red yards from the point they had struck
the trail after ascending the cliffs. This far at least she had been
with them.

The men now spread out upon either side of the track--Theriere and Red
Sanders upon one side, Byrne and Wison upon the other. Occasionally
Theriere would return to the trail to search for further indications of
the spoor they sought.

The party had proceeded in this fashion for nearly half a mile when
suddenly they were attracted by a low exclamation from the mucker.

"Here!" he called. "Here's Miller an' the Swede, an' they sure have
mussed 'em up turrible."

The others hastened in the direction of his voice, to come to a
horrified halt at the sides of the headless trunks of the two sailors.

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman, reverting to his mother tongue as
he never did except under the stress of great excitement.

"Who done it?" queried Red Sanders, looking suspiciously at the mucker.

"Head-hunters," said Theriere. "God! What an awful fate for that poor
girl!"

Billy Byrne went white.

"Yeh don't mean dat dey've lopped off her block?" he whispered in an
awed voice. Something strange rose in the mucker's breast at the thought
he had just voiced. He did not attempt to analyze the sensation; but it
was far from joy at the suggestion that the woman he so hated had met a
horrible and disgusting death at the hands of savages.

"I'm afraid not, Byrne," said Theriere, in a voice that none there would
have recognized as that of the harsh and masterful second officer of the
Halfmoon.

"Yer afraid not!" echoed Billy Byrne, in amazement.

"For her sake I hope that they did," said Theriere; "for such as she it
would have been a far less horrible fate than the one I fear they have
reserved her for."

"You mean--" queried Byrne, and then he stopped, for the realization of
just what Theriere did mean swept over him quite suddenly.

There was no particular reason why Billy Byrne should have felt toward
women the finer sentiments which are so cherished a possession of those
men who have been gently born and raised, even after they have learned
that all women are not as was the feminine ideal of their boyhood.

Billy's mother, always foul-mouthed and quarrelsome, had been a
veritable demon when drunk, and drunk she had been whenever she
could, by hook or crook, raise the price of whiskey. Never, to Billy's
recollection, had she spoken a word of endearment to him; and so
terribly had she abuse