s own particular victim. The effect
was startling. The men uttered a yell of fright, and started in a panic
run for the boats, but the leader threatened them with his leveled
pistol and stopped them, although the frightful groan came a second
time.

"There's nothing in the bush!" Robert heard him say. "There can't be!
The place has no people and we know there are no big wild animals on the
islands in these seas! It's some freak of the wind playing tricks with
us!"

He held his men, though they were still frightened, and to encourage
them and to prove that no enemy, natural or supernatural, was near, he
plunged suddenly into the bushes to see the origin of the terrifying
sounds. His action was wholly unexpected, and chance brought him to the
very point where Robert was. The lad leaped to his feet and the pirate
sprang back aghast, thinking perhaps that he had come face to face with
a ghost. Then with a snarl of malignant anger he leveled the pistol that
he held in his hand. But Robert struck instantly with his clubbed
rifle, and his instinctive impulse was so great that he smote with
tremendous force. The man was caught full and fair on the head, and,
reeling back from the edge of the bushes in which they stood, fell dead
in the open, where all his men could see.

It was enough. The demons, the ghosts that haunted them for their
crimes, were not very vocal, but they struck with fearful power. They
had smitten down the man who tried to keep them on their island, and
they were not going to stay one second longer. There was a combined yell
of horror, the rush of frightened feet, and, reaching their boats, they
rowed with all speed for the schooner, leaving behind them the body of
their dead comrade.

Robert, awed a little by his own success in demonology, watched until
they climbed on board the ship, drawing the boats after them. Then they
hoisted the anchor, made sail, and presently he saw the schooner tacking
in the wind, obviously intending to leave in all haste that terrible
place.

She became a ghost ship, a companion to the _Flying Dutchman_, outlined
in red by the crimson lightning that still played at swift intervals.
Now she turned to the color of blood, and the sea on which she swam was
a sea of blood. Robert watched her until at last, a dim, red haze, she
passed out of sight. Then he turned and looked at the body of the man
whom he had slain.

He shuddered. He had never intended to take the leader's life.