th me at the bulwark, holding to my arm, and
asking me what I thought of the situation. I hardly knew how to answer
her, for there was no telling as yet what was going to happen. A stiff
breeze was blowing ready for the canvas, and when the anchor was lifted
we began to drift. But meanwhile the boat had come up close, and with
evident determination to board us. It held ten men, and they were mostly
at the oars.

"Sheer off, there!" cried the skipper. "What do you want?"

"You are sheltering fugitives from the law," a harsh voice replied.
"Give them up. It's a case of murder!"

The skipper refused in plain terms, and catching a sudden gleam of
steel, he shouted savagely:

"If you come any nearer or fire a single shot I'll give you a volley of
ten guns!"

By this time the ship was under way and moving with full canvas spread.
The pursuing boat fell back, its occupants yelling curses and threats;
and so the danger passed. The Speedwell bore swiftly on, leaving a foamy
wake dancing on the bosom of the St. Lawrence, and in my delight I felt
tempted to throw my arms about Miss Hatherton. Captain Rudstone joined
us, and with thankful hearts we watched the lights of Quebec fading in
the distance.

CHAPTER VIII.

CLOSE TO PORT.

I need make but brief mention of the long cruise that followed our
escape, of the days that passed slowly while we worked our way down the
mighty St. Lawrence, out to the open Atlantic by the rocky gates of
Newfoundland, and thence up the coast of Labrador to Hudson Straits. For
the most part wind and weather favored us, yet it was a matter of six
weeks before we got into the bay and made sail across that inland waste
of water toward our destination, Fort York, which was far down in the
southwestern corner. The distance from Quebec by land would have been
far less. Our course, as a map will show, was along the three sides of a
square.

The Speedwell was a sound little ship, and carried a mixed cargo to be
delivered at the Hudson Bay posts. We were well fed and snugly berthed,
Miss Hatherton having a cozy cabin all to herself. The crew were good
fellows, and Hiram Bunker was a typical New England skipper--bluff,
honest and popular. I did not see very much of him, for he and Captain
Rudstone became boon companions and stuck well together. It was the same
with the captain. Indeed, he seemed to take pains to avoid me, except
when o