har she lays!"

The two men followed the direction of the horny hand--and saw! Roy
Morton felt a sick dizziness crash upon him. In that moment of agony, he
believed that the girl he loved was forever lost.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE CALL OF THE DARK

A few handfuls of sea water dashed into Roy's face by Ichabod, together
with a rough massage by Van Dusen, soon brought the young man around
again.

"I must have the truth," he declared, "no matter how terrible. Was the
young woman lost?"

"Why, no, young man," the fisherman answered; "least-wise, not in the
wreck. I took her out o' the water myself. She was plumb full o'
swallered brine, but I had that out o' her in a jiffy. I took her into
my shack an' got her all right exceptin' her haid. Poor thing never did
speak to me but once."

"Then she died!" Roy cried, in a tone of anguish.

But Ichabod shook his head emphatically.

"Not as I knows on," he declared; "unless that nervous-actin' skunk has
killed her since he took her away in the small boat. Had I knowed what I
l'arned yesterday at the wireless station, I'd 'a' held on to the gal. I
saw she was pretty bad, not bein' able to talk, an' so I told the man I
took off o' the wreck that what she needed was an M.D. Leavin' him in
charge, fer he seemed to know a heap about medicine himself, I put the
rag on the skiff, an' sailed to town for the Doctor. When I got back, I
found that the thievin' rascal had stole my pet rooster, a pair o'
blankets--an' the woman, an' had gone off in the gasoline tender what
come ashore from the wreck. O' course, they went up the Sound--to God
knows whar! The woman ain't safe with no sich critter as that feller. If
the gal is much to you, which I 'lows she is from your tantrums, ye had
best make all haste to git her. I was jest a-fixin' to go to Beaufort
an' take out a warrant fer the feller fer murder, an' charter a gasoline
boat, prepared to go through hell if need be to save that gal an' put
the sallow-skinned varmint, what took her, behind the bars o' the county
jail."

"Warrant for murder?" Van Dusen demanded, suddenly alert, "What do you
mean, Captain Jones? Has this man killed some one?"

"Wall, I reckin!" Ichabod answered grimly. "Thar was a feller a-sailin'
around the wreck o' _The Isabel_, which, as ye see, is all busted to
pieces by an explosion after she struck an' the beatin' on her of the
big storm waves. When this feller looked down by the engine, he saw a
dead ma