attention. The mysterious boat,
following the winding channel of the creek, was drawing nearer. Voices
could be heard, a rough command, a curse, a laugh.

"No honest men, I warrant," growled Captain Jonathan Wellsby, ready to
take command by virtue of long habit. "Who else can they be but pirates,
plague 'em. And they are betwixt us and the sea. All hands ashore and
look to your arms. Lively now."

They were bewildered and taken all aback. In this holiday excursion
after Blackbeard's treasure the party had reckoned only with dead or
phantom pirates. There was some confusion, while Bill Saxby bawled at
the seamen as addle-pated lubbers. Deserting their boat, they scrambled
to cover in the tall grass while those busy with the derrick gear rushed
to catch up muskets and powder-horns.

The strange boat was steadily forging up-stream and presently it was
disclosed to view no more than a cable-length away. It was a pinnace
filled with ruffianly fellows, more than a score of them. No merchant
seamen these but brethren of the coast, freebooters who were
gallows-ripe. Bill Saxby was quick to recognize two or three of them as
old hands of Blackbeard's crew who must have deserted their leader in
time to escape his fate. Presumably they had recruited others of their
own stamp to go adventuring in the Cherokee swamp. They could have only
one purpose. The very sight of them was enough to explain it. They were
in quest of treasure like bloodhounds trailing a scent.

Against such a force as this, discretion was the better part of valor. A
ferocious yell burst from the pinnace and a flight of musket balls
whistled over the heads of the fugitives who had so hastily abandoned
their operations with the derrick and gear and the boat. Stout Bill
Saxby and his comrades, finding concealment in the swamp, primed their
muskets and let fly a volley at the pinnace which was an easy target. A
pirate standing in the stern-sheets clapped a hand to his thigh and sat
down abruptly. Another one let go his oar to dangle a bloody hand.

The pinnace drifted with the tide and stranded on a weedy shoal while
the blue powder smoke hung over it like a fog. For the moment it was a
demoralized crew of pirates, roaring all manner of threats but at a loss
how to proceed. The other party took advantage of this delay to beat a
rapid retreat along the path which led to the knoll where the camp was
pitched. Upon this higher ground they might hope to defend themse