DURING the rest of the afternoon, during the evening, on into the night, Dick's hearty snoring floated up the companionway. At supper-time McGlory called Ole Larsen to the wheel, and went below. The Swede looked after him and observed that he took the steps slowly and cautiously, and was more quiet than usual in the cabin. From the mate his attention turned to the binnacle. His instructions were to hold the course, nor'east, pointing into the wind with the sheets hauled close. Ordinarily he would not have taken the trouble to question any orders that might have been given him, but the dislike and distrust all the crew felt for their new mate was stirring in his mind. He took occasion, when Harper came aft about some work, to beckon him and point to the compass.

“Aye tank we don' go at Mackinaw, no,” he said in a half whisper.

“Is that the course he gave you?”

“Ya-as, dat's her.”

“I was thinkin' myself it was funny. Near's I can figure, we're pointin' for Manitoulin Island. Now what in thunder—Look here, Ole—first chance I get I'm goin' to wake the Cap'n.”

“Aye tank we do dat, ya-as.”

They had dropped their voices, but Mc-Glory had heard them. He now came tiptoeing up the companion steps, wearing an ugly scowl. “Go up forward,” he commanded, addressing Harper.

“I was just askin' about the course, Mr. McGlory. It didn't quite seem to me—”

“Go up forward!”

Pink hesitated, then he raised his voice. “Cap'n Smiley generally likes me to wake him when he's slept as long's this.”

“Go up forward.”

“Well—”

He was starting, but he moved too slowly. McGlory's temper gave way, and he struck him, with the back of his hand, across the face.

“You hit me!” The blood rushed into Harper's face; he drew himself up, his fists contracting, the muscles of his bare forearms knotting. Ole gazed impassively at the compass, but his fingers were twitching on the spokes of the wheel; he saw from the expression of Harper's eyes that the boy needed no assistance. For one tense moment, as they stood there on the sloping deck, a faint light shining on them from the open companionway, anything seemed possible. Had Mc-Glory been a coward he would have retreated from the blazing figure before him; but he was not a coward. Instead of retreating, he stepped forward, gripped Harper's arm, and whirled him around. “Go up forward!” he said for the fourth time. And Pink, swallowing hard, went.

A gentle sigh escaped the wheelsman. The mate turned on him; but Ole was gazing out into the dark with an expressionless face. Into the silence that followed came a gurgling snore from the cabin; if Pink had hoped to wake the captain, he had failed. And the end of this brief incident was that McGlory returned below and finished his supper, while the Merry Anne continued to point nor'east.

Towards eleven o'clock the moon rose and showed Duck Island six miles off the port bow. McGlory was again at the wheel. He now brought her up still closer to the wind, heading a few points off Outer Duck Island and skimming the lower edge of Jennie Graham Shoal. Huddled up in the bow, out of the mate's view, Harper and Larsen were watching out ahead, pulling at their pipes and occasionally exchanging a whispered word or two. Linding, the third sailor, lay flat on the deck by the windlass, his head pillowed on a coil of rope, the regular sound of his breathing telling that he was asleep. Soon Ole's practised eyes made out a bit of land far off to port, and he pointed it out to his companion.

“What is it?”

“Meedle Duck Island, ya-as.”

A few minutes more and they saw a line of coast dead ahead.

“Manitoulin Island?” whispered Pink.

“Aye tank.”

On they went until the shore lay plainly before them in the moonlight,—on until the breeze began to fail them, so close were they in the shelter of the land. Finally they heard McGlory say in a guarded voice, “Ready about, up there!” and they sprang to their places.

It proved a short tack. Hardly a quarter of an hour later, when the land had faded but a little way into the indistinct night, they came about again. This time they ran in so directly for the land that Pink grew nervous. He stood up, pipe in hand, looking back at the mate, then forward at the shore. The breeze fell away, but they drifted on through a mirror of shapes and shadows. The trees of the bank loomed before them, then, it seemed, around them.

Still the Merry Anne drifted on, her wheelsman turning every stray breath to advantage. She was in a cove now, though how wide it was or how far it extended the sailors could not tell, so strangely were the bluffs and the trees reflected in the water. Drifting, however, is lazy work, and Harper sat down to it and relighted his pipe, At length the schooner came lazily up into the wind and McGlory ordered the anchor overboard. Here was a chance to try to wake the Captain, and the chance was seized; but even the dank and rattle of the chain failed to interrupt the snoring in the cabin.

“Linding,” said McGlory, “come back here.”

Larsen and Harper looked at each other,—they had not told Linding,—then between them they woke him and sent him aft.

Without a word the mate motioned the sailor to help him lower the boat over the stern.

“He's goin' ashore,” whispered Harper. Ole nodded. “He's beckonin' for us—say, Ole, shall we go?”

But the Swede started promptly aft. The habit of obedience is so strong in a well-dis-posed sailor that only great provocation will overthrow it. With but a moment's hesitation, Harper followed.

“Climb down there,” said the mate; “and mind you're quiet about it.”

Down they went; McGlory came after and took the rudder; and, propelled by two pairs of oars, the boat slipped away, crossed a patch of moonlight, and entered the mysterious region of shadows.

“Way enough—easy now!”

They literally could not distinguish the shore—it was all distorted, unnatural. They dragged the oars in the water and looked over their shoulders. Linding was in the bow with a long boat-hook ready in his hands. Then they found themselves floating quietly alongside a narrow landing pier, and it was necessary to tumble in the oars in a hurry.

Linding checked the boat's headway, the others reached out and caught the planking with their hands; and McGlory stepped out.

“Make her fast,” he said, “and come ashore.”

They obeyed.

“Now, boys,”—he seemed of a sudden to be making an attempt at good-nature,—“I want you to wait here for me. I 'll be back in five minutes.” And walking along a path that mounted the bluff, he left them standing there.

For a few moments they were silent. Then Harper spoke up: “Look here fellows, I don't know how it strikes you, but I'm hanged if I like this way o' doin' business. What we'd better do is to pull right back an' wake the Cap'n.”

“Meester McGlory, she haf geef us orders, ya-as?”

“What's that got to do with it?”

But the two Swedes shook their heads. They were slow of body and mind; the idea of rowing off without the mate was too daring. “You won't do it, then?”

They looked at each other.

“All right,” said Harper, pulling off his coat, “all right. Have it your way. But I'm goin' back, an' I'm goin' now.” He tossed his coat into the boat, pulled off his boots and threw them after, let himself down into the water, waded a few steps, and struck out for the schooner. It was but a little way. He swam around to the stern, and drew himself up by the boat tackle, which had been left hanging down close to the water. Rushing down into the cabin, where a single lantern burned dimly, he bent over the Captain, who lay dressed in his bunk, and shook him.

“Wake up, Cap'n, wake up!”

“Lemme be, will you?”

“Wake up! It's me—Harper.”

“I don't care if it is. You needn't drown me.”

“But, Cap'n!”

“Well, what's the row?” Slowly Dick raised his head and looked around. “Good Lord! What time is it?”

“Twelve o'clock.”

“Twelve o'clock what!”

“Midnight.”

“Midnight your gran'ma!”

“But it is. Mr. McGlory, he—”

“Just let go o' me, will you? Go over there and drip on the steps.” Dick was slowly swinging his feet around and sitting up. “You've soaked my bedding now. What's the matter with you anyhow? Been trying to swim home?”

“No, Cap'n, but Ole says we're up at—”

“See here, why haven't I been waked up?”

“Mr. McGlory wouldn't let me wake you.”

“Wouldn't let you?”

“No, he—”

“What's the matter with your lip?”

“McGlory hit me.”

“Hit you!” Dick sprang to his feet. “What in thunder are you talking about?”

“I'm tryin' to tell you, Cap'n, if you 'll just listen—”

“Go on, be quick about it.”

“You've been sleepin' ever since we left Middle Island. Ole an' me we seen that the course was nor'east instead o' nor'west, an' I was goin' to wake you, but he wouldn't let me, an' I hollered loud but it didn't wake you, an' now we're in a place Ole thinks is Burnt Cove on Manitoulin Island, an'—an' Mr. McGlory's made me row him ashore, an' told us to wait there for him, an' I swum back to wake you—”

Dick was standing close to Harper, staring at him with a mixture of astonishment and incredulity. Now he brushed him aside and ran up the steps. Sure enough, on every side were trees and the shadows of trees. The Lake was not to be seen. He turned again to Harper who was close at his elbow. “Where's the boat?”

“Right over there—not a hundred yards.”

“Ole!” called Dick.

“Ya-as.”

“Bring that boat back and hustle about it.”

In a moment they heard the clanking of oars, and soon the boat appeared in the moonlight and ran alongside.

“What are you doing there?” said Dick.

“Mees' McGlory, she say to wait.”

“Oh, she does, does she! Well, we 'll see about it.” He leaped down to the boat and took the stern. “Pull ashore.”

“Cap'n,” said Harper, “will you let me go?”

“Sure, if you want to. Take Linding's place. Linding, you stay on the schooner. And mind, there's nobody but me giving orders around here. Pull away, boys.”

The landing pier was deserted when they ran alongside. “Which way did he go?” asked Dick, as he stepped out.

Harper pointed at the dim path.

“How long ago was it?”

“Just a few minutes.”

“All right. We 'll wait here.” He sat down with his back against a post, and filled his pipe. “Got a match, Pink? Oh, I forgot, you're wet. Ole, give me a match.” He lighted up and settled back to smoke and think.

McGlory had evidently walked some little distance back from the Cove, for nearly ten minutes passed before they heard his step in the brush. Dick sat still until he saw the mate coming down the bluff, then he said, “Get aboard, McGlory.”

At the first word McGlory stopped short.

“Well,” Dick added, rising, “how long are you going to keep us waiting?”

Still there was no word from the motionless figure. Not until Dick stepped to the stern of the boat did he speak. “Come up here a minute, will you, Cap'n? I want to speak to you.”

“You can do any speaking you have to do on the schooner. Swing around, Pink. I 'll hold her.”

“Just a minute, Cap'n, you know what I mean.”

“All I know about you is that you can't be trusted.”

“Seems to me you're gettin' mighty innocent all to once.”

“You can have your choice, McGlory, of getting aboard or staying behind. For my part, I'd a heap sight rather leave you behind.”

“You needn't talk that way. I know what I'm doin'—I know I'm not to talk to you—”

“All right, Pink,”—Dick stepped into the boat,—“let her go.”

McGlory turned and looked back up the path, as if listening. Then suddenly he ran out on the landing and got aboard just as the men were pushing off. He took the bow thwart, and settled down without a word. When they reached the schooner, he got out the boat-hook, and held her steady while Dick climbed out.

“That 'll do there,” said Dick, when McGlory and Larsen were hoisting the boat up to the davits. “Let her down again. Pink, you'd better take Linding and sound the channel ahead of us. We 'll start right out.”

“That ain't necessary,” put in the mate, hurriedly; “I can take her out.”

Dick turned and looked him over sharply. “How do I know you wouldn't run her aground? You seem to be raising the devil generally.”

“I ain't a fool,” replied the mate, with an impatient gesture.

“I'd feel a little safer if you were. Well, all right, Pink, make her fast. We 'll let him try it.”

McGlory took the wheel, and Dick sat by him on the cabin trunk. They went out as they had come in, gaining a rod here and a yard there, as the vagrant night breezes stirred the trees and faintly rippled the water. Up forward the men settled down as quietly as if working out of Burnt Cove after midnight were a part of the daily routine. Dick smoked in silence. The mate alone was nervous. For some reason he seemed as anxious now to get out of the Cove as he had been to get into it. Occasionally his eyes wandered back toward the darker spot where the landing was. Once he seemed to hear something,—they were then in sight of the open lake,—and he swung her off quickly to gain headway. Finally Dick asked:—

“Got another o' your lady friends stowed away up here?”

The mate grunted.

“Maybe you thought you'd just drop around for a little call. That the idea?”

“No, that ain't the idea.”

“I didn't know you were a Mormon.”

Another grunt.

“Case o' temporary mental aberration, perhaps. You thought you owned the schooner. Or maybe you dreamed I was going to give it to you—not for its intrinsic value, but as a token of affection and esteem. That it?”

“No, that ain't it, an' you know it ain't.”

“Oh, I'm in the secret, am I?”

McGlory leaned across the wheel and looked at him. “Are you a-tryin' to make me think you don't know why I come here?”

“I certainly am.”

“Well, you beat me.”

“Then we're in the same condition. It isn't exactly usual, you know, to take another man's schooner off for a summer cruise without asking him if he don't mind. Of course, between friends, it's all right—-only there are some little formalities that are customary. But I suppose you aren't going to tell me anything about it—why you did it.”

The mate said nothing. They were now slipping out into deep water, where the breeze could fill the sails, and the schooner began to heel and to nose through the ripples with a grateful sound. The light was stronger out here, and the mate could see the Captain's face more plainly. What he saw there answered several questions that lay, unspoken, in his mind.

“I 'll take the wheel now,” said Dick. “Hold on, don't you go forward. Wait here till I get through with you.” He raised his voice and called to the others. “Come back here, boys, all o' you.” And when the crew was grouped about the wheel: “Pink, here, is going to be my mate for the rest o' this trip. I want you to take his orders the same as if they were mine. McGlory has nothing more to say on this schooner. That's all.”

The men looked at each other. The Swedes were slow to grasp what was said. McGlory stood back in the shadow, and his face told nothing. Harper was excited.

“That's all, I tell you. You can go back.”

They went at this—all but Pink, who lingered. “Cap'n—”

“Well, what is it?”

“I was just goin' to say—it's more'n square—you've been more'n white to me—”

“Hold on there. You needn't bother about engrossing any resolutions. You 'll find it hard enough.”

“Well—I'm mighty obliged for—”

“Not at all.”

Thirty-six hours later, when the Merry Anne was slipping through the islands west of the straits and heading southward for the run down Lake Michigan, McGlory slipped aft and addressed Harper, who had the wheel. “I was sort o' hasty awhile ago, Pink, when I hit you that time. I hope you ain't a-layin' it up against me.”

Pink stared at him, but offered no reply.

“I was a little excited. You see, Cap'n Smiley's a good sailor, but he don't know where his own interest is.”

“I ain't got nothin' to say to you about Cap'n Smiley.”

“I know. Say, you ain't got no objections to turnin' an honest penny, have you?

“That depends.”

“Or say maybe it was a neat little five hundred—good hard stuff.”

“Where's it cornin' from?”

“You know where we was—over in Canada?”

“I ought to.”

“Well, Smiley knows all about that.”

“The————-he does!”

“Sure thing. He's been there before, more'n once.”

“Funny he didn't know the channel then. There ain't a place around the Lakes he couldn't sail the Anne through if he'd smelled it once.”

“I know. That's the queer part of it. He knows it with his eyes shut. He had some reason or other for puttin' up the bluff he did, an' I'd give just about ten round dollars to know what it was.”

“Better ask him.”

“Watch me. This ain't the kind o' thing you can talk out about. I know he knows, an' he knows I know; but he's down on me an' there's nothin' I can say—here, anyway.”

“What do you want o' me?”

“You're the right sort—you've got nerve an' a head on you. Help me carry this business through, an' I 'll divvy up with you—five hundred, sure, to start with.”

“What am I to do?”

“Nothin' hard. You've got a good stand in with Smiley. Just put in a word for me, so's he won't fire me before another trip, anyway. You fellows made a mistake this time in not standin' by me. I can do better by you than he can—a lot better. Help me to stay aboard for the next trip, an' I 'll hand you fifty right now for a sweetener.”

“Well, I 'll see what I can do.”

“I've got the fifty down below. I 'll get it.”

“Hold on—don't be in a hurry. You'd better see what I can do for you before you do any sweetenin'.”

McGlory nodded and slipped back to his station. When the watch was changed, he went below and settled down to writing a letter on crumpled paper with a pencil. He seemed to be thinking hard. Three times he made a start, only to hold the paper up to the lantern, shake his head over it, tear it up, and stuff the pieces into his pocket. But the fourth attempt, which follows, suited him better.

“Dear Estelle: I ain't done the trick I was going to do this trip. The Captain woke up too soon and stoped me. But I've got a fellow here on bord that's going to see me threw next trip so don't you go down to Saginaw yet. Wait til you see me at Spencer's and Ile tell you al about the scheme itll be worth a thousand cool anyway I should say its worth waiting for. I'm doing it for you you know so don't you get impatent but just wait a litle longer and we 'll have a gay old time.

“Joe.”

When he gave the wheel to Dick, Harper repeated to him the whole conversation and asked him what he made of it.

“Give it up.”

“You don't think he's layin' for you, do you? I couldn't tell what he was up to. Of course he wouldn't hardly let me see into his game the first time we talked.”

“Oh, no,—hardly.”

“Will I go on lettin' him talk to me?”

“If you see any fun in it.”

“It ain't that—I thought maybe we could find out what he's after.”

“I don't want to know about it.”

“But you don't think he 'll try to—stick it into you anyway?”

“Let him try. He can't do much harm.”

“Well—”

“Take my advice, Pink, and quit thinking about him. I don't like this business any more than you do, but the worse it is the less I want to know about it. When we get back we 'll fire him, and that will end it.”

“Don't you think we'd better tie him up, or somethin'?”

“That wouldn't do any good. You'd better tumble below and get some sleep. There's nothing like it when you're a little worked up.”

Dick had indeed something else to think of than his rascal of a mate. Only four days of sailing, if the wind should hold, lay between the Merry Anne and the Annie for whom she had been named. These days would slip away before he knew it, and then? The uncertainty was hard, but still he dreaded the meeting—that might be harder still.

Off Waukegan on the last day the wind swung around to the south, nearly dead ahead; and as the schooner lost headway and was forced into beating to windward, the dread suddenly gave place to impatience. So variable were his thoughts indeed, as the miles slipped astern and the long green bluff that ends in Grosse Pointe grew nearer and plainer, that his courage oozed away.

Far down the Lake, between the Lake View crib and the horizon, was a speck of a sail. Dick's heart sank—he knew as if he could make out the painted name that it was the Captain. He watched it hungrily as the Merry Anne, headed in close to the waterworks pier, swept easily around, and started on the last outward tack. Then he called to Pink, and had the sheets hauled close; and he laughed softly and nervously as the schooner responded with a list to port and a merry little fling of spray. He could at least come in with a rush, with all his colors flying.

He was waiting for the tiny sail to swing around and point northward. He was disappointed. He reached for the glass and took a long look—then lowered it, and smiled bitterly. There were two figures seated in the stern of the Captain.

The Schmidt was lying on the south side of the pier; and the wind enabled Dick to come easily up on the opposite side and make fast. It was late in the afternoon, and Dick released the two Swedes, both of whom had families on shore. Then he crossed the pier, between the high piles of lumber, and found Henry sitting quietly, as usual, in his cabin.

To the older man's greeting Dick responded moodily. “I want to talk to you, Henry. What's my reputation, anyhow, among the boys? Do they call me mean, or a driver, or hard to get along with?”

Henry looked at him curiously, and shook his head. “I never heard anything of that sort. Your row with Roche was the only thing, and I guess he was a poor stick.”

“Well, I'm through with McGlory, too.”

“Through with him?” Henry was startled. “You haven't discharged him?”

“No, but I'm going to to-night. I've brought him back here, and he wants to stay, but I won't have him aboard another minute.”

“What's the trouble?”

Dick gave him the whole story, including the conversation between McGlory and Harper up in the straits.

“I don't like the sound of it very well,” said Henry, when he had finished. “Couldn't you get on with him a little longer?”

“After that?”

“I know—there is some deviltry behind it. But still he is a good man. You 'll have hard work finding a better. And honest, I would kind of hate to face Cap'n Stenzenberger myself with this story.”

“Why? I can't have a man around that's going to steal my schooner in my sleep.”

“Oh, well, he could never do that again. I can't see what he was thinking of. Do you see into it at all?”

Dick had been staring at the cabin table. At this question he raised his eyes, for an instant, with an odd expression. “I know all I want to. The whole thing is so outrageous that I am not going to try to follow it up.”

“He talked to your man about a rake-off, didn't he?”

Dick nodded.

“What do you suppose he was going to rake?”

Dick, whose eyes were lowered, and who was therefore unconscious of the pallor of his cousin's face, said nothing.

“I know we don't look at some things quite the same, Dick,” Henry went on. “But if anybody on my schooner is going to do any raking, he has got to see me first. A dollar's a dollar, my boy. When you are my age, you will think so too.”

“I don't mix in this business.”

“No more would I. But it seems to me, if McGlory's got some way of his own of making a little pile, and if you could have your share for just letting him stay aboard, you'd be sort of a fool not to do it.”

“Excuse me!”

Henry smiled indulgently. “There's nothing very bad in what you have told me. Of course, if there are things you haven''t told me, it might make a difference.”

“You have the whole story.”

“Do you know, Dick, you make me think of the folks up at the college here. You know that brewer that died repentant and left five hundred thousand dollars to the Biblical School? Well, a lot of the old preachers got stirred up over it and made them refuse the money— made 'em refuse five hundred thousand cash! Good Lord! if these particular folks would look into the private history of all the dollars in the country, they'd never touch one of them,—not one. There isn't a dollar of the lot that hasn't got a bad spot somewhere, like the rest of us. The main thing is, are your own hands clean when you take it? If they are, the dollar can't hurt you.”

“But look here, Henry, my mind's made up about this. I won't have that fellow on my schooner.”

“Going to turn him off to-night?”

“Yes, right now.”

“All right. You can send him over here. I 'll give him a bunk till morning. But what are you going to do for a mate?”

“Pink is all right. I could go farther and do worse.”

“All right. Tell Joe to bring his things along.”