r is a husky lad and about as crafty as a red Injun."

"He ain't met the Old Man yet," said Cales significantly.

"I don't see where you get all your news from, Jake," growled Pete from
his seat on the chest, "you ought to be a reporter."

"I keep my eyes open and my mouth shet," replied Jake, "any man can get
larned if he will do that."

"I'd like to have a picter of you with your mouth shet," remarked Pete.
"It's open even when you are asleep." He dodged just in time to avoid a
heavy shoe flung from Jake's ready hand that crashed against the wall.

"Don't do that agin," he warned, a red light showing in his eyes. "I'll
larn you boys that I ain't as old as I looks to be."

Jake laughed harshly.

"You mustn't keep your own mouth open so wide, Pop, cause you'll have to
swallow your own words if you do."

"I guess I'll never git choked," replied Pete, truculently. "Kin you
tell me what the skipper means snooping down this coast with no lights
showing when it's plumb dark? We are liable to sink ourselves or
Californey all of a suddint."

"Why don't you ask the Cap'n what he is up to?" inquired Cales, "that
is, if you want some real useful information, Pop."

Pop raised himself up and glared at the speaker.

"I ain't done living," he replied.

"We are navigating pretty careful," remarked Jake. "You can hardly feel
the Sea Eagle moving."

"Running for the cove, I reckon," suggested Cales, "I'm mighty pleased
not to be the man at the wheel. Well, I'm goin' to turn in for a
snooze."

In a brief time the two men were snoring loudly, while old Pete sat
smoking his pipe, as stolid as a wooden Indian and the forecastle was
fogged with the smoke, through which the swinging lantern shone dimly.
The air is stifling so let us go up on deck where we can breathe the
salt ozone and incidentally get acquainted with Captain Bill Broom, who
is to occupy such a prominent place in this narrative.

He is well worth meeting, not only as the opponent of our old friend,
Jim Darlington, but because of his own unworthy but interesting
character. In those days Skipper Bill Broom was known all up and down
the coast and beyond. His fame, such as it was, comes down even to this
recent day.

On deck it is muffling dark, with the stars obscured in some dim way by
mist or fog. There is a breeze blowing steadily from the broad wastes of
the ocean. The bulk of the California coast looms dimly on the port bow.
Not more than a half mile di