the boats!" cried Brigond. "This cursed fool has run
us on a rock!"

The waves, running high, now swept over the deck. Brigond started aft,
but Gaspard sprang before him. "Stand back!" he called. "Where you are
you die!"

Brigond, wild with terror and rage, ran at him. Gaspard caught him as he
came. With vast strength he lifted him and dashed him to the deck. "Die
there, murderer!" he cried.

Brigond crouched upon the deck, looking at him with fearful eyes.
"Who-are you?" he asked.

"I am Gaspard the pilot. I have waited for you twenty years. Up there,
in the snow, my wife and child died. Here, in this bay, you die."

There was noise and racketing behind them, but they two heard nothing.
The one was alone with his terror, the other with his soul. Once, twice,
thrice, the vessel heaved, then went suddenly still.

Gaspard understood. One look at his victim, then he made the sacred
gesture again, and folded his arms. Pierre, from the height of the
cliff, looking down, saw the vessel dip at the bow, and then the waters
divided and swallowed it up.

"Gaspard should have lived," he said. "But--who can tell! Perhaps
Mamette was waiting for him."

THE CRUISE OF THE "NINETY-NINE"

I. THE SEARCH

She was only a big gulf yawl, which a man and a boy could manage at a
pinch, with old-fashioned high bulwarks, but lying clean in the water.
She had a tolerable record for speed, and for other things so important
that they were now and again considered by the Government at Quebec. She
was called the Ninety-Nine. With a sense of humour the cure had called
her so, after an interview with her owner and captain, Tarboe the
smuggler. When he said to Tarboe at Angel Point that he had come to
seek the one sheep that was lost, leaving behind him the other
ninety-and-nine within the fold at Isle of Days, Tarboe had replied that
it was a mistake--he was the ninety-nine, for he needed no repentance,
and immediately offered the cure some old brown brandy of fine flavour.
They both had a whimsical turn, and the cure did not ask Tarboe how he
came by such perfect liquor. Many high in authority, it was said, had
been soothed even to the winking of an eye when they ought to have sent
a Nordenfeldt against the Ninety-Nine.

The day after the cure left Angel Point he spoke of Tarboe and his craft
as the Ninety-and-Nine; and Tarboe hearing of this--for somehow he heard
everything--immediately painted out the old name, and called her th