For a week the weather held fair and each day found our little party, out on the reef, fishing with might and main to make as much money as possible before Hunter returned to his old haunts and tricks. They were thoroughly agreed that they would leave the island when he came back. They were not so much afraid for themselves but they had suffered heavy losses already from his rascality and they did not care to run the risk of being put still deeper in debt.

Meanwhile, they were contented and happy in their new pursuit. They were long, happy days that they spent on the reef with the sparkling blue water all around them. The bracing salt breezes giving zest to their appetites, and the ever-new, thrilling expectancy with which they pulled in their prizes, speculating always before it came to the surface its kind, and size.

On Saturday night they figured up the credit slips they had been given at the fish house and found that they had made one hundred and twelve dollars during the week. On Saturday night, also, they received a bit of ill news which was good news for them. Bill Roberts heard it from the fishermen at Clearwater, and he hastened over to tell them. It was to the effect that Hunter, discharged from the hospital, was well enough to be about, had proceeded to fill up on bad liquor in celebration of his release, and, as a result, was back in the hospital for a couple of weeks' more treatment.

"It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," quoted Charley, when he heard the news. "That gives us a couple of weeks more to fish in peace. Now if the weather only holds fair we will be able to pay what we owe and have a little left over to take us to some other place."

But the weather did not hold fair. Sunday morning found the wind blowing half a gale from the north-west and the seas rolling high outside. Monday morning it was still blowing with unabated vigor and the sky looked as though there was more to come.

"It's going to last for several days," Captain Westfield declared, "then, likely, we will get another spell of fair weather."

"Why couldn't it hold off for a couple of weeks longer," Walter grumbled. "Every day lost means a lot to us now."

After breakfast, Chris made ready to start out to secure a change for their bill of fare. Having nothing else to do the others went with him.

His first move was to secure a supply of the great stone crabs, whose claws, when roasted, they had found so delicious.

These were to be found in great numbers on the long mud flats, out in the bay, when low tide left the flats exposed. The boys could see thousands of them as they waded out to the flats. They were feeding or basking in the sun, but at the hunters approach one and all scurried for their hiding places, deep, slanting holes in the soft mud. But Chris was prepared for such tactics. He had fixed for himself a long iron rod with a hook in the end which he would thrust far down into a hole and drag out its squirming, clawing occupant. Then, he would kill it with a stroke of the rod, break off the great claws, and drop them into the sack he carried. In a few minutes the little darkey had secured as many as they could use before they spoiled.

The crabs were not the only inhabitants of the flats. Clams were there in plenty and in a short time they dug up all they desired. Then a trip was made to some partly submerged rocks and a goodly supply of big flat oysters secured.

"Strange we never see any Clearwater boys over here getting these things when they are so plentiful," Walter commented, as they started back to the cabin.

"Golly! I'se been studyin' on dat," Chris said. "'Pears to dis nigger dat we could make right smart ob money getting dese things an' selling dem to de folks ober in de town."

"They would hardly buy anything that is so plentiful right close to their homes," Walter objected.

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Charley, thoughtfully. "It's too hard work getting them for some people, I suppose. Others are too busy to take the time from their work, maybe. Likely, a lot more have no boats, and probably there are many who don't know how to get them. There may be something worth considering in Chris' proposal."

"Let's try it," said Captain Westfield. "We don't stand to lose anything but our work."

All went to work with a will and in a couple of hours they had secured ten dozen crab claws, a couple of bushels of clams, and had opened up a couple of gallons of oysters. Chris and Charley took the lot over to Clearwater right after dinner.

In an hour the two were back.

"They sold like hot cakes," Charley declared. "We didn't get over a quarter of the town before we sold out. We got forty cents a dozen for crab claws, fifty cents a quart for the oysters, and ten cents a dozen for clams."

"You robbers!" Walter gasped, in surprise, "they are not worth that."

"A thing is worth what you can get for it," Charley grinned. "Besides, we had to throw in an extra charge for the service, like they do in an expensive restaurant when they charge you two dollars for a fifty cent steak."

"Well, I reckon we can supply them with all they want at those prices," the captain remarked, dryly. "Let's get to work."

And work they did for the next three days, by which time the weather had cleared up, their market supplied for a time, and they, themselves, richer by about fifty dollars. Then they went back to their fishing again until the next spell of bad weather should come.

Often, as their little launch lay bobbing at her anchor, on the reef, great stately ships swept by in plain sight, traveling north or south to various ports. The captain watched them with the eager interest of a boy. Almost his whole life had been spent on the sea, and he loved its ships like a mother loves her children.

They were watching one of these ships one day wondering idly as to what might be her name, port, and cargo, when Charley's gaze became centered on a smaller craft some two miles astern of the first. Something about the cut and set of her sails caught and held his attention.

"That boat is some traveler, Captain," he observed. "See how she is drawing up on the one ahead."

The old sailor studied the distant craft with the eye of an expert.

"She is going some," he admitted. "Fore and aft topsail schooner, about eighty tons' burden. Funny, there seems something familiar in the cut of those sails and the set of those spars."

"That's what I was thinking," Charley agreed. "I'm almost certain I've seen that rig before."

"See, she's changed her course and is standing in for shore," suddenly cried the observant old sailor.

It soon became evident that he was right. The stranger came sweeping rapidly on carrying a wave of white froth before her bow.

Her changed course would bring her within half a mile of where they lay, and, as she drew nearer, our little party ceased fishing and stood gazing in admiration at the beautiful picture she made.

She was a low-hulled, black-painted schooner, keeling over under a press of snowy canvas, until her lee rail was buried in a smother of foam.

"I believe she is headed right for our island," Charley observed.

"If her captain does not know these waters pretty well he'll be liable to pile that beauty up on a rock," Captain Westfield said, anxiously.

It soon become evident that her pilot knew his ground for the schooner's course was shifted again and again as her commander jockeyed her around hidden rocks and through winding channels.

Soon her crew began to take in sail. One after another the snow-white sheets came in until stripped to mainsail and storm staysail she rounded up a mile from shore and hung motionless in the wind.

A tiny blot of color appeared on her deck and crept slowly up her foremast. At the top it opened up, a fluttering red flag.

"She's signalling," the captain exclaimed.

"I have it," Charley cried. "She's that smuggling craft. Her captain is trying to get in touch with the Hunter gang. No wonder I thought I had seen her before."

"I wasn't as lucky as you in getting a glimpse of her that night," remarked the captain, "but I have seen that craft somewhere before. I wonder where it was."

"That likeness to some boat I know struck me hard the night I saw her by the light of the flare, but I guess it's only a chance resemblance," Charley said. "Well, if they are waiting to hear from Hunter, they have a long wait ahead of them."

"I wonder how Hunter communicated with her before he was hurt," Walter pondered.

"There's no mystery about that," his chum replied. "That's the simplest part of the affair. It only takes a couple of days to get a letter to Cuba. I expect she has more aguardiente aboard now. Likely he wrote to her captain for a fresh supply as soon as he discovered that the other was gone. He doubtless planned to have us off the island before it arrived but his trip to the hospital has upset all his plans."

"They are bold to try to bring it in in broad daylight," observed the Captain.

"Oh, I daresay, they wouldn't attempt to land it until after dark, and there's nothing in her appearance to excite suspicion. If any boat came near her they could quickly slip out a couple of miles further and defy capture. Uncle Sam's jurisdiction does not extend out more than four miles from shore."

The beautiful schooner remained hove to all the afternoon and apparently waiting an answer to her signal, but, at last, her skipper, probably deciding that something was wrong, crowded on all sail and glided swiftly out to sea.

When our little party started home the schooner was a mere, distant speck on the horizon.

"This is the second trip she has made and landed nothing," Walter observed. "After such luck, I should not think they would try again."

"Oh, Hunter will likely write them the reason for his not being on hand and arrange for another meeting," Charley said. "They probably make enough money out of the business to be able to stand a few disappointments."