The bargain completed, the two comrades were about to board the craft when the old sailor of the cove interposed.

"I reckon you ain't in any sort of a hurry. If you start across the bay now before it gets plumb dark old Bill Broome is liable to ketch yer," and the aged fellow gave Jim a shrewd look from under his grizzled eyebrows.

"I guess that he wouldn't really do us any damage," replied Jim, with an assumed carelessness.

"I should think that you would have to look out for him, yourself," put in the engineer; "he's just as likely as not to drop in on you sometime, and take your two boats and such ballast as you have stowed away in your cabin, that he might take a fancy to."

"Him," said the old sailor with indescribable contempt; "why, old Bill wouldn't come within a mile of my cabin, unless he was drug here. I had quite a set-to with him a few years ago, and since thet time he don't even pass the time of day with me." He was quick to see that he had roused the deep interest of his two visitors. "Come in to my cabin, while I smoke a pipe," he continued, "and I'll tell yer about that fracas between old Broome and myself."

"Certainly we will come in," said the engineer; "we are in no rush that I know of."

"Suits me," agreed Jim tersely.

They entered the cabin through a low doorway that caused Jim to stoop his proud crest as it were. The interior was snug and cozy with brown-hued walls and wooden beams that gave the room the appearance of a ship's cabin. A large lamp swung from the center of the ceiling gave a tempered light through a green shade.

There were several nautical prints upon the wall, and in front of a small stove, wherein glowed coals through its iron teeth, lay on a rug of woven rags a huge yellow cat stretched out at full and comfortable length. Everything was scrupulously neat about the place, and kept in ship-shape condition. The old man seated himself in a hacked wooden chair with semicircular arms and a green cushion. Jim took his place on a sea-chest, once green but now much faded, and with heavy rope handles, while the engineer occupied the other chair. After the sailor's wrinkled old wife had brought in some coffee for his two guests, and he had filled his short black pipe, he began his narrative of his once-time scrap with Captain William Broome, of unpious memory.

"That was one of the most unusual jobs I ever tackled when I took command of the Storm King for J. J. Singleton."

"That's the famous mining man, who used to live in San Francisco," remarked John Berwick.

"The same fellow," continued the old sailor, "and in spite of his money he had a lot of sensible ideas. You see, old 'J. J,' as he was known hereabouts, had three sons, the oldest seventeen, and their mother being dead for some years he brought 'em up according as he thought best. Had 'em work in one of his mines learning to run an engine and earning their own money. The youngest was on a big cattle ranch that the old man owned down in the southern part of the state.

"He told the boys that when they earned a certain amount they could put it into a steam yacht and what was lacking he would make up. Maybe those kids didn't work hard for some years until they had what was needed. I had been in command of one of Singleton's coasting ships and the old man picked me to take charge of the Storm King, which was the fool name of the yacht that they invested in, but there was nothing the matter with the boat herself.

"'Teach 'em navigating, Captain,' he says to me in his final instructions, 'and give 'em a taste of the rope's end if they ain't sharp to obey orders.'

"But shucks, I had no trouble with them boys, they weren't like rich men's sons, but knew what hard work meant and could obey orders as well as give 'em. The oldest one's name was John—about your size," pointing to Jim, "but one of those sandy complected chaps, with white eyelashes and cool, gray eyes and no end of grit. The other two named Sam and Joe, were active, competent lads, and they had brought with them a friend off the cattle ranch, whom they called 'Comanche,' and I want you to know that boy was some shot with a revolver, rifle or cannon.

"Well, the second day out was where Captain Bill Broome put in an appearance. He was a smuggler and cutthroat in those days, and did a little kidnaping on the side."

"He hasn't reformed yet either," put in Jim.

"Not him," agreed the narrator; "he thought that he would make a rich haul on this occasion if he could get hold of the three Singleton boys and hold them for ransom. As soon as I saw the long, gray Shark, which I was quick to recognize, and noticed how she hung on our course, I knew what the game was and, as she had the speed on us, I saw that it was a case of fight or surrender. I can tell you it wasn't a pleasant situation for me. I felt my responsibility and I didn't want to face old Singleton if anything happened to those boys. I told 'em exactly what we was facing, and it would warm your heart to have seen the spirit they showed.

"The oldest one declared that their father would never give up one cent if they surrendered until their ship sank under 'em, and I guess the lad was right. Now we had three cannon aboard, a long, black, six pounder mounted aft, which the boys had named 'Black Tom,' and two smaller brass cannon forward on the bridge deck on either side. I had grinned at these guns when they were first taken aboard, considering that they were part of a kid game, and said to the old man that I wasn't qualified to command a man-of-war and that we might be able to trade the brass pieces for an island to some chief in the south seas, but now I saw that they might come in handy, and enable us to land a few kicks in old Bill's side even if he got us later, as was almost certain, for he was sure to have the range on us.

"I could see a long, wicked gun that the Shark carried forward, and there were three cannon on a side; these I could make out clearly through my glass. 'I'll navigate the ship,' I said to John Singleton, 'and you fight her.'

"'Agreed to that, sir,' he answered, gripping my hand, and I was soon to learn that he was no kid at the fighting game either. It was now about eleven of a clear morning, with a smooth and slightly rolling sea; the Shark was drawing up slowly and steadily, and was about five miles astern.

"'I reckon it will be an hour and a half before she gets within range, Captain,' said John Singleton.

"'Just about that,' I replied, wondering how he had estimated it so closely, but he was one of the most practical chaps I ever saw.

"That will give us time for a good sound feed," remarked John. 'But I don't feel like eating, Jack,' protested his younger brother, Sam.

"'Sure you've got to eat, Sam,' replied John; 'this game isn't going to be anything like as fierce as what you and I have faced in the mining camp. Take my word for it, you won't be fit for anything unless you have a square meal.' I couldn't help but admire the way in which the lad put heart into his brothers, and I felt confident that he would more than hold his end up when it came to the fighting. However, it seemed to me, the contest could end only one way and as a forlorn hope, I steered southwest on the chance of cutting across the course of one of the Pacific steamers, but all I succeeded in raising was the sail of a Borkentine low down to the south and a few points west.

"About half past two that afternoon the trouble began. The Shark was nearing the half-mile limit; a long, gray boat of iron, built for speed and stripped of all superfluous tackle.

"'They are getting ready to show their teeth,' remarked John, pointing to a group of three men in the bow.

"Besides the men in the bow of the Shark, there were several in the waist leaning over the rail and sizing up the Storm King with cold and calculating eyes.

"'Let's give 'em a shot, John,' I heard Joe urge.

"'No hurry,' replied his brother; 'don't let them worry you into wasting any ammunition.'

"In a few minutes John Singleton turned to me, 'could you turn her course a few points to the north, Captain?' he asked.

"'Certainly,' I replied.

"'Thank you,' responded the lad, 'I've a plan and it won't take over five minutes.'

"Then he and his friend, Comanche, lowered one of the ship's boats on the starboard side, where it was sheltered from the sight of the enemy by the deck cabins just abaft the midships. In this boat were two rifles, heavily loaded and ready for action. What the boy's scheme was I did not foresee but it was to develop a short time later.

"Upon the quarter deck of the Shark paced the figure of Captain Broome, with his long, swinging gorilla-like arms. Suddenly he stopped, put his hand to his mouth and shouted an order to the men in the bow of the ship. Then came the quick move of one of the men. A flash leaped from the mouth of the forward gun, a dull detonation, and a white cloud of smoke curled back over the bow of the Shark, while the shell plunged into the water directly in front of our prow.

"'That's for us to heave to,' cried John; 'give him our answer, Comanche, and give it to him hard!'

"Comanche obeyed with belligerent willingness, and with an accuracy of aim that was utterly surprising to old Bill Broome, for the round shot struck his boat amidship, and it fell back into the water. The distance was too great to do execution, but a yell of triumph went up from the boys on the deck of the Storm King.

"'Just a little higher next time,' cried Jack Singleton; 'sweep the rascal's decks for him.'

"It was good advice and now the fight was on, and it was like a real naval engagement, with the constant bark of the guns, the heavy clouds of white sulphurous smoke rolling over the quiet sea between the combatants, and the thrusting flames from the mouths of the guns flashing into the smoke. But the fire of the enemy was becoming more accurate and deadly, and it was a question of only a few minutes before a well-directed shot would completely disable us.

"'Pull down our flag, Captain,' yelled John Singleton; 'let him come alongside.'

"It seemed to me the only thing to do, and in a couple of minutes the long gray Shark had slipped through the smoke on our portside. Old Bill could not resist the temptation to make some remarks before he boarded us.

"'I'd like to know, Cap'n, what you, and your parcel of kids mean by attacking me on the high seas, me going along peaceable, just enjoying a fishin' cruise for my health. I'll take it out of yer blasted hide for making me this trouble, and I'll baste them pretty boys of your'n to a finish, or my name ain't Bill Broome!'

"'Which it ain't,' I says, and I proceeded to hand him out a line of talk that kept him eager to say something else about my character.

"You see I noticed that John and Comanche had disappeared just as the Shark hove alongside, and I intended to give them all the time I could, and I could of yelled when I see'd John creeping up behind the Cap'n; and the next second he had felled him with the butt of his rifle, and Comanche had done the same for two of the men who were standing in the waist of the ship, joining in our previous conversation.

"Well, it wasn't ten seconds before I was aboard with four of my crew and it was no time before we had possession of that ship. Now you see the purpose of John Singleton in lowering the boat when he did. He had used it to slip around the stern of the Shark and to slip up on Bill Broome and his crew."

"Great work," cried Jim, in admiration, "but what did you do with 'em when you had them caught?"

"That didn't bother us long," said the old fellow; "we didn't want their company, and we had to fix it so they wouldn't bother us, so we put their engines out of commission, so they had to use their small sails; broke their cannons, and threw all their ammunition into the sea, and left them, to their own devices."

"Where is the Storm King and her crew now, Captain?" asked the engineer with evident interest.

"Cruising down in the South Seas, I reckon."

"Some time we may run across them, eh, Chief?" questioned Jim.

"Stranger things have happened," replied Berwick with a knowing grin.

"Well, I don't intend to let John Singleton beat me at the game with our mutual friend, Captain Broome," remarked Jim, as he rose to his feet.

"The old chap was right enough," remarked Jim, as the two of them sent the beautiful boat over the slightly rolling waters of the gray, sodden-hued bay towards Frau Scheff's. "If money can buy her, I am going to own this boat. There is no telling when we might find use for her, if we ever go down into the South Seas."

"You want something bigger than this low, black, rakish craft if you are going to be a pirate in the South Seas," remarked Berwick caustically.

"Indeed, yes!" agreed Jim. "I'm sure going to have the Sea Eagle over yonder," and he nodded his head in the direction of the open bay.

"When Captain Broome gets done with her?" questioned Berwick slyly.

"Perhaps sooner; I dunno," said Jim gloomily.

They beached their long, low, black craft on the sands below the restaurant of Herr and Frau Scheff, and from that base of supplies laid in a liberal stock of provisions, enough to last for a day at least. There was some ham, a loaf of bread, butter and an apple pie. Sauerkraut they had to politely refuse, for, as Jim said in an aside to his friend, "There was no disguising their trail from the enemy if they carried that." But they had plenty of other necessities, including tea and coffee. They were also loaned a few necessary cooking utensils, and thus equipped, they launched out in their skiff once more.