uddy heels. The way was nothing but a muddy track
across a desolate barren. It curved steadily to the left and at last
brought him in sight of the irregular coast and the gray sea. By noon he
had reached a miserable, dirty shebeen; and here he dried himself,
sheltered and fed his horse and ate from his own provisions. He rested
there for two hours (for his horse's sake rather than his own), and then
mounted, threw a couple of shillings to the keeper of the house and
continued on his way. He studied the coast-line intently as he
floundered along. He saw that most of the shore ice had melted or broken
away from the land-wash. Plans for the rescue of Flora Lockhart were
taking shape in his mind. Beyond a doubt the rescue would have to be
made by water; and so he studied every sheltered haven and surf-footed
cape as he worked his heroic way southward, now plunging in his
precarious saddle, now plunging with his own legs in the mire.

The figure of another wayfarer came in sight early in the afternoon. The
stranger was on foot. He wore a red blanket round his shoulders and
carried a long gun of ancient pattern. He was a big fellow with a
swarthy face and bad eyes, and his ears were adorned with gold rings.
Mr. Darling did not relish the fellow's looks, and so passed him without
halting, alert, with his right hand on the butt of a pistol in his
pocket. This picturesque ruffian was heading northward. After passing
Mr. Darling he turned and glanced back several times, his interest
doubtless attracted by the respectability of the other's appearance and
the bulging saddle-bags. But he did not stop. Neither did he return. The
young man with the old horse looked to him like a fighter--and even if
the saddle-bags were stuffed with gold they would prove but a flea bite
to the stake which he had in mind.

Mr. Darling and his encumbering steed reached Raggedy Cove about an hour
after sunset. Mr. Darling was in good heart and, thanks to fine lungs
and muscles, and a flawless constitution, was as fit in body as spirit.
He found a bed for himself and a stable for the horse, and an old man
full of information concerning the quickest and easiest way to get to
Witless Bay. This was by water, said the old man. His own son George was
going south along the coast next morning, in a bully. So Darling
boarded the bully next morning, leaving his horse with the old man.
George, the navigator of the bully, was an inquisitive young man; but
his eyes