e around the bend in the road
and headed at Val, going a good pace for the dirt surfacing. Before it
quite reached him it stopped and the driver stuck his head out of the
window.

"Hey, you, move over! Whatya tryin' to do--break somebody's neck?"

Val surveyed him with interest. The man was, perhaps, Rupert's age, a
small, thin fellow with thick black hair and the white seam of an old
scar beneath his left eye.

"This is," the boy replied, "a private road."

"Yeah," he snarled, "I know. And I'm the owner. So get your hobby-horse
going and beat it, kid."

Val shifted in the saddle and stared down at him.

"And what might your name be?" he asked softly.

"What d'yuh think it is? Hitler? I'm Ralestone, the owner of this place.
On your way, kid, on your way."

"So? Well, good morning, cousin." Val tightened rein.

The invader eyed him cautiously. "What d'yuh mean--cousin?"

"I happen to be a Ralestone also," the boy answered grimly.

"Huh? You the guy who thinks he owns this?" he asked aggressively.

"My brother is the present master of Pirate's Haven--"

"That's what _he_ thinks," replied the rival with a relish. "Well, he
isn't. That is, not until he pays me for my half. And if he wants to get
tough, I'll take it all," he ended, and withdrew into the car like a
lizard into its rock den.

Val sat by the side of the road and watched the car slide along toward
the plantation. As it passed him he caught a glimpse of a second
passenger in the back seat. It was the red-faced man he had seen with
LeFleur's clerk on the street in New Orleans. Resolutely Val turned back
and started for the house in the wake of the rival.

By making use of a short-cut, he reached the front of the house almost
as soon as the car. Ricky had been working with the morning-glory vines
about the terrace steps, young Sam standing attendance with a rusty
trowel and one of the kitchen forks.

At the sound of the car she stood up and tried to brush a smear of
sticky earth from the front of her checked-gingham dress. When the rival
got out she smiled at him.

"Hello, sister," he smirked.

She stood still for a moment and her smile faded. When she answered, her
voice was chill. "You wished to see Mr. Ralestone?" she asked distantly.

"Sure. But not just yet, sister. You better be pleasant, you know. I'm
the new owner here--"

Val rode out of the bushes and swung out of the saddle, coming up behind
him. Although the boy was one of the s