-Soapy Shay and Buck Chizler,
the jockey. Now they were returning,--and it was nearing midnight.

They drew near, the lantern buffeting the legs of the one-time diamond
thief as he swung along in the rear of the more active jockey.

"It's a girl," called out Buck to the silent mob. Not a sound, not a
word from the eager crowd. "Mother and kid both doing well," went on the
jockey, a thrilling note of triumph in his voice.

And then a roar of voices went up to the moonlit sky. The shackles
of doubt and anxiety fell away, and every heart swelled with joy and
relief. Men began to dance and laugh. Out in front of the crowd leaped
Percival.

"Come on now, fellows! Everybody up! Three cheers for the Trigger Island
baby! One--two--three!"

And while the last wild cheer was echoing back from, the mountainside:
"Now, three good ones for the baby's mother, God bless her!"

Thrice again the exultant yells echoed across the plain, and then out
leaped another excited figure. It was Nicklestick the Jew.

"Come on! Come on! Ve got to light the bonfires! Come on! I got the
matches! Vait! Vait! Let's vait while we take off our hats a minute,
boys,--take them off to our baby's father, Jimmy Cruise. No cheers!"

A hush fell over the crowd. Every hat came off, and every head was bent.
To many of them James Cruise was no more than a name salvaged from the
shocking experiences of those first dreadful days. Few of them had
come in actual contact with him. The time had been too short. But Betty
Cruise, his widow, was known to all of them, high and low. They had
watched over her, and protected her, and slaved for her, for
besides pity there was in every man's soul the fiercest desire that
nothing,--absolutely nothing,--should be left undone to insure the happy
delivery of the babe they were counting so keenly upon!

She was a frail, delicate English girl whom Cruise had married in Buenos
Aires the year before. He was taking her up to his mother's home in
Connecticut. His death,--alas, his annihilation!--almost killed her.
There were those who said she would die of grief. But, broken and frail
as she was, she made the fight. And now came the news that she had
"pulled through."

There were mothers on board with tiny babies,--three or four of them, in
fact,--peevish, squalling infants that innocently undertook to inspire
loathing in the souls of these self-same men. They had no claim upon the
imagination or the sympathy of the eager crow