Whether or not old Peter was right in his estimate of himself or of
Burgin, in a few moments more he was all alone in his cat-boat, and was
sculling it rapidly up the crooked inlet.

His search had been indeed a careless one, for he had but glanced over
the gunwale of the "Swallow." A second look would have shown him the
form of the tramp, half covered by a loose flap of the sail, deeply and
heavily sleeping at the bottom of the boat. It was every bit as
comfortable a bed as he had been used to, and there he was still lying,
long after the sun looked in upon him, next morning.

But other eyes were to look in upon Burgin's face before he awakened
from that untimely and imprudent nap.

It was not so very early when Ham Morris and Dabney Kinzer were stirring
again; but they had both arisen with a strong desire for a "talk," and
Ham made an opportunity for one by saying:

"Come on, Dab; let's go down and have a look at the 'Swallow.'"

Ham had meant to talk about school and kindred matters; but Dabney's
first words about the tramp cut off all other subjects.

"You ought to have told me," he said. "I'd have had him tied up in a
minute."

Dabney explained as well as he could, but, before he had finished, Ham
suddenly exclaimed:

"There's Dick Lee on board the 'Swallow.' What's he there for?"

"Dick!" shouted Dabney.

"Cap'n Dab, did yo' set dis yer boat to trap somebody?"

"No. Why?"

"Well den, you's gone an' cotched um. Jes you come an' see."

The sound of Dick Lee's voice, so near them, reached the dull ears of
the slumbering tramp and, as Ham and Dabney sprang into a yawl and
pushed alongside the yacht, his unpleasant face was slowly and sleepily
lifted above the rail.

"It's the very man!" excitedly shouted Dabney.

"The tramp?"

"Yes, the tramp."

No one would have suspected Ham Morris of so much agility, although his
broad and well-knit frame promised abundant strength, but he was on
board the "Swallow" like a flash and Burgin was "pinned" by his iron
grasp before he could guess what was coming.

It was too late, then, for any such thing as resistance, and he settled
at once into a dogged, sullen silence, after the ordinary custom of his
kind when they find themselves cornered. It is a species of brute,
animal instinct, more than even cunning, seemingly, but not a word did
Ham and Dabney obtain from their prisoner until they delivered him to
the safe keeping of the village authorities. That do