o was dressed with
slashed boots, red doublet, and cocked hat.

M. Radisson smiled and poled a length closer.

"A ship without a license! A prize-for the taking! If the rascals
complain--the galleys for life!" and he laughed softly.

"This coast is possessed by the King of France," he shouted. "We have a
strong garrison! We mistook your firing for more French ships!" Shaping
his hands trumpet fashion to his mouth, he called this out again, adding
that our Indian was of a nation in league with the French.

The pirates were dumb as if he had tossed a hand grenade among them.

"The ship is ours now, lads," said Radisson softly, poling nearer. "See,
lads, the bottom has tumbled from their courage! We'll not waste a pound
o' powder in capturing that prize!" He turned suddenly to me--"As I live
by bread, 'tis that bragging young dandy-prat--hop-o'-my-thumb--Ben
Gillam of Boston Town!"

"Ben Gillam!"

I was thinking of my assailant in the woods. "Ben was tall. The pirate,
who came carving at me, was small."

But Ben Gillam it was, turned pirate or privateer--as you choose to call
it--grown to a well-timbered rapscallion with head high in air,
jack-boots half-way to his waist, a clanking sword at heel, and a nose
too red from rum.

As we landed, he sent his men scattering to the fort, and stood twirling
his mustaches till the recognition struck him.

"By Jericho--Radisson!" he gasped.

Then he tossed his chin defiantly in air like an unbroken colt disposed
to try odds with a master.

"Don't be afraid to land," he called down out of sheer impudence.

"Don't be afraid to have us land," Radisson shouted up to him. "We'll
not harm you!"

Ben swore a big oath, fleered a laugh, and kicked the sand with his
heels. Raising a hand, he signalled the watchers on the ship.

"Sorry to welcome you in this warlike fashion," said he.

"Glad to welcome you to the domain of His Most Christian Majesty, the
King of France," retorted Radisson, leaping ashore.

Ben blinked to catch the drift of that.

"Devil take their majesties!" he ejaculated. "He's king who conquers!"

"No need to talk of conquering when one is master already," corrected M.
de Radisson.

"Shiver my soul," blurts out Ben, "I haven't a tongue like an eel, but
that's what I mean; and I'm king here, and welcome to you, Radisson!"

"And that's what I mean," laughed M. Radisson, with a bow, quietly
motioning us to follow ashore. "No need to conqu