On board the schooner all was excitement and confusion. Nearly awash as she already was the first big wave had swept her from stem to stern. Her frightened negro crew had quickly sprung into the rigging yelling at the top of their voices. Only the solemn, lanky, old captain remained impassive. He still stood at his post, by the wheel, peering over his big, horn-rimmed spectacles, sizing up the situation with shrewd, calculating eyes.

A second wave struck and swept over, and then a third.

"She's sinking," Walter shouted.

Slowly the doomed craft settled down, down until her bulwarks lay even with the water, then stopped.

"She is not going to sink," Charley exclaimed, as he saw her stop in her downward course.

Captain Westfield quickly grasped the strange situation. "She's gone as far as she can," he declared. "She is resting on a shoal. Steer down on the leeward side of her, Charley, and we will take off the crew."

The other launch captains had been on the watch and had cut loose at the same time as Charley. Following the "Dixie's" example, they flocked around to the lee side of the wreck and assisted to take off the crew. The rescued negroes came aboard, wet to the skin, and fright had given their ebony faces a peculiar, ashen hue.

The solemn lanky captain was the last to leave the schooner. Before getting aboard the "Dixie," he made his way up to the vessel's bow and knocking out the shackle pin let the anchor drop to the bottom; a move which Captain Westfield watched with a twinkle in his eyes.

"That darkey sure knows his business," he remarked in an undertone to Charley.

The other launches crowded around the "Dixie," their captains wanting a consultation.

"The schooner's not in bad shape here," Bill Roberts observed. "There isn't sea enough to break her up. The owners can get a sea tug and a steam pump from Tampa, and get her up and keep her afloat long enough to tow her into the dry dock."

"We might as well all run on into Tarpon now and draw on Curry Bros. for that thousand dollars," one of the other captains proposed.

"You-alls can't collect dat money now," observed the darkey skipper, calmly. "You-alls wasn't to get it 'less you got de schooner into de dry dock."

"Didn't we do our best?" demanded Bill Roberts. "Haven't we got you nearly there? Haven't we got your vessel into a place where she will not be lost? Where would your old ship be outside in the gulf in this gale? She wouldn't have lasted out there as long as a snowball in the warm place."

"Dat's all true," agreed the darkey captain, "but you ain't carried out youah part ob de contract. If you white gentlemens had got de schooner into de dry dock all right hit would hab been worth dat thousand dollars to mah owners, but now, dey will have to go to de expense ob a tug an' steam pump, an' dat's going to be a heap ob money. I'se got to watch out for my owners' interests."

"But we have done our best," Captain Westfield protested. "We have spent our time and strained our engines, and we ought to be paid for what we've done."

"Dat's all right," agreed the sable skipper. "I reckon Curry Bros. pay you for dat all right, but not dat thousand dollars. Dat's too much, under de circumstances."

For a few minutes it looked as though the wily, ebony skipper would receive rough treatment from the infuriated launch captains, but the cooler arguments of the Roberts and Captain Westfield prevailed.

"He has got the law on his side," Captain Westfield said. "We can't force the payment of that thousand dollars, although what we have done for the owners is worth many times the amount. I guess the best thing we can do is to trust to Curry Bros. to do the right thing by us."

"Not for me," declared the captain of one launch. "If we can't collect that bill, I'll collect a bigger one. That schooner is abandoned. Her captain and crew have deserted her. I am going to put a man on her and put in a claim for salvage. The rest of you can join me, or not, just as you please."

"I am with you," the other fish captains agreed. Bill Roberts wavered and glanced at Captain Westfield for advice.

"I don't believe such a course would get us anything," the old sailor said. "These Key West captains are wise to all the salvage laws and Curry Bros. made their money in wrecking. They would fight any claim for salvage and they have got too much money for us to fight against."

"Dis white gentleman is telling you-alls the truth," affirmed the darkey skipper. "Dat ship ain't abandoned. I'se jes' going ashore to communicate wid de owners. I'se dun dropped de anchor over. An' she ain't floating helpless at sea."

"All right, you fellows can listen to that nigger if you want to," said the salvage hunter. "I'm going to take possession of the schooner. If you are going back, you can take these darkeys I've got in my launch."

His fellow fishermen elected to stay with him but the Roberts boys decided to return with our party. The negroes in the other two boats were transferred to the "Dixie," and Bill Roberts' boat, and the two launches remaining made fast to the sunken schooner.

As soon as the transfer was made the two returning boats headed back for Clearwater with their cargoes of ebony passengers.

It was nearly dark when hungry, weary, and disappointed, our party and the Roberts arrived at the Clearwater dock. The rescued negroes at once scattered to seek food and shelter in the colored quarter of the town. Their captain, lanky and solemn as ever, departed to the telegraph office to communicate with his owners.

"You white gentlemen ain't going to lose nothing for de way you-alls have done," he assured Captain Westfield, earnestly, before he left. "I'se only a captain an' I'se done got to do what I thinks is foah mah owners' interests. I allows, though, dat Curry Bros. going to treat you all right. I'se sorry dose other two white gentlemens is going to try to make trouble. I'se dun been wrecking foah Mr. Curry foah foaty years an' I knows all about de salvage laws. Dey ain't a ghost ob a show to get salvage out ob dat schooner."

It was not until several days after that, however, that our friends verified the truth of the ebony skipper's statements.

The first proof came with the return of the two launches which had fastened to the schooner. Their captains were weary and wrathful. They had hung by the schooner for two days. Then a tug and steam pump arrived from Tampa and on board the tug was a United States marshal who curtly ordered them away from the schooner. The schooner had then been raised and towed into the dry dock. The two captains had at once entered suit for salvage claims but what the outcome would be even their lawyers could, or would not, say.

The second proof came in the form of a letter from Curry Bros., thanking them for what they had done and inclosing a check for two hundred dollars. Much to their pleasure they found that the Roberts boys had received a similar letter and check.

The night the check came Charley got out his note book and pencil and figured up their accounts and the result brought satisfaction to them all.

The reef fishing had proved more profitable than they had dared hope, and for it they had credit slips on the fish house for two hundred and seventy-five dollars.

The sale of crabs, claws, and oysters—the work of stormy days—had brought them in another hundred dollars in cash.

Adding to this the two-hundred dollar check they had just received brought the total up to five hundred and seventy-five dollars.

Deducting the two hundred dollars they owed for groceries and nets, left them the comfortable balance of three hundred and seventy-five dollars.

"That's not half bad," Charley observed, "but I think now is the time for us to quit. It will not be long now before Hunter returns and I want to be away from here before he gets back. If he succeeded in working a few more of his sly tricks on us he might put us in the hole again."

His companions were loath to leave such profitable work but they could clearly see the wisdom of his plan. So, after some discussion, they decided that the next day should see their last trip to the reef. Then they would take their departure for the East Coast and seek whatever work they could find.

This settled, they retired to dream happily of new scenes and new adventures.

Their sleep would have been less sound, perhaps, had they known that Hunter had already returned. Their dreams would have been less pleasant, if they had seen the silently propelled row boat creep into their little dock, a slinking figure groping around in the "Dixie," and, after a few minutes, the ghostly row boat departed as silently as it had come.

But they were happily unconscious of these things and slept soundly on to waken only at their accustomed hour at break of day.

Sunrise found them on the reef fishing busily. But for some reason or other they did not meet with their accustomed success. Bites came only at long and irregular intervals. They shifted frequently to fresh places but with no better result.

"I shouldn't wonder if there was a storm brewing," Captain Westfield said. "Creatures in the sea, as well as on the land, seem to have a weather instinct which tells them when a serious change of weather is coming. It looks bright all around, but it seems to me I can feel a kind of heaviness in the air that only comes before a storm."

Noon came but the sky remained clear and uncloudy.

"I guess you missed the weather, for once, Captain," Charley observed, "but I think we might as well start for home, anyway. It's our last day and we are not catching enough to pay us to stay out any longer."

His companions were willing so the anchor was hauled aboard and the engine started up.