Christmas Day arrived, and maintained its kindly repute by finding affairs on board the Kansas changed for the better. Mr. Boyle was so far recovered that he could walk; he even took command of two watches in the twenty-four hours, but was forbidden to exert himself, lest the wound in his back should reopen. Several injured sailors and firemen were convalescent; the two most serious cases were out of danger; Frascuelo, hardy as a weed, dared the risk of using his damaged leg, and survived, though his progress along the deck was painful. Nevertheless, on Christmas morning he presented himself before the captain, and asked leave to abandon his present quarters. He felt lonely in the forecastle, and wished to berth with the other Chileans in the neighborhood of the saloon. Although his luck was bad in some respects, the coal-trimmer was endowed with the nine lives of a cat, for there could be no manner of doubt that he dragged himself aft just in time to avoid being killed.

Yet, never was day less ominous in appearance. The breezy, sunlit morning brought no hint of coming tragedy. The fine weather which had prevailed since the Kansas drifted into the estuary seemed to become more settled as the month wore. Suarez said it was unprecedented. Not only had he not witnessed in five years three consecutive days without rain, snow, or hail, but the Indians had a proverb: “Who so-ever sees fire-in-the-sky (the sun) for seven days shall see the leaf red a hundred times.” In effect, centenarians were needed to bear testimony to a week’s fine weather; whereas no man—most certainly no woman—among the Alaculofs ever succeeded in reaching the threescore years and ten regarded by the psalmist as the span of life.

But the miner from Argentina never wavered in his belief that the Indians would soon muster every adult for an assault on the ship. The elements might waver, but not the hate of the savage. From the rising of the sun to the going down thereof Suarez was ever on the alert. He ate his meals with his eyes fixed on the low point of land which hid Otter Creek. He saw thin columns of smoke rising when no other eye on board could discern them. Once he made out the forms of a number of women searching for shellfish on some distant rocks at low water, and on Christmas morning he reported the presence of three canoes among the trees near Otter Creek, when Courtenay could scarce be sure of their character after scrutinizing them through his glasses.

Every other person on the ship held the opinion that the Alaculofs would attack by night, if they were not afraid to attempt the enterprise at all. So Suarez slept soundly, while his companions were on the qui vive for a call to repel boarders. Were it not for the strain induced by the silent menace of their savage neighbors, the small company suffered no ill from their prolonged stay in this peaceful anchorage. There was work in plenty for all hands. Walker was re-enforced by a trio of firemen, whose technical knowledge, slight as it was, proved useful when he began to fit and connect the disabled machinery. For the rest, the promenade deck was walled with strong canvas, while Courtenay and Tollemache gave undivided attention to the fashioning of several other floating bombs which could be exploded from the ship. They also provided flexible steam-pipes in places where a rush might be made if the Indians once secured a footing on the deck, fore or aft. Steam was kept up constantly in the donkey-boiler, not alone for the electric light and the daily working of the pumps—as the Kansas had not blundered over the shoal without straining some of her plates—but for use against the naked bodies of their possible assailants.

When day followed day without any sign of hostility, not a man on board, save Suarez and Tollemache, paid much real heed to the shoreward peril. Walker, with his hammers and cold chisels, his screw-jacks and wrenches, was the center of interest. And Walker’s swarthy visage wore a permanent grin, which presaged well for the fulfilment of his promise. Elsie devoted herself to the hospital. She was thus brought more in contact with Christobal than with any of the others. Nor did he make this close acquaintance irksome to her. Always suave and charming in manner, he exerted himself to be entertaining. Though she knew full well that if the Kansas reached the open sea again he would ask her to marry him, he was evidently content to deny himself the privileges of courtship until a proper time and season.

She was far too wise to appear to avoid Courtenay. Indeed, she was studiously agreeable to him when they met. She adopted the safe role of good-fellowship, flattering herself that her own folly would shrink to nothingness under the hourly castigation thus inflicted. During this period, Mr. Boyle’s changeable characteristics puzzled and amused her. As he grew stronger, and took part in the active life of the ship, so did his sudden excess of talkativeness disappear. Once she happened to overhear his remarks to a couple of Chileans who were told to swab off the decks. Obviously, they had scamped their work, and Boyle expostulated. Then she grasped the essential element in Boyle’s composition. He was capable only of a single idea. When he was chief officer he ceased to be an ordinary man; the corollary was, of course, that he ceased to use ordinary language.

She was in her cabin, and dared not come out while the tornado raged. She did not know that Tollemache was listening, too, until she heard him ask:

“Did you ever meet any fellow who could swear harder than you, Boyle?”

“Yes, once,” was the curt answer.

“He must have been a rotter. What did he say?”

“Huh! just the regulation patter, but he used a megaphone, so I gave him best. . . .”

But, so far as Elsie was concerned, Boyle’s fund of reminiscence had dried up.

After the midday meal on Christmas day—a sumptuous repast, for the due preparation of which Elsie had come to the Chilean cook’s assistance in the matter of the plum-pudding—Suarez suddenly reported that a new column of smoke was rising from Guanaco Hill, a crag dominating the eastern side of the bay. The hill owed its name, he explained, to a large cave, in which a legendary herd of llama was said to have its abode. Probably there had never been any llama on the island, but the Indians were frightened of the cave, with its galloping ghosts, and would not enter it. He was unable to attribute any special significance to the signal on that particular place. During the five years with the Alaculof tribe he had never seen a fire lit there before. That, in itself, was a fact sinister and alarming.

Suarez had sufficient tact not to make this statement publicly. He told Christobal, and the doctor passed on the information to the captain. Both men went to the poop with their glasses, and carefully examined the coast line.

Courtenay was the first to break an oppressive silence, and his low pitched voice announced stirring tidings.

“Do you see those canoes yonder?” he said.

“There were three under the trees before Suarez discovered the smoke on Guanaco. Now I fancy I can make out nearly a dozen. Though they are not launched, they have been put there for some purpose. Would you mind going forrard and asking Mr. Boyle to summon all hands on deck? He knows exactly what to do. Remember that I regard you and Miss Maxwell as non-combatants, and expect you both to remain in the saloon. If these painted devils really mean to attack, some of us will get hurt, and then your services will be of greater value than in the fighting line. And, if I do not see Miss Maxwell before the trouble begins, please tell her she need fear no alarm. We shall be able to beat off our assailants with comparative ease.”

When the captain of the Kansas spoke like that there was no gainsaying him. Even Christobal, whose jealous suspicions were ever ready to burst into flame, was roused to enthusiasm by his cool gallantry.

But, ere the Spaniard turned to go, a disturbing thought forced its way to his lips.

“We have every confidence in you,” he said, “and I admit that it should be a simple matter to prevent the savages from gaining the upper hand. Yet, accidents happen. Suppose they manage to rush your defense?”

“They will not do that while I and every other man on deck are alive. If the worst comes to the worst, you have a revolver—”

“Yes,” said Christobal.

“It will suffice for two, but not for a hundred.” The two men, united by the very bond which threatened to bring them into antagonism, looked into each other’s eyes.

“Is that your last word?” asked Christobal.

“It is.”

“I feel sure that you are right. Good-by!”

They shook hands. They were nearer a real friendship then than either of them thought possible, and the bond which held them was love for the same woman.

Courtenay, using his glasses again, saw that a number of Indians were launching the canoes simultaneously. He counted nine small craft, each holding five or six men, or men and women—at the distance, nearly three miles, he could not be certain whether or not they all wore the distinguishing head-dress of feathers. Against wind and current they could not possibly reach the ship under half an hour, and the smallness of the fleet surprised him.

He stooped and patted Joey, who was at peace with the world after a good dinner.

“We are in luck’s way, pup,” he said. “These rascals might get the better of us by sheer force of numbers, but there are not fifty of them, all told. Poor devils! They are coming to the slaughter!”

The news that the Indians were advancing ran through the ship like wildfire. Including Mr. Boyle, Frascuelo, and those among the Chileans whose wounds were not serious, there were fourteen men available for the defense. Unfortunately, the supply of firearms was inadequate. A shot-gun and five revolvers constituted the armory, and one of the pistols was in Christobal’s pocket. The supply of ammunition was so small that the revolvers could not be reloaded more than three times; but Courtenay had two hundred shot cartridges, and, against naked men, an ounce of shot is far more effective than a bullet.

The captain hoped to terrify the Indians before they attempted to scale the ship’s sides. If various ruses failed, and the attack was pressed, he had decided not to split up his small force in the effort to repel boarders. A scattered resistance would surely break down at one point or another: there would be a rush of savages along the decks, a panic among the Chileans, and all would be ended. On the other hand, when fighting collectively under European leadership, and well aware that the Indians would kill and spare not, the half-breeds might be trusted to acquit themselves like men.

The canvas awning constituted a flimsy citadel in the center of the vessel. Six men were stationed on the starboard side of the promenade deck, and six on the port side. Tollemache and a Chilean, who said he could shoot well, were told to frustrate any attempt to climb the after part of the ship, while Courtenay, with his fowling-piece, would have the lion’s share of this work from the spar deck, as he undertook to keep the rails clear forward and help the revolver practise if necessary. With him was Suarez, who knew what was expected of him, so the language difficulty offered no apparent hindrance once the fight began. Finally, if the Indians made good their footing, the defenders were to rally towards the saloon companion where steam jets were ready to spurt withering blasts along the corridors.

It was a good plan, and might have kept at bay an enemy of higher valor than the Alaculofs, provided they were not armed with rifles. Against modern weapons of long range nothing could be done. If Suarez did not exaggerate, therein lay the real danger. Courtenay wished to make sure at the outset of the number of guns carried by the savages; it was also important to know whether their marksmen were distributed, or crowded together in one or two canoes. If the latter, he would give those warriors his special attention.

His binocular glasses were not strong enough so he walked back towards the chart-house to procure a telescope. Catching Joey under his left arm, he climbed the short ladder leading to the spar deck, and pulled it up after him, the bolts having been already removed to permit of that being done. Walker was screwing tight the door of the engine-room, in order to safeguard the fireman in attendance on the donkey-boiler. Now that the screw-driving was actually in operation, it very unpleasantly reminded Courtenay of the fastening of a coffin lid. Neither Walker nor the man inside could guess the gruesome notion which held the captain in its chilly grip for an instant; indeed, the engineer looked up with a grin.

“I suppose it’s twue, sir, the-aw’s goin’ to be a fight?” he asked.

“There’s a fair chance of one, Walker.”

Walker winked suggestively.

“That chap inside thinks he’s out of it,” he said, “so that’s all wight.” An energetic turn of the screwdriver signified that the man from Newcastle held the opposite view. Much as he loved his engines, he preferred to be on deck when the trouble came.

It happened that during this slight delay Courtenay glanced at the northern headland, which Elsie had christened Cape Templar, owing to the somewhat remarkable profile of a knight in armor offered by its seaward crags. Possibly, had he gone straight to the chart-house, he might not have noticed a signal fire which was in full blast on the summit of the cliff. It had not been many minutes in existence, and it struck him at once that it was a vehicle of communication between the savages in the approaching canoes and others, yet invisible, who were expected to share in the attack.

He was quick to perceive how seriously this new peril affected his calculations. By the time the nine canoes he had counted were alongside the ship, there might be dozens of others ready to help them. He leaned over the rail.

“Did you test those flexible pipes this morning?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir, they-aw in fine condition,” said Walker.

“Try them again, will you? I want to make sure. Our lives may depend on them very soon.”

He saw Suarez watching the oncoming canoes. By a touch on the shoulder he called the man’s attention to the smoke signal on Cape Templar. A voluble and perfervid explanation in Spanish was useless. Here arose the unforeseen need of an interpreter. Without troubling to analyze his feelings, Courtenay was glad of the excuse which presented itself of obtaining a momentary glimpse of Elsie.

“Bring the seÑorita,” he said, and Elsie, wondering why she had been summoned from the saloon, ran up the bridge companion. Her face was aglow with excitement, her heart going pit-a-pat. She hoped that Courtenay meant to keep her near him during the fight; she almost doubted Christobal’s statement that the captain had given specific orders that she was to remain in the saloon. It was one thing that she should wish to avoid him, but why should he wish to avoid her?

The joy in her eyes died away when she found that the captain merely required a translator. The restraint she imposed on herself made her tongue trip. She had to ask Suarez to repeat his statement twice before she was able to put it into English.

“He says that the Indians only kindle a fire on that point when they want the signal to be seen from the sea,” she explained at last. “They used it once, to his knowledge, when some of them had gone to the island out there to kill seals. He cannot guess what it portends to-day, but he is quite sure that they have many more canoes at command than those which you now see up the bay.”

Courtenay could not fail to notice her agitation. His quick intent was to soothe her.

“I am afraid my sending for you in such a hurry rather alarmed you. Suarez strikes me as a person of nerves; he overrates the enemy, Miss Maxwell. I think you know me well enough to believe that I would not mislead you, and I am quite in earnest when I tell you that we shall drive off these unfortunate wretches with comparative ease. Why, I had it in my heart to pity them a moment ago.”

She was glad he misunderstood the cause of her agitation.

“Suarez is certainly rather dramatic,” she said, smiling wistfully. “I ought to have discounted his Spanish mode of address. But is it really necessary that I should remain below?”

“It is. If shots are fired, or stones slung at us, the chart-house will probably be hit. Ah, yes, I am sure you would risk that, and more. But we may sustain casualties. And Christobal ought to have help. You see, I am asking you to act the braver part.”

He caught her hand and looked into her eyes. There are so many messages that can be given in that silent language; for a blissful moment, Elsie forgot the other woman. Not until she had left the bridge did she realize that Courtenay, too, must have been equally forgetful. And that was very distressing, both for her and the unknown. But here she was, face to face with him, and in such close proximity that she was unaccountably timid. While her heart leaped in tumult, she forced her lips to answer:

“You are right. You are always right. I was selfish in thinking that—that I—might—”

There was a pitiful quivering in the corners of her mouth. Courtenay felt her hand tremble.

“Be a brave girl, Elsie,” he murmured. “You must go now. Have no fear. We are in God’s care. May His angels watch over you!”

“But you, you will not risk your life? What shall we do if anything happens to you?”

She was strung to that tense pitch when unguarded speech bubbles forth the soul’s secrets. All she knew was that Courtenay was looking at her as a man looks at the woman he loves. And that sufficed. The mere sound of her name on his lips was music. He told her to go, yet held her hand a willing prisoner. His words had the sound of a prayer, but it was the orison of a knight to his lady. He bade her fear not, while he trembled a little himself, though she well knew it was not fear which shook him. Neither of them paid heed to the presence of Suarez. For an instant they had a glimpse of heaven, but the curiously harsh voice of the Spanish miner fell on their ears, and they came back to earth with a sudden drop.

“The Feathered People are singing their war chant,” he said, and his gesture seemed to ask them to listen. They started apart, and it was not Elsie alone who blushed. Courtenay crimsoned beneath the tan on his face, and pretended a mighty interest in the doings of the savages. The girl recovered her self-control more rapidly. She half whispered the meaning of the miner’s cry, whereon Courtenay tried to laugh.

“They will be singing a dirge next,” said he with a jaunty confidence. “Now, Elsie, off with you! Be sure I shall come and tell you when you may appear on deck.”

She hurried away. She recked naught of the Alaculof challenge. Though the raucous notes of the tuneless lay could be heard plainly enough, they did not reach her ears. When she raced down the saloon companion she found Christobal bending over the small case of instruments he always carried. He straightened himself in his peculiarly stiff way.

“What did the captain want?” he asked, with a suspicious peevishness which, for once, detracted from his habitual courtesy. The note of distrust jarred Elsie back into her senses.

“He wished me to translate SeÑor Suarez’s explanation of another smoke signal,” she answered.

“Oh, was that all?”

“Practically all.”

“He told you himself, I suppose, that he wished you to stay here.”

“He did more. He drove me away.”

“Against your will?”

“No. Am I not one of the ship’s company? Is he not the centurion? He says to this woman, Go, and she goeth, nor does she stand upon the order of her going. Oh, please don’t look at me as if I were cracked. Surely one may mingle the Bible and Shakespeare in an emergency?”

“One may also tear linen sheets into strips,” said Christobal, gravely. Elsie’s quip had saved the situation. He attributed her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes to the fever of the threatened fight.

She applied herself eagerly to the task. Already the fume and agony of vain regret were striving to conquer the ecstasy which had flooded her whole being. She remembered that passionate longing to be clasped in Courtenay’s arms which she experienced when she saw him in the canoe, and now, after draining to the dregs the cup of bitterness she had forced on herself during these later days, here she was, ready as ever to quaff the love potion. Poor Elsie! She longed for the waters of Lethe; haply they are denied to young women with live blood in their veins.

Courtenay, meanwhile, was examining the advancing flotilla. His brain was conning each detail of the Alaculof array, but his heart was whispering gladly:

“In another moment you would have kissed her and told her you loved her. You know you would, so don’t deny it! Ah! kissed her, and held her to your breast!”

So Suarez spoiled a pretty bit of romance by his ruffling agitation over some bawl of savage frenzy, for Courtenay, of course, would have laughed away the girl’s protests that she was usurping another woman’s place. It was really a pity that the man from Argentina had not found something else to occupy his mind at that precise juncture in the affairs of two young people who were obviously mated by the discriminating gods. A good deal of suffering and heartburning would then have been avoided; but perhaps it was just the whim of fate that the captain’s love affair should follow the irregular course mapped out for his ship, and the Kansas was not yet re-launched on the ocean high-road to London, no, not by any manner of means.

In fact, if the confident demeanor of the paddling warriors in the canoes were destined to be justified, the big steamer was in parlous state. Her vast bulk and sheer walls of steel did not daunt them. They came on steadily against the rapid current, and spread out into a crescent when within a few hundred yards of the ship. Then three men, crouching in the bows of different canoes, produced rifles hitherto invisible and began to shoot. The bullets ricochetted across the ripples, and Courtenay saw that the savages did not understand the sighting appliances. They were aiming point-blank at the vessel, in so far as they could be said to aim at anything, and the low trajectory caused the first straight shot to rebound from the surface of the water and strike a plate amidships. The loud clang of the metal was hailed by the Alaculofs with shouts of delight. Probably they had no fixed idea of the distance the tiny projectiles would carry. Joey began to bark furiously, and the Indians imitated him. The hammer-like blow of the bullet, the defiance of the dog, and the curiously accurate yelping of the men in the canoes, mixed in wild medley with the volleyed echoes of the firing now rolled back from the opposing cliffs. In such wise did the battle open. Courtenay, more amused than anxious, did not silence the terrier, and Joey’s barking speedily rose to a shrill and breathless hysteria. Some savage, more skilled than his fellows, reproduced this falsetto with marvelous exactness. There never was a death struggle heralded by such grotesque humor; it might have been a tragedy of marionettes, a Dutch concert on the verge of the pit.

The long-range firing was kept up for several minutes, much to Courtenay’s relief, as Suarez was certain that the Indians’ stock of cartridges did not amount to more than four hundred at the utmost. The canoes crept gradually nearer, and bullets began to strike the ship frequently. One glanced off a davit and shattered a couple of windows in the chart-house. This incident aroused even greater enthusiasm than the first blow of the attack. There was renewed activity among the paddle wielders. Two canoes were not fifty yards from the most southerly floating mine. Courtenay commenced to haul in the slack of one among the half-dozen thin cords: he turned to tell Suarez to be ready for the duty which had been entrusted to him, when his glance happened to travel towards the mouth of the bay.

Then he learnt the significance of that column of smoke on the northern point. A fleet of at least forty canoes was advancing on the ship from the sea. Tide and paddles were swinging the small craft along at a spanking pace. They were already much nearer the vessel than the first batch of Indians, who had very cleverly contrived to enlist the attention of the defenders while the real attack was developing without let or hindrance. It was a smart ruse, worthy of a race of higher attainments than the tribe which is ranked lowest in the human scale. During long days of patient watching, they had probably estimated to a nicety the number of men on board. They reasoned that a show of force to the south would draw all eyes from the north, and the stronger squadron of canoes might be enabled to run under the bows of the ship so speedily and quietly that the occupants of the leading craft, men who could climb like monkeys, stood some chance of gaining the deck unobserved. That this was their design was proved by the abstention of the newcomers from firing or stone-slinging. They were gathering with the speed and silence of vultures.

Two mines protected the front of the Kansas, and several canoes had passed them. Indeed, Courtenay soon found that some of the assailants were already screened by the ship’s bows, but the larger number were clustered thickly round Tollemache’s infernal machines. It was well that a cool-headed sailor was called on to deal with this emergency. The captain of the Kansas even smiled as he appreciated the full meaning of the trick which his adversaries had tried to play on him, and the man who smiles in the face of danger is one to be depended on.

The six cords were numbered. He dropped No. 2, which he was holding, and seized Nos. 4 and 5. He drew them in, hand over hand, as rapidly as possible, but careful not to sacrifice a smooth tension to undue hurry. In a few seconds two deafening reports split the air, the glass front of the chart-house shook, pieces of the broken panes rattled on the floor, several scraps of iron, bolts, nuts and heavy nails fell on the decks and hatches, and a tremendous hubbub of yells came from the main body of Indians. A couple of heavily charged dynamite bombs had burst in their midst, dealing death and destruction over a wide area. Several canoes near the floating platforms were torn asunder and sank, while men were killed or wounded out of all proportion to the number of craft disabled.

Courtenay at once picked up the governing cord of the mine which he was about to fire in the first instance. He felt that the Alaculof flotilla would act in future on the “once bitten twice shy” principle where those innocent-looking little poles showed above sea level, and he must strike fierce blows while the opportunity served. The nine canoes on the south were not clustered around the bomb in the same manner as the others, but they were near enough to sustain heavy loss, and their affrighted crews had ceased to ply their paddles. So he fired that shell also, and had the satisfaction of seeing two more of the frail craft capsize.

He heard the crash of bullets against the ship’s sides; a volley of stones smashed several more panes of stout glass; many arrows were embedded in the woodwork: but he calmly pulled another cord, and blew a single loud blast on the siren. That was the agreed signal to warn those below that they must expect to be attacked from the fore part of the vessel. His shot-gun was lying on the table. He took it up, and faced forward again; several canoes were scurrying past and away from the ship as fast as the current and many arms could propel them. He fired both barrels at those within range on the port side. He reloaded, and the sharp snapping of revolver-shots told him that Tollemache and the Chilean were busy.

But the Indians were demoralized by the complete failure of their scheme. They had ceased firing and stone-slinging; they were flying for their lives. Courtenay wheeled round on Suarez.

“Now!” he cried, pointing to a speaking-trumpet. Suarez ran out on deck, put the megaphone to his mouth, and roared after the discomfited enemy a threat of worse things in store if they dared to come near the ship again. As he used the Alaculof language, the sounds he uttered were the most extraordinary that Courtenay had ever heard from a human throat—a compound of hoarse, guttural vowels, and consonants ending in a series of clicks—and the stentorian power of his lungs must have amazed the Indians.

Courtenay saw that the two fleets were combining forces about five hundred yards to westward. They were close inshore, but none of the savages landed, nor did they head for the more remote Otter Creek. As he was anxious to keep them on the run, he resolved to try the siren again. He judged rightly, as it transpired, that they would fear the bellow of the fog-horn even more than the flying missiles which had dealt death and serious wounds so lavishly.

He knew sufficient Spanish, eked out by signs, to bid Suarez hold the siren cord taut for a minute. While the Kansas was still trumpeting forth her loud blare of defiance, he ran down the bridge companion. Mr. Boyle and the tiny garrison of the port promenade deck received him jubilantly; they had escaped without a bruise, and, owing to their position, were able to witness the Indians’ retreat.

He raced across to starboard, and found that, by unfortunate mischance, a Chilean fireman in Tollemache’s detachment had been shot through the brain. The poor fellow was prone on the deck; it was only too evident that a doctor’s skill could avail him naught, so Tollemache had decided that he should not be taken below. The incident marred an easily won victory. Courtenay was assured in his own mind that none of the men had been injured, seeing that he and Suarez, who occupied the most dangerous position, were untouched. This fatality was a mere blunder of fate, and it grieved him sorely.

Even while he bent reverently over the unlucky Chilean’s body, the deafening vibration of the fog-horn ceased, and he heard Elsie’s glad cry from the saloon:

“Oh my, here comes Joey! That means that Captain Courtenay has left the bridge.”

The girl’s joyous exclamation, her prelude to a paean of thanks that the dreadful necessary slaying of men had ceased, was a strange commentary on the shattered form stretched at the commander’s feet. Among the small company on board, it had been decreed that one, at least, after surviving so many perils, should never see home and kin again.

He gave orders that the dead man should be carried to the poop to await a sailor’s burial; then he turned, and with less sprightly step descended the main companion. In the saloon he found Elsie and Christobal watching the stairs expectantly. The girl had the dog in her arms, and Courtenay perceived, for the first time, that Joey’s off fore paw had been cut by the broken glass which littered the floor of the chart-house.

“Then the attack has really failed?” was Elsie’s greeting. “I saw some of the canoes turn and scurry away. That was the first good sign. And then Joey came.”

“You saw them?” repeated Courtenay, his bent brows emphasizing the question.

“Yes. I was looking through one of the ports. Was that wrong?”

“Which one?”

She pointed. “That one,” said she, wondering that he had never a smile for her.

“Then you must obey orders more faithfully next time. A man was shot dead by a stray bullet not three feet above your head.”

She paled, and her eyes fell before his stern gaze, which did not deceive her at all, for she read the unspoken agony of his thought.

“I am sorry,” she murmured, “not so much on my own account, though I shall be more careful in future, but because some one has suffered. Who is it? Not one of our own people, I hope?”

“A fireman; I think his name is Gama. You have hardly seen him, I fancy, but I regret his loss exceedingly. It must have been the merest accident.”

The captain of the Kansas was certainly preoccupied, or he would never have failed to inquire the extent of Joey’s injury. Nor would either he or Elsie have forgotten that Christobal was not “one of our own people,” though the girl might protest hotly against any invidious twisting of the phrase.

The Spaniard missed nothing of Courtenay’s solicitude for Elsie’s well-being, nor of her shy confusion. By operation of the occult law which governs static electricity, it was possible that the magnetism flowing between those two communicated itself to a third person. However that might be, Christobal was under no sort of doubt that, unless another “accident” intervened, he had lost all chance of winning this woman’s love.

But he swallowed the bitter knowledge and said:

“If you undertake to hold the dog, Miss Maxwell, I will bind his paw.”

“Oh, my ducky darling little pet! Did I actually forget all about his dear wounded little foot? And he came hopping in so bravely, too, carrying himself with such a grand air. Come, then, Joey dear! Let us see what has happened. Yes, this is the doctor, but he won’t hurt you. He is so good and kind to little dogs; he will wrap up the bleedy part until it is quite nice and comfy.”

“Your only patient, doctor,” said the captain, cheerily, when Elsie had done fondling the dog. “Even crediting our poor fireman to the enemy’s score, we have had the best of the first round.”

“Is there any likelihood of a second attack?”

“I hope not. Indeed, I shall be very much surprised if they show up again.”

“Ah, that is excellent. Our young lady here does not thrive on excitement, especially of the murderous variety. She is on the verge of a high fever.”

“Then she can calm down now; there will be no more fighting to-day,” said Courtenay, with a smiling glance at Elsie which told her quite plainly that Christobal did not really know what he was talking about. Which goes to prove that even a prudent man may say mistaken things, with both his tongue and his eyes.