Catty turned to me quick as a flash. “Run down to the water,” he says, “and holler as loud as you can that you’ve found a boat. Then duck along the shore toward Nantucket and lie down in the sand. It’ll call them off our tracks a minute, anyhow.”

I didn’t stop to argue, but I wanted to argue. Just why I should be the sacrifice, I couldn’t make out. It was all very well to run down that way and holler, and then lie down. It sounded fine. But what would happen when everybody came running to see who hollered, and what if they stepped on me? I didn’t care for it.

But I went and I hollered, and about four thousand men came running pell-mell—on the inside of the barb wire. I was outside, by luck, and the way I skittered along that shore in the dark would make a deer jealous. I’ll bet I could have beaten the fastest deer in the woods by fifty yards in a hundred-yard dash. When I thought I was far enough I just dove head-first into the sand and lay there.

All the time I could imagine what Catty was trying to do with Mr. Dunn, and how he and Mr. House were slicing and tugging and jerking to get him under the wire. It must have been mighty exciting to have to stand there and keep cool and not hurry when, every second, somebody might happen onto you. But everybody was interested down by the shore where I had hollered, and they rampaged up and down for five minutes. By that time I thought it was safe to move, so I got onto my hands and knees and crawled back a ways from the shore and started toward Nantucket. I was all alone. Whether Catty had got Mr. Dunn through the wire or not I hadn’t the least idea. Lonesome! Say!

Well, the mutineers got tired looking along the shore, and began to scatter. I could hear them running and yelling behind me, and lanterns bobbed around all over. Some of them were coming my way, and you can bet I looked around for a place to hide. I never stopped a second, but kept running, or crawling when it seemed safer. Nobody got real close to me, but that didn’t hurt my feelings. I wasn’t so lonesome but what I could get along without the company of any mutineers. No, sir; bad as I wanted company I drew the line at that.

I could tell they hadn’t found Catty and the rest of them, because they kept on hunting, and there wasn’t any sign of a row, or yelling because the mutineers had succeeded. That made me feel a little better, anyhow. I knew how it would be if they did get caught. Catty would have expected me to hang around and rescue them, and of course, that’s what I would have had to try to do. Catty would have done it. But I knew I’d only get into some kind of a mess.

I kept on for quite a spell, until, all of a sudden, I saw something solid and black in front of me. It scared me at first, but I sneaked up on it to see what it was, and it turned out to be the fish shanty where Catty and I hung out that night, and where we hid that tin cylinder that had washed up on shore. It looked pretty good to me. I figured I could hide in it, and it wasn’t likely anybody would look there for me. The mutineers would think we had all put out for town.

I went in, and it was pitch dark. I didn’t mind that. The darker the better. It was comfortable, anyhow, and I sat down to think it over. The more I thought it over the more I came to the conclusion that thinking wasn’t my strong point. I didn’t get anywhere at all, nor think of anything. I didn’t even think of hurrying to town for help, and that was silly, because almost anybody could have thought that up. But not I. No, I had to sit there in the dark, and shiver, and wonder if I hadn’t better start to crawl back toward the mutineers’ camp to find Catty.

It wasn’t long before I heard a sound outside like folks sneaking along, and then I did get scairt. I wished there was a cellar in that fish shanty so I could crawl into it, and I was real angry with the fishermen for not building me a cellar. I crouched back in a corner and listened and waited. I couldn’t do a very good job of listening, because my heart beat so loud I couldn’t hear much of anything else.

Well, next I knew, somebody was feeling along the wall, and then they stopped and whispered.

“Now comes it,” says I to myself, “and I’m caught like a rabbit in a trap.”

“But,” says I to myself, “they don’t suspect I’m here, and maybe they won’t come in.”

And then I got an idea. It wasn’t a very high class idea, but it was the best I had in stock. I says to myself that I’d take them by surprise, and maybe be able to get away in the dark. I knew they were there, and they didn’t know I was there. So I went close to the door and waited. In a minute somebody pushed it open cautious, and was just about to come in. Then I sprung my surprise. I stepped back and opened up my mouth, and let out the most blood-curdling scream I could dig out of my innards. It was a jim dandy. And then, right in the middle of the scream I rushed at the figure in the door and butted it in the stomach and out I went. It would have been fine, but there was another figure behind the first one, and I ran into it, and we both went down together, clawing and scrapping to beat the band.

Well, sir, I don’t remember very clear just what went on for a minute or so, except that I was as busy as a buzz saw, and the other fellow knew it. Then something came down ker-wallop on top of both of us and knocked the wind clean out of me. I was done. I couldn’t have lifted the tip of a finger. You know how it is when your wind is knocked out and you can’t breathe, and you feel as if you never would breathe again. I was like that.

The weight rolled off of me, and I heard somebody say, “What in tunket is this?”

I couldn’t speak, but I knew that voice, and it made me so sore I wanted to bite. I was coming around enough so I could kick, and I just reached out with my foot and tunked his shin.

“Outch,” he says, and it was Catty Atkins!

“Serves—you—right,” says I, with the little breath I’d gotten back. “Wish I’d kicked you on the chin.”

“If it isn’t Wee-wee,” says he. “Quick. Pull him into the house.”

They dragged me in, and by that time I was feeling pretty good again.

“What d’ye mean,” says I, “scaring a fellow to death?”

“Didn’t know you were here,” says Catty.

“Glad you were, for I was wondering how in the world to find you.”

“You butted me in the stomach, young man,” says Mr. Dunn, “and my stomach’s been through enough tonight without that.”

“How’d you get loose from the wire?” says I.

“We cut and tugged him loose,” says Catty, “and we didn’t have a minute to spare, either. We had hardly dragged his feet under the wire when a couple of men came up on the other side. There was a bush right there, and we crouched down beside it and hardly breathed. They walked on, and we’ve been crawling and hiding and running ever since.”

“And I’m almost dead,” says Mr. Dunn.

“Are we safe here?” says Mr. House.

“We’re everything else but,” says Catty, “but I guess we’ve got to take a chance. It doesn’t look as if Mr. Dunn could go any farther till he gets rested some.”

“I can’t,” says Mr. Dunn, “and I won’t—not if all the pirates and mutineers that ever lived come galloping up.”

“All right,” says Catty, “you two men sit in here and get rested. Wee-wee and I will go out and reconnoiter.”

“I’m going to stay right here,” says I.

“You’re coming with me,” says Catty. “We’ve got business.”

So I went. We stood outside and listened. There were no sounds of pursuit, and I guessed the mutineers had given it up as a bad job.

“We’ve got to find the sacred jewels,” says Catty.

“The who,” says I, and I kind of thought all the excitement had gone to his head.

“Why,” says he, “the peck of sacred jewels we got away from the savages. They must be worth a couple of million dollars. Now’s our chance while those two medicine men are asleep.”

“What medicine men?” says I.

“The two in the shanty there,” says he. “They’ve been trailing us ever since we escaped from the temple, trying to find where we hid the jewels.”

“Catty,” says I, “we better start for town quick, so you can see a doctor. Those men are just Mr. Dunn and Mr. House.”

“Fiddlesticks,” says he, “for the next few minutes, they’re medicine men if I say so. Can’t we have any fun in this world? Have you always got to spoil everything?”

“Oh,” says I, “we’re pretending again, are we?”

“Yes,” says he.

“And haven’t you had enough real excitement tonight without having to pretend any?” says I. “I’m satisfied. I’ve got my money’s worth. You don’t have to throw anything in for good measure.”

“I tell you,” says he, “we’ve got to get those jewels.”

“All right,” I says, “jewels it is.” I knew I might as well go ahead and pretend with him, because when he takes it into his head to play some kind of a wild game, why, he just goes ahead and does it. You can’t stop him.

“Hope I haven’t forgotten how to find them,” says he, and he began pacing off. I followed along, trying to remember, too, but I’d forgotten entirely.

He walked and turned and walked and turned. “There,” says he, “if I haven’t made a mistake, we’re standing right on top of them.”

“Then,” says I, “let’s dig and have it over with.”

So we dug, and sure enough, he remembered right. In about two minutes we came onto the old tin chart case and got it out of the sand. Catty held it up in the air.

“Hurrah,” says he, “we’ve got it. We’ve won. Now we’ll be rich for life—a million apiece. I wish we were in New York now so we could start to sell these emeralds.”

“They’re emeralds?” says I. “All of them?”

“Every last one—as big as hickory nuts,” says he. “Now we’ve got to carry them into town with us, but those medicine men will be following, and they mustn’t know what we’ve got. How’ll we conceal this jewel case?”

“Swallow it,” says I.

“No,” says he, “there are some old papers in the shack. I remember them, back in a corner. We’ll just wrap up the case, and they’ll never suspect.”

“Of course not,” says I. “Medicine men are kind of idiots anyhow. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be medicine men.”

We took our old cylinder back to the shack, and as we were going in I says to Catty, “Say, quit pretending and tell me what you want that old thing for, anyhow?”

“Oh, just for a souvenir,” says he. “I can hang it up in my room.”

“Huh,” says I.

In the dark I could hear him monkeying with papers, so I guessed he was doing up his jewels so the medicine men couldn’t see them. Then he says, “There isn’t a sound outside? If you’re rested I guess it’s safe to make tracks for Nantucket.”

“And,” says Mr. Dunn, “if there’s a bed in that town, I’m going to get into it and sleep for forty-eight hours.”

“You’ve got to catch your mutineers, and save your ship,” says Catty.

“I’ll just attend to that by wire,” says he. “We’ll have a destroyer here from Newport, or some kind of a government ship. They haven’t a chance to escape.”

“All ready,” says Catty.

So we started for town, stringing along, and none of us going very fast. Pretty soon we came to the edge of town, and then we struck the end of a street, and felt we were safe.

In another ten minutes we were on the broad main street, and I knew where I was at, and felt human again.

“What now?” says Catty.

“We’ll send a wire, and then go to a hotel,” says Mr. Dunn.

“Guess we’ll go to the Albatross,” says Catty, “they must be worrying about us.”

Well, just as he said that he tripped over the curb and the tin cylinder flew out of his arms and rolled across the walk just under a street light.

Mr. House looked at it, and stopped.

“What’s that?” he said in a queer sounding voice.

“Just an old chart case we found?”

“Where’d you find it?”

Something in his voice made Catty hesitate. Before he answered he made a jump for the case and got it into his hands, but he wasn’t a moment too soon, for Mr. House had jumped, too. The next thing I knew Catty was tearing down the street like all git out with Mr. House at his heels.