city on his face when he sat down by his fire that
Hiram Look gulped back the questions that were in his throat. He
recognized that it was a crisis, realized that Cap'n Sproul was
autocrat, and refrained from irritating speech.

XXIV

By noon the sun shone on Cod Lead wanly between ragged clouds. But
its smile did not warm Cap'n Sproul's feelings. Weariness,
rheumatism, resentment that became bitterer the more he pondered on
the loss of the _Dobson_, and gnawing hunger combined to make a single
sentiment of sullen fury; the spectacle of Colonel Ward busy with
his schemes on the neighboring pinnacle sharpened his anger into
something like ferocity.

The wind had died into fitful breaths. The sea still beat furiously
on the outer ledges of the island, but in the reach between the island
and the distant main there was a living chance for a small boat. It
was not a chance that unskilful rowers would want to venture upon,
but given the right crew the Cap'n reflected that he would be willing
to try it.

Evidently Mr. Butts, being an able seaman, was reflecting upon
something of the same sort. The Portuguese sailors, the last one of
the departing four dodging a kick launched at him by Mr. Butts, went
down to the shore, pulled the abandoned dingy upon the sand, and
emptied the water out of it. They fished the oars out of the flotsam
in the cove. Then they sat down on the upturned boat, manifestly under
orders and awaiting further commands.

"Then ye're goin' to let 'em do it, be ye?" huskily asked Hiram.
"Goin' to let him get to the bank and stop payment on that check?
I tell you the boys can get that boat away from 'em! It better be
smashed than used to carry Gid Ward off'm this island."

But Cap'n Sproul did not interrupt his bitter ruminations to reply.
He merely shot disdainful glance at the Smyrna men, still busy among
the mussels.

It was apparent that Mr. Butts had decided that he would feel more
at ease upon his pinnacle until the hour arrived for embarkation.
In the game of stone-throwing, should Cap'n Sproul accept that gage
of battle, the beach was too vulnerable a fortress, and, like a
prudent commander, Mr. Butts had sent a forlorn hope onto the
firing-line to test conditions. This was all clear to Cap'n Sproul.
As to Mr. Butts's exact intentions relative to the process of getting
safely away, the Cap'n was not so clear.

"Portygees!" he muttered over and over. "There's men that knows winds,
tid