Ann was most dreadfully afraid, but her feelings were not in the least like those when she heard the noise last night. She had no sense of panic, no desire to run away. Her father was here now and she would stand by him, come what might. He wasn’t running. Neither were Ben and Jo. The three children stood as firm as the two men.

Without warning, Bain shut off his light, for they stood in its circle of brightness while anything beyond its rim was invisible in the darkness of the stormy night. Suddenly he flashed it on again.

A big black dog was there.

His teeth were bared and he was crouched to spring.

Jo was the first to recover. He knew dogs and he saw at the first glance that this one was more terrified by their presence on the boat than he and Ann and Ben had been by the strange noise. He walked steadily toward the animal, reaching quietly into his pocket.

What was he going to do? Ann was afraid that anything he could do wouldn’t be enough. The dog would spring and then— Why didn’t Warren Bain shoot?

But Jo knew what he was doing. Out of his pocket he took two or three crackers. “Come, boy,” he said gently. “So-o-o-o, puppy, it’s time to eat.”

The dog snarled but Jo paid no attention to threats or growls; he put the crackers in a small pile on the deck and backed slowly away. The dog drew nearer by one stealthy step and sniffed suspiciously toward Jo’s offering. Then he slunk forward within reach of it and crunched it ravenously.

“Want some more?” Jo reached again into his pocket and the dog wagged his tail.

“He is starved!” Mr. Seymour at last found his voice. “That dog has been without proper food for weeks.”

Bain looked at the gaunt wild-eyed creature whose ribs showed plainly under his shaggy matted coat. “He is that,” he agreed. “I shouldn’t wonder if he isn’t the answer to Bailey’s stolen milk and your cheese. He must have come in with the boat and hung around here ever since.”

To think that noise was made by a dog as it slunk across the deck! Even though Ann had seen and heard at the same instant she could hardly credit her senses. A dog? Robin Hood’s band had been utterly routed by a starving dog? Never again would she run from anything unless she actually saw with her own eyes that there was need of fear. She looked at Ben and in spite of the rain streaming down his face she could see that his thoughts were very much like her own. They hadn’t been cowards, exactly, and those men down below had been frightened, too, but nevertheless she was ashamed of herself.

The noise of the breakers had risen until now it was a roar; it was hard to talk against the combined crashes of storm and gale and sea. And it was high time to seek better shelter than the wreck afforded.

When they returned to the cabin to relieve Fred and to get Bain’s captives the dog hung close to Jo’s heels and could not be persuaded to leave him for an instant. The dog followed at his heels down the companionway and stood behind him in the passage outside the cabin.

“Ready?” asked Bain. “Come along now, men. We’ll be moving along to where you can stay awhile without being disturbed. A fine evening for a stroll of three or four miles.”

But Tom did not move. “If you want me, get me up,” he growled.

At sound of his voice came a scratching of paws in the passage and through the doorway leaped the dog, making straight for him. Jo sprang as quickly and seized the shaggy coat of his new friend. And in the meantime Tom had scrambled to his feet without any more argument.

“Captain Jim’s dog,” Charlie crowed with shrill laughter. “He remembers you all right, Tom. You forgot to heave him overboard with the rest of ’em!”

Under Fred’s vigilant gun the men were herded up the ladder and across to the side of the ship. The rain still poured ceaselessly and the wind blew in gusts that pierced Ann’s wet clothes and made her shiver. But she was not too uncomfortable and tired to lose her desire to know every detail of what had happened on the wreck.

“There’s one thing you haven’t told us,” she said to Bain. “What was it that you found in the leg of the table?”

“You children had better be trained to be first-class detectives. There wasn’t much you didn’t see last night, I should say. Well, it won’t do any harm to tell you and I think you deserve to know. The papers were a sort of log that Rand kept; told where he got his cargoes and how he disposed of them and for how much. It is much more important than the money, to the government.”

Ann hadn’t thought of that; of course, a man who was willing to buy smuggled goods was exactly as dishonest as the person who sold them. It made it seem to her as though Captain Rand wasn’t quite as—as—— She didn’t like to say “bad” even to herself, for surely a man couldn’t be really bad if he had made his dog so fond of him that the dog had rather starve than go away from the place where he’d last seen his master. As they left the wreck Warren Bain flashed his torch into the face of the figurehead, high above them as they stood on the beach. The light shone straight up into the huge ugly face and, to Ann, the demon still grinned with its eyes looking far out and away, as though it saw something they couldn’t see and knew a great deal more than human beings ever could know. Suddenly Ann wished that she might never have to see that demon again. His work was done; he had taken care of the captain’s money, and now was there any use of his staying there to frighten people? Perhaps to-morrow Mr. Bailey would carry out his intention of burning him with an accompaniment of lobsters and corn and roast potatoes. What a wonderful plan that was, because then she would remember that glorious picnic and let that memory offset some of her other recollections of the figurehead!

Ben was the last to leave the boat and when he landed from his jump he was wet to the knees by a swift unexpected sweep of undertow from the rising tide. He ran clear of the water, but the next wave, chasing him, met him around the bow of the boat. Not that a little fresh wetness mattered to a soaked-to-the-skin Ben; the interest lay in the fact that the Seymours never had seen the water so high on the beach.

Fred Bailey had offered to lend Jerry to Bain so that he could drive his prisoners to the village instead of having to walk all that distance in the stormy night and Bailey had offered, too, to go with him.

Jo went ahead to hitch Jerry for the trip. “Shall I tell Mrs. Seymour that everything is all right?” he asked.

“Thank you, Jo, yes,” said Mr. Seymour. “Just call out to her as you go by and let her know that we are coming.”

Away went Jo, with the black dog at his heels.

“Jo’s found a new friend,” said Warren Bain with a smile.

“Jo!” called Ann, for she had just remembered. “Has Jerry another harness?”

“Sure!”

When they reached the house door Jerry stood waiting for his load while Jo talked with Helen and Mrs. Seymour, who, in raincoats, were standing on the porch.

“You haven’t told mother everything before we came?” asked Ann, greatly disappointed that such exciting news should be told without her having been there to share the thrill.

Jo shook his head, the reliable Jo who could be counted on to do the right thing. “No, marm, I didn’t tell,” he answered gayly. “That’s your job, not mine. I was only saying that you were all right, and Mrs. Seymour is mighty hard to convince. I had to say that all of you were safe, all of you together, and then each one separately.”

But Mrs. Seymour was not ready to smile, even yet. Her face was pale and her eyes widened as she saw Tom and Charlie slouch handcuffed into the light that spread from the door in a wide semicircle of welcome through the driving rain. As she realized her mother’s anxiety Ann dashed across the intervening space and flung herself into the outstretched arms.

Ben followed, and for an instant no one of the three spoke.

After Fred and Warren Bain had driven away they all sat around the fire to tell the story. Like powwowing Indians in blankets and bathrobes they sat before the snapping black stove, the storm shut outside.

Jo had turned red man with the rest and was bundled in one of Mr. Seymour’s big wool robes, his thick hair on end and his blue eyes dancing with excitement and happiness. The dog lay at his feet.

“And now,” said Mr. Seymour, “what are you children going to do with the wealth that the capture of these men will bring you?”

“I didn’t know there was going to be any,” answered Jo in astonishment, and Ann and Ben, and Helen, too, pricked up their ears. “Gee! Money?” said Ben.

“Bain insists that he never could have got the men if it hadn’t been for the way you two worked on their superstitious fears, and he says that he is going to share the reward. What will you do with it? There’s something practical for you to think about and change your line of thought before we all go to bed.”

Ben put his hand on his father’s knee. “You know what I want more than anything else in the world,” he said, with his fascinated eyes resting on the finished portrait of Jo that Mr. Seymour had set against the wall only a day or two before. “If I could only learn to paint! Would there be enough money for me to do that?”

“I don’t know, Ben. It will be only a few hundred at most, after it is divided, and you understand, of course, that we aren’t going to let Mr. Bain rob himself more than seems absolutely necessary to him. But you’ll go on painting at home for a long time yet and if we put your share away it will have grown before you are ready to use it. It will help a great deal, anyway.”

“What about you, Jo?” asked Mrs. Seymour gently. It seemed as though the farm boy had suddenly grown lonely as new plans began to be talked over. “Have you any idea about what you wish to do with your share?”

“I have always wanted to go to a bigger school than we have here,” Jo answered slowly, “but pop never seemed to be able to get ahead enough to send me and hire help in my place. Perhaps he might be able to manage without me for a while now.”

“Father!” exclaimed Ann. She had not said anything about her own plans; it seemed as if everybody ought to know what she would do with her money, she had wanted one thing for such a long time. Any share given to her would go toward her western ranch; five minutes ago she wouldn’t have supposed that any other use of it would be possible. But now she knew differently. “Father! I am going to lend mine to Jo, to make his last longer.”

Mr. Seymour looked at Jo. “Will you accept Ann’s offer?” he asked.

The boy was dazed; it took him a moment to answer. “I don’t rightly know why she should do that for me,” he said finally, “but I do think kindly of her for being so generous.”

“I want to do it, Jo! Why shouldn’t I? Think of all you have done for us this summer. And besides that, if we are going to have a ranch together sometime, one of us will really have to know something. I am sure I couldn’t learn how to add or subtract any better than I do now.”

At last they all trooped to bed and slept soundly. Now that the haunted ship had become a solved puzzle each one of them had his own new dream.

The next morning broke clear and bright. The rain of the night had painted the grass a new green, the sky was cloudless. The sun woke Ann and she dressed hurriedly.

What a glorious day! She peered out of the window, glad that she was alive.

Something out there was different. What?

Then she saw Jo coming from the barn. “I thought you’d never wake up,” he shouted excitedly. “Do you see what’s happened? The wreck’s gone!”

“The wreck?” repeated Ann.

“It went adrift in the storm last night.”

Quickly Ann climbed through the window that she might see better. It was true. The beach at the foot of the sloping meadow was bare. And as far as the eye could see there was no sign of a boat on land or ocean.

“I’m glad! I’m glad!” she cried. “I didn’t want that old demon to stare at us all of the time.”

“Well, he won’t stare no more,” answered Jo. “He’s gone to Davy Jones’ locker, where all good sailormen go.”

Transcriber’s Note:

Punctuation has been standardised. Spelling and hyphenation have been retained as in the original publication.