ggard look
dissolved from his face.

Cautiously, slowly, he stepped over the edge of the sand hill and down
the slanting face. His coming was as silent as death, for his feet made
no noise as he sank ankle-deep in the yielding surface. So, stealthily,
step by step, he descended, reached the bag, lifted it silently. Levi,
still bending over the chest and searching through the papers within,
was not four feet away. Hiram raised the bag in his hands. He must have
made some slight rustle as he did so, for suddenly Levi half turned his
head. But he was one instant too late. In a flash the bag was over his
head--shoulders--arms--body.

Then came another struggle, as fierce, as silent, as desperate as that
other--and as short. Wiry, tough, and strong as he was, with a lean,
sinewy, nervous vigor, fighting desperately for his life as he was, Levi
had no chance against the ponderous strength of his stepbrother. In any
case, the struggle could not have lasted long; as it was, Levi stumbled
backward over the body of his dead mate and fell, with Hiram upon him.
Maybe he was stunned by the fall; maybe he felt the hopelessness of
resistance, for he lay quite still while Hiram, kneeling upon him, drew
the rope from the ring of the chest and, without uttering a word, bound
it tightly around both the bag and the captive within, knotting it again
and again and drawing it tight. Only once was a word spoken. "If you'll
lemme go," said a muffled voice from the bag, "I'll give you five
thousand pounds--it's in that there box." Hiram answered never a word,
but continued knotting the rope and drawing it tight.

XIII

The Scorpion sloop-of-war lay in Lewes harbor all that winter and
spring, probably upon the slim chance of a return of the pirates. It was
about eight o'clock in the morning and Lieutenant Maynard was sitting
in Squire Hall's office, fanning himself with his hat and talking in a
desultory fashion. Suddenly the dim and distant noise of a great crowd
was heard from without, coming nearer and nearer. The Squire and his
visitor hurried to the door. The crowd was coming down the street
shouting, jostling, struggling, some on the footway, some in the
roadway. Heads were at the doors and windows, looking down upon them.
Nearer they came, and nearer; then at last they could see that the
press surrounded and accompanied one man. It was Hiram White, hatless,
coatless, the sweat running down his face in streams, but stolid and
silent