, with hispocket knife, ripped it open. He draggedout a bottle whose contents showed

glistening amber in the moonlight. Againthat pocket knife came into requisition,and Harrison Steele's grin showed at thecorners of his mouth as he opened thecorkscrew in one side of the implement.His friends had so often laughed at him forcarrying a boy's knife with so manyattachments—"everything but the kitchenstove," they had often teased him—but hehad always had it with him, a souvenir ofboyhood. Now had come a real use for it.

Lora Humphrey never stirred even atthe "pop" of removing the cork from thebottle. The aroma of spirits wafted aboutthe two. Hastily he poured some of thefiery fluid down the girl's throat; as hastilyhe poured more on his handkerchief andbegan bathing her temples and face with it.

He gave a sigh of relief at the girl's firstmoan and her unconscious movement toget away from something unpleasant.

Her eyes opened. She looked up atSteele for a moment dazedly, then

"Whew!" said Lora Humphrey. She satstraight up, her small nose crinkled indisgust. "Whew!" she repeated. "Take thatstuff away!"

Harrison Steele laughed happily. Hisrelief at finding that Lora was all rightwas more than he could tell.

"Feel all right now?" he asked her.

The girl was wiping the whisky fromher face. She looked about herwonderingly.

"Yes, I'm all right," she told him, "butwhat happened? Where are we? Iremember you stumbling, then we startedto fall—something hit me"

"Haven't had time to explore much yet,"was the man's rejoinder, "but I'd hazard aguess we've tumbled into some sort of asubterranean cavern—probably dug byyour pirates a long time ago "His handwent out to feel as far as he could. "See?"he asked, as the hand came away from theside of the little cave with a brokensplinter of rotting timber. "Been shored upfor some purpose once, and we stumbledinto it when we dug"

The girl's face showed her disgust.

"Oh, I remember," she said, as the facewas turned from him. "We didn't find

treasure, but we did find"

"Please! Please!" Steele begged, as shestruggled to her feet. "I tried to tell youbefore—you wouldn't let me—won't youlisten now?"

"I don't see how I can help it—if youinsist," she remarked pointedly, "but Idon't see what you can say —what realexplanation there can be for—piracy!"Her lip curled in disdain.

She could not see the flush that spreadover the man's face, nor could she see thefirm, stubborn set of his jaw as heanswered.

"Well, I will take advantage of you, ifyou want to put it that way, for I'm goingto tell you. I've wanted to ever since the

second day I saw you."

And then, while the girl stood withturned back, pretending not to hear,Harrison Steele told her how hisadventure with his friends had started, andhow it had reached its present stage. Hewas eager as he told her how he had longsince repented of his folly, how he feltabout it, and would give so much to undowhat had been done. In spite of herself,the girl softened as she listened. Therewas no mistaking the reasons HarrisonSteele gave for his change of heart. It wasa strange love-making—in a strangerplace— but love, as the world knows,knows neither time or place or reason. Itwas something so new to Steele, too, thatthe girl's heart was swept with a kind of

maternal pity, such as she might have feltfor a small boy caught stealing sugar.

He finished lamely.

"And it was because of what I had done—and what you might think of it—that Ihaven't told you any of these things before—of the way I felt, and all that, you know—I knew I wasn't worthy of you. But if Ican get rid of this stuff some way, dear—Lora—could you—er would you''

She laid her hand gently on his arm.

"We can talk about that later, can't we?"she asked. "Seems to me the thing to bedone now is to get out of this place

"How?" asked Steele. "We can still yella bit, I fancy."

Lora peered up at the top of the holehigh above them.

"Couldn't you help me get to yourshoulders? I think I could climb out—thenI could get a rope or something for you."

"You might, except—er—there's a littlething I forgot to mention." He ruefullyindicated his foot which was stuck straightout before him in its heavy boot, a footbeginning to pain more than he liked totell. "A bit afraid I've come a cropperwith that."

The girl whirled about. Lightning-quickthe expression of her face changed.Forgotten was any idea of escape from herpredicament. All the maternal instinct, allthe trained nurse's, in her rushed to the•fore.

"Oh, you poor thing!" she cried. "Andyou never tbldme! And I"

She dropped to her knees in the sandbeside the injured foot. In spite of theman's protests that he could do forhimself, she quickly and deftly removedthe heavy snake-proof boot, and a quickgasp came to her throat as she saw theankle that puffed out before her eyes asshe removed the protecting sock. Steelewas glad that she could not see his winceof pain, but he admitted to himself that itwas a strange piece of psychology thatmade that pain less under the ministrationsof the girl he loved. Talking softly, as shemight to an injured child, Lora Humphreytore up handkerchiefs into bandages. Shelooked up at Steele with a crinkle of

amusement in her eyes.

"You might hand me that bottle," shelaughed, "it seems to be our apothecaryshop."

For the second time since its loss anddramatic discovery, Steele's cached liquidtreasure performed offices that had beenfar from the minds of those who hadbrought the liquor from the Bermudas. AsLora bound up the injured ankle withprofessional skill, Steele found that thepain was already lessened. He laughedjoyously.

"Better use for it outside than in, afterall," he offered.

"I'm one who believes it's better neret:'in,'" was tht girl's rejoinder. "There's

always something better to take its placefor any use." She gave the bandage a finalpat. "There," she said, "that'll do until wecan get you out."

"How?" once more queried Steele. "Noone will miss me, I'm sure—not beforedaylight, at any rate, and you—hadn't webetter yell?"

Lora's head shook a vigorous negative."No," she said resignedly. "There'snothing to hear but the ocean and the sand,unless a coast guardsman should happenalong—there must be a post somewherenear, and "She stopped hesitatingly.

Steele nodded.

"I understand," he said. "It would bejust as well if we should pick our coast

guardsmen when we want to be rescued.As for me," he leaned back in the sand,"I'm satisfied." His eyes sought the girl'sown, as he reached out for her hand. Shedrew back.

"Not now—not now," she said. "Later"But

even as she spoke, and took one backwardstep in the confined space of their smallcave, she stumbled and caught herself by ahand pressed against the loose sand. Itcame tumbling down in another shower.

"Careful," admonished Steele. "We'renot ready to be buried yet—we're justbeginning to live. I'll be good."

"Seems like my night to stumble,"ruefully remarked the girl. "Wonder what

that was this time Her hands wereexploring the sand where her f 01 had feltsomething. Suddenly she looked up at Steewith wide eyes and breath that camesharply. "Of it is! It is!" she cried, tooexcited to talk coherently "I was right! Iwas right! See"

"Is what?" Things were coming too fastfor Steele

"Don't you see?" Lora's eyes were likestars in the moonlight. "It's here! Where Idreamed it would be! See—here's the ringin the top of a chest! This woodenchamber we fell into must have been builtto further protect it!" She tuggedvigorously at the iron that resisted anysuch puny efforts. Steele smiled as he sawthat it was truly the ring in an ancient chest

which Lora had unearthed.

"All the stage settings!" he remarked."Now if you can find a couple ofdoubloons or so"

"They're there! Oh, I know they'rethere!" Lora was not to be discouraged."Oh, we must get this out!"

"Guess we'll have to leave it to berescued with us. Pretty hard on you, littlegirl, but we'll have to wait till daylight."

Lora abandoned her task regretfully."Oh, if we could get out!"

"If we could——" began Steele.

"There's jusf one chance." The girl wasthinking

hard. "One person knows where I havegone, and"

Both stopped suddenly as a sound cameout of the moonlight night above them.Faint at first, it gradually took on soundform.

"Lory! Lory! Where air ye!"

Lora laughed half hysterically. "It'sSal!" she cried, relievedly. "SalvationWillis! She knew where I'd gone and hascome to find me. Yoo-hoo! Yoohoo, Sal!"

Monotonously the voice out of thedarkness again called out.: Lory! Lory!Where air ye?"

"Here I am, Sal!" called Lora. "I'm in aholewatch out or you'll be in one, too!"

A head appeared over the top edge ofthe sand cave—a black silhouette againstthe moonlit sky. Sal Willis spoke. Hersmight have been the voice of an angel toLora Humphrey, but it was laconically anunconcerned one to Harrison Steele.

"There ye be!" spoke Salvation Willis."What ye doin' down there?"

"I'm sitting on the sand, entirelysurrounded by about a million dollars, andalmost as many bottles of

whisky—and a man "Lora tittered. "Canyou

get us out, Sal?"

"Umph-humph!" Salvation Willisshowed no surprise at the peculiarsituation. "Kin I git a rope. I come a-

huntin' ye, Lory—I was afeered ye mightarun across that Hal Everett. Pap's says ashow his religion hain't took, an' he's on arampage again. Jes' keep a settin' till I gitback with a rope."

What might have been an interminablespace of time under other circumstances,passed quickly to the two imprisoned onesuntil they once more heard the drawl ofSalvation Willis at the top of the sandhole.

"Here I be!" she said. "Ketch!" A ropeend came whirling down at their feet.

But it was just another of thedisappointments of the night when theysoon found that any such efforts at rescueas Salvation Willis could put forwardwere useless. Lora dropped the rope after

her fourth or fifth attempt to negotiate thesand that shifted like quicksilver.

"You'll have to get help, Sal," shemurmured weakly. "Get the people at thelodge—they'll be more kindly in theircriticism than anyone hereabouts"

"Umph-humph!" said Sal. She started todraw up her rope.

"Wait!" called Lora. She turned toSteele. "Did you mean what you said tome about wanting to get rid of—of this—stuff?" She kicked at a burlap bag at herfeet Steele nodded. "Of course I meant it— why?"

"You have your chance then," sheanswered, and there was a firm set to herlips, "Moreover, I'm not going to wait for

you to change your mind. Sal!" she calledto the girl above them. "Are you forprohibition?"

"Strong drink is raging," said SalWillis.

"I mean," went on the girl at the bottomof the sand hole, "are you enough against itto want to get rid of some superfluous stuffto drink?"

"Wisht I could put the whol kit an' bilin'at the bottom of the sea," bitterly remarkedthe hommocks girl above Lora and Steele.Lora smiled sympathetically as she notedthe bitterness in the girl's tone. Well sheknew that Salvation Willis had in mindher own father, whose religion and officeof deacon were not always proof againstan appetite, and things in the Willis home,

during such times (none too good at anytime, either) were woeful.

"All right," Lora commanded. "Thenyou can start by getting rid of some." Shequickly tied the end of the rope around theburlap bag nearest at hand. "Haulaway,Sal!"

The burlap bag slowly disappearedover the top edge of the sand hole.

"What is hit?" demanded SalvationWillis, "and what'llldowithhit?"

"I believe the folks to the Northwardcall it booze," called Lora, with a quickhumorous side glance at Steele, "but it'sblood brother to Monkey Rum. Do yourduty, Sal! Bury it in the sea. There's morehere when you've got rid of that."

It was evidence that the fanaticism withwhich Salvation Willis had been imbuedin her own little campaign against strongdrink could make her rise to the occasionwhen duty called—the way she workedwithin the next two hours, before the firststreaks of the silver and purple andcrimson dawn streaked the ocean. Back intheir hole in the sand, the two she leftbehind, talked of many things; of manythings— except "ships and shoes andsealing wax; and cabbages and kings."

The head of Salvation Willis appearedat the edge of the hole with the gray ofdawn to form her silhouette background.

"I drug 'um all down to the beach, andtook 'um out cross the breakers anddropped 'um down Teach's Hole," she

said in her calm, monotonous tones, tonesthat held no suggestion of the momentousthing she had done, all alone, out there inthe early morning. "I took 'um out in HalEverett's surf boat," she further informed."He hain't goin' to know. I 'low he don'tknow much, fer his boat warn't evenbeached. I swum out to git hit, a-bobbin*in the breakers."

*

The compensation of things! HarrisonSteele felt a new sensation—something ofawe for the ruler of things as they shouldbe. Hal Everett's boat had helped to wipeaway the crime he, Steele, hadcontemplated, and brought so near to aconclusion. He wondered, with a queersmile, what Everett, with his own great

appetite, would think could he know whathis boat had carried that night. Sal Williswas speaking again.

"Yo-all want to come out now?" sheasked. "Hit's most breakfast time."

"I'll say so," was Steele's ferventrejoinder to Lora's quick insistence.

"I'll git 'um," said Sal Willis, and herhead disappeared.

Surprise is but a small descriptive ofthe manner in which the men at the lodgetook the news of Steele's plight when theywere awakened shortly after by thepersistence of Sal Willis. Cardwellhimself answered her summons—measured knockings on the lodge door,augmented by surely-aimed chunks thrown

at windows indiscriminately. So intentwas she, though, that she never noticed hispajamaed appearance as he sleepily cameout on the lodge porch. Henry still snoredpeacefully. His "laying-down time" wasnot over.

Sal said what she had to say.

"But I say now," peevishly answeredCardwell. "What are they doing in ahole?"

"They war treasure huntin', I 'low." TheWillis girl was unperturbed.

"Did they—did they—find it?"Cardwell's next query was unexpectedlyeager.

"I dunno. Yo-all kin ask 'um." Hermission completed, Sal Willis turned like

a frightened deer and sped away into themorning-lighted forest.

A short half hour later, Lora Humphreyand Harrison Steele breathed the ocean airthat blew straight across the sands towardthem instead of having to swirl into adepression to reach them. It had been notask at all for the three men (for ClemAshley insisted that he had helped with alla man's vim) to raise Lora in the basket-like contraption they rigged up, with theaid of the aroused Henry, eager, once hewas awake, for adventure. It had beenrather a more difficult matter with Steele,for he had been so little able to helphimself. Henry had leapt to the rescue andlowered himself into the cavern-like holeand himself fastened the rescuing ropes, in

gentle manner, about the man whom he hadcome to admire so greatly. But the negro'seyes had about "bugged out of his haid," toquote his own experiences laterdescribed, when he was told to fasten therope to the iron ring that had been dug upby Lora Humphrey. The hours which thegirl and Steele had spent alone whileSalvaition Willis was giving ceremoniousburial to Steele's cache, and while shewas rousing the man's friends to their aid,had not all been spent in idleconversation, no matter of how greatimport it might have been. With hands, andwith splinters of the timbers whose rottinghad caused their downfall to fortune, theyhad dug about the iron ring against whichLora had first stumbled to her discovery.There was no mistaking it. It was a chest

—just such a chest as they had both readabout in the tales by Stevenson, and aboutwhich Lora and all her neighbors and theirfathers and grandfathers before them haddreamed since they had first heard thetales of Black Beard.

It was with difficulty that LoraHumphrey had been able to restrain herimpatience for a view of what the chestmight contain, but Harrison Steele hadseen to that. There had been so much moreto talk about. They had found the greatesttreasure that Life has to give. What was inan ancient chest could not matter sogreatly. So they had waited in theircramped quarters for rescue.

"Fasten the rope to the iron ring of thatchest, Henry!" Lora Humphrey leaned

over the edge of the hole to give herorders. Harrison Steele was beyond takingcommand. He had stood breathing thatocean air for about two minutes after hisrescue. Then had come the inevitablecollapse.

"I'm sorry," he deplored. "But I've gotto sit down." And he sat. Sat till theymanaged a litter and a wheel barrow fromthe lodge (the latter for the chest) to carrythe wreckage home.

"Lawsy, Miss Lory, I—I—kain't!"Henry shivered with the fright of ancientlegend. "Hit likely is tied straight to thedebbil's tail, and I"

"Don't be a fool, Henry!" was the girl'sretort. "Must I jump down there and showa big strong man like you how to lift up a

little bit o' chest"

"Yas'm, Mis' Lory—No'm!" Henrygirded on all the armor of bravado ofwhich he was capable and the half-excavated chest was lifted out onto thesands of Bogue Island. Could it havespoken, it would probably have welcomedthem. It had been so long since that chesthad been lowered into the sands. Thosehad been different men—different times.Now there was no haughtily swearing manwith his beard tied behind his ears inribbons who gave orders, but a mere slipof a girl in sand and water-stainedknickerbockers. The men who stood aboutdid not resent her supremacy.

"It's all so much like a dream—or astory—I don't know whether I've waked

up or not!"

Grayson Cardwell stood surveying hisguests who had finished their breakfastsand who had gathered for the twentiethtime about the tables and cushioned chairsthat were glittering with tarnished goldand the fire of gems whose long burial hadnot dimmed their luster. Lora Humphrey'sdream find had been spread out so that allmight see. Lora Humphrey, herself, seatedon the knee of old Theophilus Humphrey,who had been hastily summoned to thegreatest event of his life, smiled, as herfinger sifted through a mass of unset gemsin her lap.

"Dreams don't feel so—so compact—orso hard," she commented with a smile."Dreams aren't such bad things after all,

though. Now that one of mine"

"Wonder how much it's all worth?"Billy Meade spoke with the meaning of aman to whom gems, though with romanticattachment, are concrete things. "Therewas such a quantity of most everything inthat chest—that old pirate didn't overlookany bets, I'd say"

From the corner to which he had retiredwith a tall glass with tinkling ice and anamber liquid that had once been a notunusual sight, Clem Ashley piped up.

"He didn't!" said Clem Ashley. "NowI'd say this rum of the vintage of—say—1716—isn't at all bad"

"Consolation!" murmured Harrison"Steele, as he picked up a necklace of

jade with Byzantine settings, but with hisglance toward Ashley. He was wonderingas the necklace slipped through his fingersjust what sort of gown Lora would wearwith it in Broad Acres. There was oneroom with a wonderful background forjade

"Wouldn't wonder a bit if we haven'trun across the record in treasure finds,"commented Cardwell. "We ought to takeinventory. Let's see—I've a volume here"He stopped in front of one of his

bookcases and ran his eye over the books."Uram— here it is—'The Gold Bug'—Edgar Allan Poe. They

found "He ran his fingers down a page tothe

place he wanted to find. "'Diamonds—some of them exceedingly large and fine—a hundred and ten in all, and not one ofthem small; eighteen rubies of remarkablebrilliancy; three hundred and tenemeralds, all very beautiful; and twenty-one sapphires, with an opal.' Umm!Umm!" he ran further down the page."Check up what we're lacking," he saidwith an upward glance at his guests."Umm! Umm! 'A vast quantity of goldornaments; nearly two hundred massivefinger and ear-rings; rich chains; eighty-three very large crucifixes; five greatcensors of great value; a prodigiousgolden punch bowl'—er—er "Cardwell'smoving finger skipped again—"'watches'—let's see"

"We're shy on crucifixes," remarkedAshley from his corner once more, "but I'dsay we're strong on rum!"

"Shut up!" It was Steele's usual quietuson the effervescent Ashley. "Just besatisfied with drinking what a good manythousands of men in your country to-daywould give their eye teeth for, and restrainyourself"

But, as old Humphrey deposited hisdaughter in his own cushioned chair andleft the room at the summons of Henry, thegirl noted that Steele's remonstrance hadfallen on the empty air.

"As I was sayin'," remarked Ashley, ashis glass

waved aloft "so long as we couldn't find

our own

hard-fought-for liquor, this'll do fine!"

Steele flushed as Lora's steady eyes methis own. Cardwell, too, was not slow innoting the faux pas.

"Don't notice him "he started, but Steelebroke

in curtly.

"Oh, she knows," he explained,bitterness accenting his sharply-cut words."I might as well tell you now as any time—there'll be no more liquor in BroadAcres, and if"

Billy Meade smiled his slow smile.

"Quite suits me for you to get religion,Steele," he remarked, "I admit I'm entirely

fed up with it all— no taste for eitherFederal prison or haunting conscience—Cardwell and I have just been talkingabout it, eh Cardwell?"

Cardwell's smile was more energetic."Quite so! Quite so! I've adventuredenough! Want to get back into harnessnow! Won't matter to me if the stuff'snever found"

"I hardly think it will be."

Steele's quick glance at Lora and heranswering smile were illuminative. OnlyClement Ashley, from over the top of hishighball glass filled with an essencedistilled two centuries before, expresseddisapproval.

"Where—where is it—whatd'ye do

with it?" he demanded, trying to glare.

"Made a highball in the AtlanticOcean," laughed Steele, but his laughterturned to seriousness as he turned to hisother companions. He strolled over andlifted up one of the hands with which LoraHumphrey had been toying with hertreasure.

"Thanks, old chaps!" he said. "I wassure you'd understand. But I do want youto know that our treasure seeking has beensuccessful. I'm going to take back to BroadAcres—by hydroplane—the greatesttreasure in the world. Isn't that so, MissLora Humphrey?"

How like Harrison Steele it was tovaunt his good luck, Lora Humphrey didnot then know. She smiled a long, slowsmile, and her breath came deeply. Shefelt like vaunting, too. She reached over tothe table near at hand and took from it abook—one of those limp-bounddecorative volumes that somehow findtheir way into the best regulated bachelorretreats. She pulled out the red ribbon thatbound its sides together. She draped thatred ribbon over the ears of HarrisonSteele.

"Black Beard!" said Lora Humphrey.

THE END.

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