Just beyond lay the deer trail that had grown so familiar to them all. A little fringe of undergrowth to be broken through with the utmost caution, stooping low to avoid as many branches as possible, and then they were on the trail in Indian file creeping stealthily toward the swamp pond with Jo ahead. As they drew nearer they could smell the wood smoke in the air.

This was even more exciting than stalking deer, Ann thought, as she went forward noiselessly, hardly daring to draw a full breath.

Jo stopped for a whispered conference.

“As we draw close,” he instructed, “we had better scatter, so the noise won’t come always from the same direction if we step on twigs or stumble. And that will give us all a chance to light out and make our getaway if somebody is there by the fire. I’ll take the center. Ben and Ann swing out on either side of me and Helen had best stay right here behind me.”

So the band took the formation that Robin Hood suggested and bore down upon the fire in a wide semicircle, within sight of one another, if one knew where to look and peered through the green leaves of the underbrush. Through the scrub growth and briers, now, they could see the glow of flames and hear a murmur of men’s voices speaking in low tones.

Jo dropped flat on his stomach and pulled Helen down beside him and the others followed his example. Slowly they crept forward and came to the edge of the little clearing on the edge of the pond.

Two men were seated before the crackling sticks of a small fire. Ann had never seen either of them before. They were dressed in dark blue wool and she felt sure that the cloth was like the torn piece that Jo carried constantly in his pocket. Were they sailors from the wreck? And where had they been all the time since the boat came ashore last winter?

The nearer man was big. His shaggy hair was tumbled and long on his bare head and a heavy beard covered the lower part of his face. Ann knew that he would be an ugly customer, and quieter than ever she lay motionless under the bushes. The other man was small and lithely thin like a weasel. He had a weasel’s tiny pale eyes that darted nervously everywhere while he talked. He was very white with an unnatural pallor and as the glow of the fire leaped up in his face Ann could see a long newly healed scar that ran from one eye down across his cheek to his small receding chin.

The men were talking in low tones, the big man gruff and hoarse, the smaller one in a screechy weak whine. At times their voices rose louder as their argument became intense, and then dropped back into a low rumble. Finally the small man looked up at the sky.

“It’s going to be a terrible blow,” he said bitterly.

“What of it?” demanded the big one. “The darker the night the easier it will be to take care of that butting-in detective, and no one will be the wiser. What’s the matter with you, Charlie? Your yeller streak is comin’ forninst, now that the real job is ahead of us.”

Charlie’s weasel eyes jumped furtively as he looked into the big man’s face. “I ain’t no squealer,” he snapped. “You know that. I ain’t the one to shy off when I can see my way clear. You found me ready enough with my bit against the captain and the mate. But this guy you’re planning for now is something different. You can’t knock off men like him; it doesn’t do any good. Some one else steps into his place and then they hunt you until they get you.”

“I ain’t arguing that,” Tom answered soberly. “But who is going to know what happens to one lone man? If he falls off the deck of that wrecked schooner and hits his head against a rock as the sea washes him about, who is going to connect us with the accident? That farmer will bury him alongside the captain and the mate and blame nobody but the boat itself, blame that figurehead, probably. And you and me will be living like kings down in Boston.”

“That sounds first-class,” the other sneered scornfully. “But I been noticing that things aren’t going quite so much your way as you expected they would.”

“What do you mean?” growled Tom.

“You haven’t found much as yet, have you? You’ve come this far with your plans, and here you’ve stuck. Find the money, why don’t you? What’s the use of getting rid of Bain before you get the money that’s hidden?”

“He might find it first,” answered the big man.

Ann heard, but she was too astonished and excited to realize that the secrets of the wreck were being revealed to her at last. The great surprise that eclipsed all the others was the news that Warren Bain was a detective. Had he known everything from first to last?

But she must listen and learn all she could. This was no time to be wondering about things; what was Charlie saying? She had missed part of it already, but he ended with a sneering laugh, “And I noticed that you ran as fast as I, the minute you heard that noise last night, on the boat. You didn’t wait to see what made it, did you?”

In reply the big man muttered something that sounded to Ann like nothing but a savage roar.

“I tell you,” said Charlie, “it was that blamed figurehead. Him and the captain was friends; I seen them talking to each other on many an evening.”

“You did not! Maybe the cap’n talked but no wooden figure ever answered. Come along now, you coward. I’ll admit that Bain scared me off last night, but now I’m ready for him!”

“Bain!” echoed Charlie.

“It was, too, Bain. He was dragging something along the deck to make that ssush-ssush to scare us.”

“But it wasn’t Bain,” thought Ann, “because we were watching him.”

The men had risen and begun to scatter the fire, kicking the burning wood into the pond. The gulls rose even higher, screaming.

Under cover of the noise that the men were making Jo and Helen began to creep slowly backward into the denser shadows. Ann became aware of what they were doing and she, too, made a successful retreat. She reached the deer path and stood beside the others.

Ben, however, was not so lucky. His foot slipped on a stone and he crashed down into the underbrush.

Instantly Charlie was after him, while Jo and Ann stood as if paralyzed. There was nothing that they could do to help. Helen, in agonizing fear and excitement, put both hands over her mouth so that no sound could escape.

“It’s a boy,” called Charlie. He had caught Ben’s arm and was pulling him roughly toward the fire.

Ann’s courage had come surging back, but Jo leaned toward her and put his lips close to her ear; he seemed to know that she was going out to Ben. “Hush! We can’t do a thing now. Wait!”

Tom yanked Ben by his coat and turned his face toward the light. “What kid is this? What are you doing here, spying on us?”

Ann thought that she would have been frightened nearly out of her wits if that black unshaven face had been so near hers, but Ben drew back as far as he could and answered bravely.

“I saw the smoke and came to put out the fire.”

“Did you come alone?” demanded Tom, giving him a shake. “Don’t you dare to lie to me!”

“Yes, I am alone!” answered Ben. “Do you see anybody with me?”

Ann felt her heart swell with pride. She caught Jo’s hand and squeezed it and he answered with a like pressure.

“What are you doing here?” asked Ben in his turn. He took care to shout it as loudly as possible, knowing well that the men had tried to be quiet.

In reply Tom cuffed him sharply. “Be still, there.” The hard-muscled seaman could hold the boy at arm’s length and Ben kicked and struggled in vain. “What’ll we do with him?”

“Let him go home,” said Charlie.

“Go home and tell, and have a batch of farmers chasing down here to look for us? Not on your life.”

“What’s he got to tell? We aren’t doing any harm, two men sitting peacefully in the woods.”

“You don’t know how much he heard.” And again Tom shook Ben vindictively.

Ann had to clench her fingers; how she wished she had a gun! Those men could be frightened easily. Their conversation had told her how superstitious they were. Just one shot to scare them off and they would run like deer. But there wasn’t any gun. The house was so far away. How could she get word to her father?

“Tie him up and leave him here. We can stop his noise.”

But Tom never seemed to care to profit by Charlie’s suggestions. “What’ll we tie him with? No; we’ll take him along to the boat. I want to know where to put my hand on him, I do.” He lifted Ben and set him on the ground again, although Ben made his legs limp as a child does when it refuses to be led along by the hand. “Stand up there!” ordered Tom.

Evidently Ben thought he had better do as he was told. It was easier to walk than to be dragged through the woods. “You march between me and Charlie, and step along now!”

Silently the remaining three of the band waited in the shadows until a moment or two after the bushes had stopped waving behind Charlie’s back as he, the rear guard, disappeared.

Helen turned and threw her arms around Ann, seeking comfort. “Ben’s gone! What will they do to him?” she whispered, even in her distress remembering to be quiet.

Ann had no answer. She hugged Helen tight and patted her back as though her little sister were a kitten, but her own anxiety looked toward the sturdy, resourceful Jo. “Will they hurt him?”

“Not if he does as they tell him.” Jo shook his head thoughtfully. “He seemed to catch on to that and stopped kicking when he found it got him nowhere. Probably they will take him down to the boat and tie him somewhere there while they search for the money.”

“What money is it?” asked Helen.

“I don’t know any more’n you do. Seems like they thought Bain was coming there to-night.”

“Did you hear them say that Bain is a detective?” said Ann excitedly. “Perhaps he’s there now and can save Ben!”

“Maybe,” answered Jo. “But we can’t wait on the chance of that; we’ve got to do something right now.”

In the shelter of Ann’s arms Helen had stopped sobbing. “They mustn’t hurt my brother Ben even though he does tease me all the time.”

“What can we do?” Ann spoke with a small quaver in her voice although she had grown calm in this real danger.

“Don’t you worry too much,” Jo assured her stanchly. “Things always seem worse than they are and we’ll get Ben, don’t you fear!”

“If only the house wasn’t so far away,” said Ann despairingly. All possible help seemed so remote.

“It ain’t more’n a mile,” said Jo. “Now, Helen, you go just as fast as you can to get pop and Mr. Seymour. Tell pop to bring his gun. And tell them that Ann and I are going straight to the ship.”

“Oh, Helen,” cried Ann, “run across the meadow and don’t mind wetting your feet!”

“Yes, I’ll go a short cut, right through the brook!” And Helen was off, following the more direct path by the river, the path by which Jo had taken them home the first day they saw the deer.