then for cutting out the bullet," I said, and
then, remembering how I had come by it, I cried: "Have they got
that villain?"

"Meanin' Vetch?" says the man. "Hoots! Ye'll no catch him; he's a
slithery man, yon. He was up and awa' before he could be stoppit,
with a wheen o' yelling niggers after him. Aweel, I'm no that sorry
mysel', for he wasna just what ye would call a gentleman."

I suppose that something of what I was thinking showed in my face,
for the Scotchman continued:

"I had naething against him as an employer, ye ken; he was sound
wi' the siller; but his dealin' wi' sic a bonny lassie kind o'
affrontit me, and I'm well enough pleased ye got the better of him
in that regard. I mind o' the time when I had a wee-bit lassie
mysel'."

And then the besotted fellow began to weep, and comforted himself
with a long pull from a flask he took from his pocket. 'Twas plain
that the drink had been his undoing, and indeed, before I parted
company with him in Port Royal some days later, he told me with
maudlin tears the story of his declension from surgeon on a king's
ship to buccaneer, and preached me many an impressive sermon on the
text of the bottle.

Mistress Lucy had withdrawn while we were talking, and Sandy
MacLeod, as he was named, dressed my wound again with a hand as
tender as a woman's. And then Joe Punchard came down to see me,
Cludde remaining on deck to keep an eye on the crew. Vetch had
sprung overboard, and run fleetly as a deer to the shore, and
though the negroes on the cliff sped after him with yells, they had
a round of half a mile to go over rough ground, and could not catch
him. I would fain have him in my power, so that he might receive
his desserts at the hands of a jury, and be deprived at least of
further opportunities of mischief, but my vexation at his escape
was solaced by the knowledge that Mistress Lucy's safety was
secure.

I talked things over with Joe, and we decided to sail the brig
round the coast to Port Royal, and hand Mistress Lucy over to her
friends in Spanish Town. The management of her estate gave us some
concern. It could not be left without a responsible head, and the
overseers, being, as I learned from her, men whom Vetch had put in
when he dismissed McTavish and the other white men whom he had
found there on his arrival, were scarcely to be trusted.

As the result of a consultation with Mistress Lucy, she asked
Cludde (who had begged and received her forgiveness) to