ime I have to thank you for saving my life," said the young man,
returning the grasp of the captain's hand.

"Truly, it is but a small matter to have to thank me for. Doubtless, if
my stout man, John Bumpus, had carried the carbine, he would have done
you as good service. And methinks, Henry, that you would have preferred
to owe your life to either of my men, rather than to me, if I may judge
by your looks."

"You should not judge by looks, captain," replied the youth
quickly--"especially the looks of a man who has just had a hand to hand
tussle with a savage. But, to tell the plain truth, Captain Gascoyne, I
would indeed rather have had to thank your worthy man, John Bumpus, than
yourself for coming to my aid, for although I owe you no grudge, and do
not count you an enemy, I had rather see your back than your face--and
you know the reason why."

"You give me credit, boy, for more knowledge than I possess," replied
Gascoyne, while an angry frown gathered for a moment on his brow; but
passed away almost as quickly as it came; "I know not the cause of your
unreasonable dislike to one who has never done you an injury."

"Never done me an injury!" cried Henry, starting and turning with a look
of passion on his companion; then, checking himself by a strong effort,
he added in a milder tone--"But a truce to such talk, and I ask your
forgiveness for my sharp words just after your rendering me such good
service in the hour of need. You and I differ in our notions on one or
two points--that is all; there is no need for quarrelling. See, here is
a note from my mother, who sent me to the bay to meet you."

During this colloquy, Dick and Bumpus had mounted guard over the wounded
savage, just out of ear-shot of their captain. Neither of the sailors
ventured to hold their prisoner, because they deemed it an unmanly
advantage to take of one who was so completely (as they imagined) in
their power. They kept a watchful eye on him, however; and while they
affected an easy indifference of attitude, held themselves in readiness
to pounce upon him if he should attempt to escape. But nothing seemed
farther from the mind of Keona than such an attempt. He appeared to be
thoroughly exhausted by his recent struggle and loss of blood, and his
body was bent as if he were about to sink down to the ground. There
was, however, a peculiar glance in his dark eyes that induced John
Bumpus to be more on his guard than appearances seemed to