Produced by Al Haines

JESS OF THE REBEL TRAIL

BY

H. A. CODY

AUTHOR OF "THE FRONTIERSMAN," "THE LONG PATROL," "THE CHIEF OF THE RANGES," "THE FOURTH WATCH," "GLEN OF THE HIGH NORTH," ETC.

McCLELLAND AND STEWART

PUBLISHERS : : TORONTO

1921,

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To

MY UNCLE AND NAMESAKE

HIRAM CODY

Long Since Passed Within the Vail

This Book is Dedicated

In Grateful and Loving Remembrance

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I THE HOLD-UP II REBELLION III THE "EB AN' FLO" IV UNDER COVER V CAPTAIN SAMUEL GOES SHOPPING VI EBEN MAKES A DISCOVERY VII GIVING MARTHA THE GO-BY VIII WHAT THE COW DID IX MARTHA TAKES A HAND X UNWELCOME VISITORS XI IN PERIL OF DEATH XII CORNERED XIII A TRICKY PASSENGER XIV ANOTHER VICTIM XV TWO WOMEN'S TROUBLES XVI MORE THAN A DREAM XVII CAPTAIN SAM'L GOES HOME XVIII HARD LUCK XIX THE CAPTAIN GIVES ADVICE XX MRS. GRIMSBY'S MISSION XXI EBEN COMES ASHORE XXII ON THE REBEL TRAIL XXIII STRAIGHT TALK XXIV EBEN ATTENDS TO GRIMSBY XXV THE FOREST FIRE XXVI IN THE RING OF DEATH XXVII IN THE NICK OF TIME XXVIII IN URGENT NEED XXIX CONFESSION XXX JOY AT EVENTIDE

"I have no other but a woman's reason;
I think him so, because I think him so."

SHAKESPEARE

"When all other rights are taken away, the right of rebellion is made perfect."

THOMAS PAINE

"Women are never stronger than when they arm themselves with their weakness."

MADAME DU DEFFAND

JESS OF THE REBEL TRAIL

CHAPTER I

THE HOLD-UP

The glowing coals in the spacious grate seemed to fascinate the woman as she sat huddled in a big luxurious chair. The book she had been reading was lying open and unheeded on her lap. Her surroundings were by no means in keeping with her dejected manner. The room was cosy and lavishly furnished, while the shaded electric reading-lamp cast its gentle radiance upon the woman's white hair and soft evening-gown. It was a rough night, and the wind howling outside beat furiously against the closely-blinded windows.

It was a night such as this, nearly twenty years before, of which the woman was thinking. She was once again in a room in a private hospital, lying weak and helpless from the ordeal through which she had passed. It all came back to her now with a stinging intensity, causing her white hands to clench hard, and her eyes to widen with a nameless fear.

A maid entered and announced a visitor.

"I can't see anyone to-night," the woman before the fire declared, without even turning her head.

"But——" the maid began.

"That is all, Maggie. You need not say anything more. I wish to be left entirely alone."

The maid hesitated a few seconds before obeying the imperious command. Then she slowly turned, and had almost reached the door when it was suddenly pushed open and a man entered. Without a word, he stepped past her and glided across the room toward the fire. His unexpected appearance startled the woman crouching there. She straightened quickly up and stared at the intruder in amazement.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "How dare you come here? Maggie, put this man out."

But Maggie had disappeared, so the woman was left to face the man alone.

"I won't harm you, madame," he smilingly informed her, as he moved closer to the fire and stretched put his hands. "I'm as harmless as a kitten."

"Keep back," the woman ordered. "Don't come so close."

"Oh, I'm all right. Don't you worry about me."

Again the man smiled as he rubbed his hands together.

"I wasn't worrying about you," the woman retorted. "I would like to see you burn yourself for your impudence."

Her fear had now vanished, and she was angry. She carefully noted the man's slight figure, and threadbare clothes. But his face was what attracted her most of all. It was somewhat chubby, and when the mouth was expanded by the almost incessant smile the cheeks were wrinkled like corrugated iron. His head was bald, save for a few tufts of hair above the ears. His bulging eyes twinkled with good humour, causing an observer to feel that their owner was well satisfied with himself and the entire world.

"Who are you?" the woman again demanded. "How dare you come uninvited into my room?"

The man straightened, himself up, and standing with his back to the fire brought forth a package of cigarettes, selected one, and deliberately lighted it.

"You don't mind if I have a smoke, do you?" he asked. "It's good for the nerves."

"Indeed I do," the woman replied. "I hate smoking. I never allow it in this room."

"I'm sorry, madame, but you'll soon forget all about it. I have come to see you to-night on very important business, and when I tell you what it is you won't think any more about the smoke."

"Important business! With me? Why, I never saw you before, and I have not the slightest idea who you are. What do you want, anyway?"

"Yes, it's important business, as I have just said, and when I learned that you would see no one to-night I was compelled to force myself upon your presence."

"How did you know that I would see no one to-night? Were you listening at the door?"

"Madame, when you get to know me better you will learn that I am able to read people's thoughts, though doors may intervene. Words are unnecessary to me. I know all."

The man blew a cloud of smoke into the air, and smiled. "Yes," he continued, "I even read your thoughts to-night as you sat before this fire."

"You did!" The woman's eyes grew wide with fear and amazement. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I am merely a stand-between; that has been my business for years."

"A stand-between?"

"Yes, I stand between people and ignorance. I supply them with mental food, books of the first-water. They all know me, and look upon me as a public benefactor."

"So you are a book-agent, then? And you want to sell me some books, I suppose? Is that your business here to-night?"

The man waved his hand haughtily, and flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the fire.

"No, madame, it is not. Business is somewhat dull these days, I must confess. People are not as anxious as formerly for pure literature. There are too many counter attractions. This being so, I find it is becoming more difficult to stand between my family and poverty. Therefore, I am here to-night."

"So you want me to give you some money; is that it?"

"Ah, now I see you understand," and the man's face beamed. "But remember, I come not as a beggar, neither as a suppliant, but merely to receive payment for a favor."

"Payment for a favor!" the woman exclaimed. "What do you mean? I owe you nothing. I never saw you before. What favor?"

"The favor of silence. I know what you were thinking about to-night as you sat here. Your thoughts were in the past, to another night such as this. You were in a private hospital, and——"

He was interrupted by a startled cry from the woman. She was sitting bolt upright, her hands gripping hard the arms of the chair, and her face ghastly white.

"W-what do you know?" she gasped.

"Calm yourself, madame. Although I know all, you have no need to fear."

For a few seconds the woman stared at the man before her. Then she gave an hysterical laugh and sank back in her chair. What did this stranger know? she wondered. Perhaps nothing, and she had made a fool of herself by showing her agitation.

"My nerves are somewhat shaken to-night," she confessed. "I have not been well of late, so your sudden appearance and strange words have rather unsettled me. What do you mean by referring to another night such as this, and to a private hospital? What have they to do with me?"

"A great deal, I should say, madame. If you doubt my knowledge, it is only necessary to mention the name of Hettie Rawlins, now my wife, Mrs. Gabriel Grimsby."

"Hettie Rawlins!" the woman's face showed her perplexity.

"Yes, Hettie Rawlins, the girl who exchanged the babies. Don't you remember her?"

But the woman did not reply. She sat staring at the man before her.

"There is no doubt now about my knowledge is there?" the stranger asked with a smile.

"Heavens, no!" the unhappy woman groaned. "And to think that after all these years I should be thus confronted in my own house, and by a complete stranger. And so your wife told you all?"

"Everything, although she kept the secret for a long time. She told me how you bribed her to exchange your little baby boy for a girl which was born in the hospital on the same day, and the amount you gave the baby's mother for making the exchange."

"Stop, stop," the woman pleaded. "You will kill me."

"But you know it all, madame. You were thinking about it to-night, were you not?"

"I was, I was," and the woman buried her face in her hands.

Presently she lifted her head.

"Where is the boy?" she asked in a hoarse whisper. "Is he alive?"

"And so you are interested in him, madame?"

"Interested? Why, he is with me night and day. Though he must be a young man now, yet I always see him as the little babe I held to my breast. If you know where he is, tell me. I must see him somehow, though he must never know who I am."

"What about the girl, your daughter?" the man questioned. "She must be a comfort to you now, and well takes the place of—of your son."

"Nothing can ever take his place," the woman vehemently declared. I thought so once, fool that I was. But I know better now when it is too late. Where is he? For God's sake, tell me!"

"And you have had no word from him?" the man asked.

"Nothing. I do not even know the woman's name who took him. I thought
I would never want to know."

"Then, madame, it is better for you to remain in ignorance. It would do you no good now to learn anything about him. I, at any rate, shall not enlighten you."

"You won't?"

"No, not now."

"Then why have you come here to-night to inflict this torture upon me?
What good can it do to increase the agony of my tormented soul? Surely
I have endured enough already."

"I come, madame, merely as a stand-between. Business with me has been dull of late, as I have just told you. Therefore, when one door closes another opens. I am not a man to let a good opportunity of earning a few honest dollars slip. I know your story, and, accordingly, am here to receive payment."

"Payment! For what?" the woman asked in amazement.

"For silence. I suppose you don't want this matter known?"

"Good heavens, no! What would my husband and daughter think? Why, I could never face the world again."

"Very well, madame. I am pleased to know that you realise the situation," and the man smiled blandly upon his victim. He was succeeding much better than he had expected. "I shall see that this matter is kept a profound secret."

"Oh, will you?" and the woman looked her relief.

"Indeed I will, providing you make it worth while. I am always open for business."

The woman looked keenly at the man.

"Do I understand that you want to be paid for keeping silent?" she at length found voice to ask.

"Certainly. That's what I'm here for. Business is business, remember, and if I cannot make a living at my regular profession, I must turn to the next best thing that offers."

"But this is a hold-up. Are you not afraid to do such a thing?"

"Afraid! Of what?"

The sudden flush that mantled the woman's face plainly showed that she understood. The man noted it, and smiled.

"You realise the situation, madame, I see. That is very fortunate. I have nothing to fear, as you would do almost anything rather than let your secret be known."

"But suppose I do not accede to your demand, what then?"

"That would remain for you to find out, madame. Are you willing to run the risk?"

"Heavens, no! It must not be. What is your price? Tell me quick, and let us get through with this painful interview."

"Willingly, madame. I am as anxious to get through as you are. My price is very moderate, considering the favor I am bestowing upon you. I want five hundred dollars."

"Five hundred dollars!" The woman gasped as she stared at her visitor.
"Why, you are a scoundrel, and nothing less."

Grimsby smiled, and rubbed his hands. He felt sure of his quarry, and it mattered little to him what he was called. It was all in the way of business, so he told himself. Then he picked up his hat from the floor where he had deposited it, and made as though he was about to leave.

"Very well, then," he casually remarked. "If you think it is too much I am sorry. Next week, perhaps, you will consider it very cheap, and would be willing to give far more. But it may be too late then. However, if you are unwilling to meet my moderate demand, it is no use for me to remain longer."

He started to leave the fire-place, but the woman detained him.

"Don't go just yet," she ordered. "I realise that I must give you something. But isn't your price exorbitant?"

"It might be for some, but not for you, Mrs. Randall. I understand that you are one of the largest tax-payers in this city, and in your own name at that. Why, I am astonished at myself for my moderation in asking for so little from such a rich woman. I might have made it a thousand at least."

For a few minutes the woman remained in deep thought. Grimsby never took his eyes from her face. He was quite elated with himself, for he felt sure of success.

At length the woman gave a weary sigh, rose slowly from her chair, and crossing the room, sat down before a handsome writing-table. When she at last came back to the fire-place she was holding a cheque in her hand. Eagerly the man reached out to receive it. But the woman waved him back.

"Just a minute," she told him. "Before I give you this I want you to promise upon your word of honour that you will never ask me for any more money."

"I promise, madame," Grimsby replied, bowing, and placing his right hand upon his heart in a dramatic manner. "I shall make myself as scarce as I always do when my creditors are after me. What more can I say?"

"And you will never breathe a word of this to anyone?"

"Trust me to keep the secret, madame, I shall not even tell my wife."

The woman was about to say something more, but a startled look came into her eyes, as she turned apprehensively toward the door. Nervously she thrust the cheque into the man's hand.

"Here, take this," she ordered, "and leave the house at once. Somebody is coming."

Without a word Grimsby seized his hat, sped across the room, opened the door and disappeared. Trembling violently, the woman sank down in the chair and buried her face in her hands, a veritable picture of abject misery and despair.

CHAPTER II

REBELLION

The man had been gone but a few minutes when the door was again opened and a girl entered. She was a vision fair to behold as she paused for an instant while her eyes rested upon the woman crouched before the fire. She evidently had just come in out of the night, for she wore her out-of-door cloak, and her hair was somewhat tossed by the violence of the wind. The rich colour of her cheeks betokened the healthy exercise of one who had walked some distance. An expression of anxiety came into her dark-brown eyes as she crossed the room, and bent over the woman in the chair.

"Mother, mother, what is the matter?" she demanded. "Are you ill?"

"Oh, it's you, Jess, is it?" the woman languidly asked as she lifted her head. "I thought it was Maggie. I was not expecting you so soon. What brought you home so early?"

"It must have been my guiding angel," the girl smilingly replied. "So you were lonely without me? Was that the trouble?"

"Yes, I suppose that had something to do with it. But I am not feeling well to-night. This room seems very oppressive."

"You are too warm," and the girl glanced down at the fire. Her eyes at once rested upon the stub of the cigarette lying upon the grate where Grimsby had thrown it. She also smelled the smoke of tobacco and instantly surmised that something out of the ordinary had happened to agitate her usually self-possessed mother.

"Somebody has been here annoying you," she cried, turning impulsively to the woman. "Was it Tom asking for more money?"

Again the woman bowed her head, and made no immediate answer. Her thoughts were active, and she was glad of any excuse.

"How did you know he was here?" she at length asked, without looking up.

"I met a man hurrying from the door as I came in. It was too dark to see who he was, and he did not seem to notice me at all. Tom knows my opinion of him, and so he is not anxious to meet me. I did not think of Tom, though, until I found you so upset. And he was smoking too, for there is the stub of his cigarette. Why can't he leave you alone?"

"He never will, Jess. He is just like Will and Dick. They are always bothering me about money, as if I haven't been giving to them for years. They are just like helpless children."

"Worse, mother. They are three useless men. It is well that I am a girl, for I might be tempted to follow their miserable example. Are you not glad that you have only three sons instead of four?"

Receiving no reply, the girl took off her hat, laid aside her wraps, and rang for the maid. Then she drew up a chair and sat down by her mother's side.

"My, this fire is pleasant," she remarked, as she leaned back and gazed into the glowing coals. "I am glad after all that I came home."

"Why didn't Mr. Donaster come in, Jess? I have not seen him for some time."

"Neither have I, mother." The girl's face flushed, and there was a challenge in her voice.

"You haven't! Why, I thought you were with him to-night."

"Indeed I was not. You know as well as I do that I wish to have nothing to do with that man. I have told you so over and over again."

This sudden outburst aroused the woman from her crouching position. She sat upright, and the expression in her eyes told how deeply she was offended.

"Now, look here, Jess," she began, "I want no more of this nonsense. I have made up my mind that you are to marry Mr. Donaster, and marry him you shall."

"Would you force me to marry such a man as that?" the girl asked.

"And why not?"

"Because I detest him, and hate the very sight of him."

"But he is of a fine family, and his father, Lord Donaster, is immensely rich. Burton is his only son, and he will inherit the estate, so you will be Lady Donaster. It is very seldom a girl meets with such an opportunity in this province."

The girl gave her head a slight toss, and her face flushed more than ever.

"I can hardly believe it possible that you are willing to barter your only daughter for such baubles," she indignantly replied. "It is unnatural."

The presence of the maid with tea and toast interrupted the conversation for a few minutes. Jess poured the tea for her mother, but took none herself.

"Are you not going to have any tea?" her mother asked.

"No, I do not care for any now, as I had some at Mrs. Merton's."

"So that's where you were, eh? Why didn't you go to the play?"

"I didn't want to. I preferred to spend a quiet hour or two with Mrs. Merton. She is a woman who does things of some importance instead of spending her time upon a giddy butterfly-life. She is a regular tonic, and always inspires me to be up and doing."

"You are silly, Jess." Her mother was visibly annoyed. "Why should you talk about being up and doing? Haven't you everything that you desire, with the prospect of a brilliant career before you?"

"What career?"

"As Lady Donaster, of course. To what else should I refer?"

"And you call that a career, mother? Slavery is the right word to use. I wish to be of some benefit to the world and not to drift through life like a wretched puppet."

"If this is what you have learned from Mrs. Merton you must not go there any more. I have always known that she held peculiar views, but I had no idea that she would try to unsettle the minds of young girls."

"But I am not a young girl, remember, mother. I am nearly twenty now, and should be able to think somewhat for myself. Mrs. Merton's views were mine even before I met her. For several years I have been dissatisfied with a life that held out little or no promise of anything definite. I want to make my own way in the world."

"But you have not been trained for that, so what can you expect to do?"

"I know it only too well, mother," was the bitter reply. "You brought me up to shine in society and nothing else. But I have youth on my side, with an abundance of health, and strength, so I am not afraid."

"This is all nonsense, Jess. You are talking like an irresponsible child. You know not what it means to earn your own living. And think what a disgrace it would be to have our only daughter working as a common girl. Imagine Jess Randall as a clerk in a drygoods store or in an office. The idea is preposterous! You must give it up at once."

"I can't see anything disgraceful about it, mother. I am sure it is far better to earn one's own living than to be always depending upon others. But I shall not disgrace you, so you need not worry about that."

"What do you intend to do?"

"I have several things in view, and I know that daddy will provide me with money to carry them out."

"He will do nothing of the sort. His mind is as fully made up as mine that you are to marry Mr. Donaster. Don't you think that we are more capable of judging for your good than you?"

"I have very serious doubts about that. I know you will consider me ungrateful for saying so, but you ask me, and so I am forced to tell the truth."

"Well, I declare!" and Mrs. Randall looked her astonishment. "What has come over you, Jess? I never knew you to talk like this before. You seem to have lost all confidence in your parents' judgment."

"Not all, mother. But I know how you interfered with the boys' welfare, and look how they have turned out. There was a time when they wished to go to work and win their own way in the world. But you would not let them, and spoiled their lives by giving them too much money to spend, and telling them that it was not dignified to work. And look what they are now; helpless to do anything for themselves, and a burden to you. Daddy agreed with everything you said, and see what has happened. You made a sad mistake with them, and I am determined that it shall not be so with me."

The girl was trembling violently as she finished, and she had risen to her feet. The colour had fled from her face, and her hands were firmly clasped before her. Her mother also rose, and confronted her daughter.

"You are a rebellious and an ungrateful girl," she charged. "To think of your saying such things after all we have done for you. What do you mean?"

"Just what I have said, as you will find out. It is about time for me to assert myself when you are determined to shackle me to a creature I detest."

"Mr. Donaster is a gentleman, and the son of a gentleman, so you must not refer to him in such an offensive manner. I absolutely forbid it."

"He may be a gentleman according to the standard of some, but not according to mine. He is nothing but an unbearable cad, and with no more character than a jelly-fish. And to think of my having to put up with a thing like that for the rest of my life. Why, I would rather be dead."

"It would be almost a relief to me if you were," and Mrs. Randall gave a deep sigh of despair. "A daughter as wilful as you will only bring disgrace upon her parents."

"I am surprised at your saying such a thing," the girl replied. "One would almost imagine you are not my mother at all, you are so heartless. Would a real mother be willing to sacrifice her only daughter?"

Mrs. Randall gave a sudden start, and looked keenly into the eyes of the girl standing so defiantly before her. "Does she suspect anything?" she asked herself. Then she gave a nervous laugh, and resumed her seat.

"Leave me alone now," she ordered. "I see it is no use talking to you any more to-night, you are so unreasonable and headstrong. Your father will have to take you in hand. He will soon knock this nonsense out of your head. He is determined that you shall marry Mr. Donaster, and you might as well make up your mind to that first as last."

"Mother, I shall go now. But let me tell you, as I shall tell daddy, that nothing on earth can make me marry the man I do not love."

"Tut, tut. Love has nothing to do with marriages these days," Mrs. Randall impatiently replied. "There is no such a thing as love in marriage, it is merely a matter of convenience."

"If I believed that, I should never marry, mother."

"And don't you?"

"Indeed I do not."

"What do you know about love?"

"I know, perhaps, more than you think." The girl's face was now deeply flushed, and this her mother noted.

"Jess, what is the meaning of this? Is there someone else in whom you are interested besides Mr. Donaster? Tell me. I must know the truth at once. It is no use trying to conceal it from me."

The girl's eyes dropped, and she turned her face partly away to hide her emotion.

"In Mr. Donaster I am not even interested," she confessed. "But in
another, I am more than interested, for I love him with my whole heart.
There, you now know the truth, and so you can say and do what you like.
Goodnight."

Without another word, the girl turned and hurried out of the room, leaving her mother speechless with anger and amazement.

CHAPTER III

THE "EB AN' FLO"

Just how it happened Samuel Tobin, owner and captain of the "Eb and Flo," was never able to explain with any degree of clearness. He knew that he was on his knees, scrubbing the floor of the little cabin and humming

"Here I'll raise my Ebenezer,
Hither by Thy grace I'll come,"

when a form darkened the narrow doorway overhead.

Then followed a scream of fright, and before he had hardly time to look around she was lying by his side, a confused heap of silk, lace, and flowing dark-brown hair.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" Samuel exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.
"What in time——?"

A merry laugh interrupted him, as the girl sprang lightly to her feet, arranged her disordered dress, and brushed back her hair.

"My! that was a surprise," she remarked, glancing at the steps down which she had just tumbled. "I didn't know they were there."

"Ye didn't, eh?" and Samuel looked curiously at his unexpected visitor.
"Thought ye was walkin' into a parlour, I s'pose."

"Do you own this boat?" the girl suddenly and somewhat anxiously asked.

"Well, I thought I did, Miss, until you arrived, but now I ain't quite sartin. I feel somethin' like Bill Slocum said he did when a bear dropped in on him one night when he was campin' out on his back medder."

"What did he do?"

"Oh, Bill, jist lit out an' left the bear in charge, the same as any sensible man would do."

"I hope you do not compare me to a bear," and the girl smiled.

"No, I wouldn't like to do that, Miss. But ye must have had some mighty good reason fer comin' down them steps the way ye did. It's a wonder to me yer neck wasn't broken."

"I have a good reason," was the emphatic reply. "I am running away."

"Runnin' away!" Samuel's eyes opened wide in amazement, and he stared hard at the girl. He would have been less than human if his pulse had not quickened, and his heart beat faster, for she was truly possessed of more than ordinary beauty and grace of figure. Her large dark expressive eyes betrayed anxiety, and her cheeks were flushed. Once she gave a slight start and glanced nervously up the steps as if expecting to see someone following her.

"Yes, I am running away," she repeated, "and I want you to hide me on this boat."

"Runnin' away, an' want me to hide ye!" Samuel ran his fingers through his hair, a sure sign of his perplexity. "Ye ain't been stealin' or murderin' anybody, have ye?"

"No, no; it's not so bad as that. But it might be suicide, though, if you don't help me. And you will, won't you?" she pleaded, turning her eyes full upon the captain's face.

The latter made no immediate reply. He picked up his pail and set it carefully aside. He then unrolled the turned-up sleeves of his coarse shirt, and deliberately buttoned them about his thick hairy wrists,

"Set down, Miss," he at length ordered, motioning to the only chair the cabin contained. "Thar, that's better," he said as the girl immediately obeyed. "Sorry me accommodations are so poor, but then this ain't no ocean liner. She's nuthin' but an old woodboat, an' not much of a place fer receivin' the likes of you."

"But I think it's fine," the girl replied, "and I know you will let me stay here for a while. You need a woman to look after this cabin, and I will wash and cook for you."

"Ye will!"

"Certainly. If you will only let me stay, I think you will find me quite useful."

"H'm, queer work you'd do in them dandy togs. An' besides, this craft can't afford to keep up much style. I s'pose ye'd want clean linen on the table every day, to say nuthin' of napkins, an' sich gear. No, I'm afraid ye'd prove too expensive fer the 'Eb an' Flo.' I've been cook here fer so long that I wouldn't know what to do with a woman around. Martha tried it once, but a week was enough fer her, so she got out. Said she couldn't stand me housekeepin' methods."

"Who is Martha?" the girl asked.

"Oh, she's me wife, an' runs things ashore. Her an' Flo do all right thar, but me an' Eb feel more at home on the water, with no women buttin' in."

"Is Flo your daughter?"

"Sure. An' Eb's me son. Jist the two, so I named this craft after 'em, ye see, Eb an' Flo sounds about right to my way of thinkin'. When yer boatin' on this river ye have to be allus considerin' the ebb an' flow of the tide, so the name is quite handy."

"It certainly is," and the girl smiled. "I am sure I shall like it.
Where is your son now?"

"Oh, he's ashore gittin' some molasses an' other stuff from the store.
He should be back soon, Miss, so I think ye'd better leave before he
comes. Thar might be trouble. He's dead set aginst strange women,
Eben is."

"Will you start as soon as your son returns?" the girl asked, unheeding the captain's warning.

"Start! Start where?"

"Sailing, of course."

"Not until the wind springs up. Thar's a dead calm now, an' the tide's aginst us."

"Oh, I wish it would blow a gale," and the girl looked anxiously around. "I want to get away from this place as soon as possible."

"Well, I think the best thing then fer you to do is to go ashore an' light out. Ye kin do it quicker thar than here."

"But I can't get ashore, Captain."

"Ye can't! An' why not, I'd like to know?"

"Because my boat has gone adrift. I let it go on purpose."

"Good Lord!" Samuel sat down upon a biscuit box and eyed his visitor curiously. "Say, are you crazy, or a fool, or what are ye, anyway?" he asked.

"I'm just a poor unfortunate girl, that's who I am," was the decided reply.

"An' ye ain't done nuthin' bad; nuthin' that yer ashamed of, Miss?"

"No, no," and the girl's face crimsoned. "I'm proud of what I have done," and she lifted her head haughtily, while her eyes flashed. "Any girl with the least self-respect would do the same, so there."

"That's all right, Miss, that's all right," Samuel hurriedly assured her. "I wasn't castin' any reflection upon yer character. I was only wonderin', that's all. Ye see, Flo's about your age, from what I judge, an' I wouldn't like her to be actin' this way."

"I know you wouldn't. But my case is different. Oh, I wish I could tell you all, but I can't. You will trust me, anyway, won't you, and let me stay here for a while?"

The captain sighed and looked helplessly around.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he growled. "This is sartinly some fix an' I don't know what to do. The accommodation isn't much here fer the likes of you, though it ain't too bad fer me an' Eb. If you occupy this cabin, we'll have to camp out on deck, an' I know what Eb'll say about that. He's more'n fond of sleep, that boy is, the greatest I ever saw. Why he'd sooner sleep than eat any day, an' he likes a good soft bed at that. I had to buy a special spring an' mattress before I could git him to come with me this year. He doesn't take much to boatin', an' I have to make things as smooth as possible."

"But can't you put his cot on deck?" the girl suggested. "I am very sorry that I am giving you so much trouble, but I shall pay you well. Money is no object if you will only help me out of my trouble. I am sure you will never regret it."

"I hope not, Miss, fer I don't want to git into any fix. It wouldn't look very nice if the papers got hold of this affair. Jist imagine a big write-up about Capt. Sam'l Tobin keepin' a fine lookin' runaway gal on the 'Eb an' Flo.' Why, I'd never be able to hold up me head agin, an' I guess it 'ud about break Martha's heart, to say nuthin' about Flo. They're mighty pertic'ler about sich things, they surely are."

"This must never get into the papers," the girl declared, "for you must promise that you will keep it a dead secret, and not tell anyone, not even your own family."

"I don't see how I kin do that, Miss. I guess ye don't know Martha as well as I do. If ye did, ye wouldn't talk about keepin' this racket a secret from me family. An' besides, thar's Eben, who'll be here in a jiffy now. How am I to explain matters to him? No, Miss, I reckon ye'd better light out while the coast is clear. I'll git the boy to take ye ashore, an' tell him that ye hit the wrong craft."

But the girl was not to be baffled in her purpose. She rose to her feet and stood before the captain. Her eyes were wide with a nameless fear, and her face showed very white where the light of the bracket-lamp fell upon it.

"Don't, don't send me away," she pleaded. "Let me stay here until you go from this place. Then you can put me ashore in the woods, or throw me overboard, I don't care which, but for the love of heaven let me stay now!"

Captain Samuel's big right hand dove suddenly into his pocket and clawed forth a clay pipe, a plug of tobacco, and a large jack-knife. He examined them carefully for a few seconds, the girl all the time watching him most intently.

"You will let me stay, won't you?" she coaxed. "Don't send me away."

"I don't see how I kin, Miss. Yer here, an' that's all thar is about it. Ye won't go of yer own accord, an' I've never yit laid hands on a woman. Now, if you was a man I'd show ye a thing or two in a jiffy, but what kin one do with a woman when she once makes up her mind?"

"Oh, thank you so much," and the girl's face brightened. "You will never regret your kindness to me. And look, I'm going to pay you well for letting me stay."

"Pay!" The captain's eyes bulged with astonishment.

"Yes, pay," and the girl smiled. "I'm a passenger, you see, so I'm going to pay my fare. There, you must not object, for I have made up my mind, so it's no use for you to say a word. I'm going to give you fifty dollars now and more later."

The pipe fell from the captain's hand and broke in two upon the floor.

"Blame it all!" he growled, as he stood staring upon the wreck. "I wonder what's comin' over me, anyway? Guess I'm losin' me senses."

"No you're not; you are just getting them, Captain. It's better to break a pipe than a girl's heart, isn't it?"

"I s'pose so, Miss. But a pipe means a good smoke, while a woman means——"

He paused, and looked helplessly around.

"What?" The girl's eyes twinkled.

"Trouble; that's what."

"But isn't she worth it?"

"That all depends upon what an' who she is."

"Certainly. Now you are talking sense. Isn't your daughter worth all the trouble she has been to you?"

"Sure, sure; yer sartinly right thar, Miss. Flo's given me a heap of trouble, but not half as much as Eben. That boy's a caution, an' he's given me an' Martha no end of worry."

"In what way?"

The captain scratched his head in perplexity, and shifted uneasily from one foot to another.

"I kin hardly explain," he at length replied. "He don't drink, nor swear, nor do nuthin' bad. But the trouble is, he don't do nuthin', an' don't want to do nuthin' but sleep an' eat."

"Perhaps you have not brought him up right, Captain."

"Not brought him up right!" Samuel's amazement was intense. "Why, Miss, we've done nuthin' but bring that boy up. Me an' Martha have slaved fer the raisin' of Eben. We started when he was a baby to raise him, right, an' the very next Sunday after he was born didn't they sing in church—

"'Here I'll raise my Ebenezer'."

"And so you've been singing it ever since, even when scrubbing the cabin?" The girl smiled at the recollection of the suddenly discontinued tune.

"Sure, why shouldn't I? It's a great hymn, it sartinly is, an' it's inspired me many a time. It has kept before me my duty, an' if Eben doesn't amount to somethin', it won't be my fault, nor Martha's, either, fer that matter."

"Have you taken the same care with your daughter?" the girl asked.

"No, not as much," was the reluctant confession. "Gals don't need sich special care. They ginerally grow up all right, an' git along somehow. But it's different with boys. They're a problem, they sartinly are."

"And so you have given most of your attention to your son, and let your daughter grow up any way. Is that it, Captain?"

"That's about it, Miss."

"And how is your daughter getting along?"

"Fust rate. We've no trouble with her. She's a good worker, happy an' cheerful as a bird, an' does what she's told. She's a fine gal, Flo is, an' thar's no mistake about that. I wish to goodness Eben was like her."

"It seems to me, Captain, that you tried too hard to raise your son, and spoiled him. Isn't that it?"

"D'ye think so?"

"I am sure of it. You are not the only ones who have spent all their care upon their sons and let their daughters grow up as they please. I know too much about it."

"Ye do!" Samuel's eyes opened wide in wonder. "An' you only a young gal, too."

"But I am old in experience, and know what I say is true. But what is that?" A startled look leaped into her eyes. "Do you suppose it is someone after me?"

With a bound the captain sprang up the stairs. He paused for an instant, however, and glanced back.

"Don't be scared, Miss," he encouraged. "It's only Eben. He's bumped hard aginst the boat. You keep close under cover, an' I'll do what I kin with the boy."

CHAPTER IV

UNDER COVER

By the time the captain reached the side of the boat, Eben had his small skiff tied to the deck-rail. He was standing up, a tall, gaunt, ungainly youth, freckled faced, and sandy haired. He wore a dark-brown sweater, and a pair of overalls, baggy at the knees. He did not speak as his father approached, but mechanically handed up to him a jug of molasses, and several paper parcels. He then leaped lightly upon deck, and headed for the cabin. But the captain detained him by laying a firm and heavy hand upon his shoulder.

"Keep out of thar," he ordered. "I've jist been scrubbin' an' don't want ye to dirty the place up."

The tone of his father's voice caused Eben to swing suddenly around.

"Me feet ain't dirty," he drawled. "An' s'pose they are, what's the difference? The cabin ain't no parler. Let me go; I'm most starved."

But the captain's grip increased as he yanked his son a few feet back.

"I'm in charge of this craft," he reminded, "an' what I say goes. Yer not goin' down into that cabin to-night, so jist make up yer mind to that fust as last."

The boy now stared in speechless amazement. Never before had he seen his father so agitated, nor heard him speak to him in such a manner.

"D'ye understand?" the captain asked.

"Understand what?"

"That yer not goin' down in that cabin. Isn't that what I jist said?
Where are yer ears?"

A sullen look leaped into the boy's eyes, and with an effort he shook himself free from his father's grasp.

"D'ye mean it?" he growled.

"Sartinly I mean it. An' what's more, I don't want ye to ask any fool questions. We'll eat an' sleep on deck to-night, up forrad. I'll bring the grub an' clothes from the cabin, but you stay out."

Eben was about to reply in an angry manner, when the form of his countenance instantly changed, and a peculiar expression, half-humorous, appeared in his eyes. He stood looking at his father for a few seconds in an absent-minded manner. Then, without a word, he picked up the jug of molasses and strode up forward. The captain gazed after him in astonishment, greatly wondering what had come over his son to make him so obedient all of a sudden. He said nothing, however, but went at once down into the cabin where he found the girl making herself perfectly at home tidying up the place.

"Eben's come," the captain laconically remarked,

"So I understand," and the girl smiled.

"Ye heard what was said, eh?"

"Certainly. I'm not deaf."

"Sure, sure. Me temper got the best of me to-night. But I couldn't help it, fer that boy did more'n stir me up. Guess he's cooled down now, though I'm mighty surprised that he knuckled under so soon. It's not a bit like Eb's way, let me tell ye that."

"I am very sorry to give all this trouble," the girl acknowledged. "I feel ashamed of myself."

"Most likely ye do, Miss. We all feel that way at times. But I must git a hustle on, an' tote up some clothes fer the night, an' a snack of grub fer Eben. He's mighty fond of his stummick, that boy is. He'd eat every hour of the day, jist the same as a chicken, an' then wouldn't be satisfied."

Captain Tobin was much surprised that his son asked him no questions that night. He did not even refer to the cabin, but after he had eaten two large slices of bread, well soaked in molasses, he stretched himself out upon the deck, drew a heavy quilt over his body, and was soon fast asleep. The captain, however, did not sleep for some time. He sat upon the cover of the hatchway and puffed at an old corn-cob, which had been brought into service after the ruin of his favourite clay pipe. It was a beautiful night, and not a breath of wind ruffled the surface of the river. The captain was thinking seriously, as he was greatly puzzled what to do with the girl who had thrust herself so unceremoniously upon him. He could not put her ashore, that was quite evident, and he knew that he could not keep her presence a secret from Eben for any length of time. And then there was Martha. What would she and Flo say when they heard of it? This thought brought the perspiration to his forehead, causing him to shift uneasily. And the neighbours! What a rare bit of gossip it would be when they heard of it. And hear of it they certainly would, and he would be disgraced. It was somewhat late when he at length rolled himself up in his blanket by his son's side. Silence reigned near the cabin, and he fell asleep feeling that he had done the best that he could under the circumstances.

He awoke early, and scrambled to his feet. Eben was still asleep, so he moved about as quietly as possible so as not to disturb him. Far off in the east the dawn of a new day was breaking, and the sky was resplendent with the soft rosy tints of the virgin morn. From the shore came faint twitterings of birds just awaking from slumber. Presently the raucous honks of autos some distance down the road fell upon his ears. In a few minutes the cars appeared, and drew up at the wharf not far away. Several men alighted, and from their actions the captain could tell that they were very much excited. Then more autos arrived, until about twenty men were standing upon the wharf and the road. He wondered what they wanted, and what had brought them there at such an early hour. When, however, he saw them rowing from the shore in several flat-bottom boats, the meaning of the commotion flashed upon his mind. They were searching for the missing girl, believing that she had been drowned the night before. The captain was in a quandary. His first impulse was to hail the men, and tell them that the missing one was safe. But what would the girl think of him if he betrayed her? No, he would not do such a thing without speaking to her first. He glanced toward the cabin, and to his surprise saw smoke coming from the stove-pipe protruding through the roof of the cabin. The girl, he knew, must be awake, so he might as well inform her at once.

He hurried away aft, and paused at the cabin door. It was open, and glancing down he saw the girl busily engaged in preparing breakfast. The appetising odour of coffee greeted his nostrils, and he heard something sizzling in the frying-pan. Just then the girl glanced up, and a bright smile of welcome illumined her face. Her cheeks were flushed with the heat and exercise, and the captain thought he had never beheld a more charming face.

"Good morning," she greeted. "Come in; breakfast is almost ready."

"Well, I'll be hanged!" the captain ejaculated as he descended the stairs. "What in time are ye up so early fer?"

"Isn't the cook always supposed to be up early?" the girl questioned, while her eyes sparkled with merriment.

"S'pose so," and the captain scratched his head in a dubious manner. "But I wasn't lookin' upon you as a cook, fer I had no idea that ye understood anything about a kitchen."

"Well, then, you were much mistaken. Just sit down, and try this egg-on-toast, and this coffee. I have learned a few things, so am not altogether useless. Cooking is one of my accomplishments, though, perhaps, I may not suit such an expert as you."

After the captain had washed himself in the granite-iron basin, and carefully brushed his hair, he sat down at the little side-table. His breakfast was already before him, but he would not touch it until the girl was ready for hers. He noted with appreciation that the oil-cloth on the table was especially clean, and how neatly the few dishes were arranged.

"Well, this is some breakfast," he complimented. "I never expected to find this awaitin' me."

"Are you satisfied with your cook now?" the girl smilingly asked.

"Satisfied!" The captain paused in the act of lifting his cup of coffee to his lips. "Did I ever say I wasn't satisfied?"

"Not exactly, though you acted that way last night."

"I know I did, an' I'm of the same opinion still. I'm not satisfied while them fellers are out draggin' the river fer yer body."

At these words a startled look came into the girl's eyes, and she dropped her fork upon her plate.

"Dragging the river for my body!" she gasped.

"Sure, thar are several boats not fer from here now, an' the men in 'em seem mighty excited. It does seem a pity fer 'em to be doin' sich a thing while you are safe an' sound in this cabin. Thar's something uncanny about it, which is not at all to my likin'. Don't ye think I'd better holler out, an' tell 'em that you're all right?"

"No, no," the girl protested, rising to her feet. "Don't say a word. If they think I'm drowned, all the better. That's just what I want them to think."

"Good Lord!" The captain stared in amazement at the agitated girl. "What am I to do, then? I can't stay here an' see them poor fellers doin' sich a useless job. An' besides, they must be about heart-broken."

"Indeed they're not," the girl emphatically declared. "If they are the ones I believe they are, you needn't worry about them, for they have no hearts to break. I must have a peek at them."

"Be careful, if ye don't want to be seen, Miss," the captain warned, as the girl stood, on one of the steps and cautiously peered out. She was instantly down again, her face very white.

"There's a boat coming straight for us!" she excitedly explained. "It's only a short distance off. Go on deck quick and send the men away. Don't let them come on board."

With a bound the captain was up out of the cabin. He was determined to protect the girl, although he felt that he was making a fool of himself. But while she was on his boat, and under his care, no one was going to molest her. He stood silently watching the row-boat as it drew near. It contained three men, two at the oars, and one seated astern.

"Say," the latter called out, "did you see a young woman drifting about here in a boat last night?"

"Did I see what?" the captain asked, apparently surprised.

"A young woman, Miss Randall, in a boat last night? She has disappeared, and we're afraid she's drowned."

"No, I didn't see any young woman driftin' around here in a boat last night," the captain replied. "What makes ye think she's drowned herself?"

"Because a boat was found adrift in South Bay last night, containing one oar and a woman's hat. The hat belonged to Miss Randall, and as she is missing, it is feared that she either drowned herself or met with an accident."

"Dear me, that's serious. Why would she want to drown herself?"

"Oh, some family trouble, I guess. Her folks wanted her to marry a man she had no use for. That's him standing there on the wharf now."

"Ye don't tell!" The captain turned his head and looked shoreward. "Wonder why he isn't helpin' to search fer his sweetheart. He seems to be mighty cool about the affair."

"Oh, he's afraid of soiling his hands and clothes." The man spoke in a low voice, for he was now close alongside. "He's Lord Something-or-Other's son, an' wouldn't think of associating with such common cusses as us. He belongs to the upper-crust, doncher-know." The man smiled, and his companions grinned. It was quite evident that they were all familiar with the story.

"An' so ye say the gal yer lookin' fer is Miss Randall, daughter of
Henry Randall, the big lumber merchant?" the captain asked.

"That's who she is; his only daughter."

"An' he wants her to marry that?" and the captain motioned toward the wharf.

"Sure. Is it any wonder she'd want to commit suicide? She'd be a fool if she wouldn't. But, there, we must get back to work. We just dropped alongside, thinking ye might have seen her drifting around, last night, and heard a scream or a splash."

"What makes ye think it was around here she done the deed?" the captain asked.

"Because her folks have their summer house a short distance below the wharf, and the boat which was found drifting in South Bay belongs to Bill Sanson up on the hill. Aren't they reasons enough?"

"It does look reasonable," the captain acknowledged. "I s'pose her pa an' ma are about crazy over her disappearance. I know I should be about Flo."

"Her father isn't home," the man explained. "He's away somewhere on a business trip. As for her mother, well——" He paused, pulled a plug of tobacco out of his pocket, and bit off a chew. Then he turned to his companions. "Come, boys, suppose we get back? We've wasted too much time already."

The captain watched them as they rowed away, and his eyes twinkled with merriment. He was smiling when he returned to the cabin. The girl there was smiling, too, although it was easy to tell that she had been greatly agitated.

"Have they gone?" she asked in a low voice.

"Oh, yes, they've gone back to look fer you. Say, Miss, I don't like this bizness one bit. It's a mighty spooky affair, an' gits on me nerves. Don't ye feel a bit shaky yerself?"

"I suppose I should," the girl thoughtfully replied. "But under the circumstances I can't. Don't you remember what that man told you?"

"About you marryin' that Lord Fiddlesticks?"

"Yes, though that is not his name."

"I know it isn't, but it doesn't matter. But, thar, I must take some grub to Eben. He'll be down here soon, I'm sartin, if I don't head him off. Thar's nuthin' like grub to hold that boy in check. I've got to go ashore this mornin' to git some tea. Eben fergot all about it last night."

"Will you get a few things for me?" the girl asked. "I will make out a list at once."

"I was expectin' something like that, Miss. I knew ye wouldn't be satisfied with what this cabin contains, but would want many things extry. I s'pose ye'll order a hull outfit of table linen, a set of chiny dishes, a new coffee pot, an' dear knows what all. I'd have to go to the city fer them things."

"No, not at all," the girl laughingly replied. "I can get along nicely with what you have here. I only need something for myself, as I came away without anything, not even a comb. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, I don't mind, as fer as I'm consarned. But I'm wonderin' what
Martha an' Flo'll think if they ever hear of it."

"I am sure they will be pleased, Captain, when they know how kind you have been to an unfortunate girl. When I see them I shall explain, so everything will be all right."

"I hope so, Miss. But if ye knew Martha as well as I do mebbe ye wouldn't feel so sure. Anyway, I s'pose it can't be helped now. Jist have yer list ready when I come back from feedin' Eben, an' I'll do the best I kin."

CHAPTER V

CAPTAIN SAMUEL GOES SHOPPING

Captain Tobin rowed toward the shore with long steady strokes. He was in no hurry as he had all the morning on his hands. He did not expect the wind to rise until the turn of the tide, which would be about noon. He was thinking of Eben, and wondering what had come over the boy to make him so docile in such a short time. He had seemed more animated than usual, and had eaten his breakfast without making any embarrassing enquiries. He had not even referred to the men searching the river for the missing girl, neither did he speak of the conversation that had taken place between his father and the man in the small boat. All this was puzzling to the captain, for it was very unlike Eben's usual manner. Was it possible that the boy knew anything about the matter, or had a hand in the affair himself? he wondered. He banished the idea, however, as too absurd to be entertained even for a moment.

Reaching the wharf, he tied the boat, and was making his way to the store when he was suddenly hailed.

"Hi, there," someone called, "let me have your boat, will you?"

Looking around, he saw the immaculately-dressed young man coming toward him from the lower side of the wharf. He knew that this must be the missing girl's lover, and he had no desire to meet him. There seemed to be no escape, however, so he was forced to stop and wait until the man sauntered up to where he was standing.

"Was ye callin' me?" the captain asked.

"I was," the man replied. "I want your boat."

"Ye do, eh? Well, I guess I want it meself more'n you do, by the look of things."

"But I want to help with the search."

"Oh, so you're Lord Fiddlesticks' son, are ye? Glad to meet ye," and the captain held out his hand. "I'm Sam'l Tobin, captain an' owner of the 'Eb an' Flo,' layin' jist out yonder."

"So I supposed," was the drawling response. "But it makes no difference to me who or what you are. You might be the devil for all I care. All I want is your small boat."

"Come, come, Mr. Lord Fiddlesticks, don't talk in sich a high an' mighty manner; it might not be good fer yer health. A young chap about your make-up tried it once upon me, but it didn't work out to his satisfaction. He acknowledged it when he got out of the hospital. See?"

"Oh, I didn't mean to offend you," and the young man retreated a few steps. "I'm all upset this morning over Miss Randall's disappearance, and so am hardly responsible for what I say. Let me have your boat, will you? I'll pay you well for it."

The captain eyed the young man critically from head to foot, especially his soft white hands. Then he shook his head in a doubtful manner.

"What's the matter?" the young man impatiently asked. "Is there anything wrong with me ?"

"That's what I'm jist tryin' to figger out. I s'pose it's really me duty to take ye home to yer ma, but I ain't got time this mornin'. Does she knew where ye are?"

"What do you mean, you ignorant clodhopper? Do you take me for a baby?"

"Not exactly, as yer too big fer one. But accordin' to yer togs one would imagine that ye've jist come from the nursery. No, it wouldn't be right to let ye have me boat, fer ye'd be sure to spile yer pretty white hands an' soil yer bib an' pinny. An' besides, if anything happened to ye, I'd be held responsible. No, ye'd better trot along home to yer mamma before she comes after ye with a strap."

The young man was now very angry, and he was about to give vent to his feelings in a furious outburst. But the stopping of an auto on the road near by suddenly arrested his attention, causing him to stare hard at the driver who had just alighted. Glad of this timely diversion, the captain moved away and made toward the store. In passing the car, he did not recognise the driver, who, with his back toward him, was examining the engine, and seemed to be heeding nothing else. But no sooner had the captain passed than he straightened himself up, cast one swift glance toward the man down on the wharf, and at once followed the captain into the store, where he stood quietly at one side without speaking to anybody.

The captain was already at the counter, fumbling with the list which had been given him. He was well acquainted with the storekeeper, a middle-aged man of genial countenance.

"Here's a list of things I want, Ezry," he explained, as he handed over the paper. "Guess ye kin make out the writin'."

The storekeeper adjusted his spectacles and studied the paper for a few minutes. Then he looked keenly at his customer, while his eyes twinkled.

"Are yer wife an' daughter with ye on this trip, Captain?" he asked. "They seem to be out of 'most everything women need. It's a wonder ye didn't get them outfitted in the city. D'ye think this is a department store? Guess they must have been studying Eaton's catalogue."

Captain Samuel coughed and shuffled uneasily.

"Why, what's on the list, Ezry?"

"Didn't ye read it?"

"No, never looked at it. I thought it was all right, an' that ye kept 'most everything here."

"Well, I don't, and never expect to. Now, look at this, for instance," and the storekeeper touched the paper with the forefinger of his right hand. "A kimona, just think of that! I never had a call for such a thing before."

"Is that down thar?" the captain enquired, reaching for the list.

"Sure, ye can see for yourself. But that isn't all. A pair of pyjamas is wanted, bedroom slippers, table-cloth, and napkins. Say, Captain, your wife an' daughter must be getting some new fandangled notions all of a sudden. Going to use them on the boat, eh?"

The captain made no reply. His face was very red, and he was mopping his forehead with a big pocket-handkerchief.

"It does work ye up, doesn't it?" the storekeeper chuckled.

"Work me up! Why, I'm bilin' hot. But fer the love of heaven, isn't there anything on that list ye do keep? Guess we'll have to send to Eaton's after all, only them things are wanted right away."

The storekeeper again studied the list, and with a pencil scored out the articles he did not have.

"I haven't that, nor that, nor that," he commented.

"Well, fer goodness' sakes what have ye got, Ezry? Tell me quick, fer
I can't stay here all the mornin'."

"Nor that, nor that, nor that," the storekeeper continued. "Ah, I have that," and his face brightened. "Yes, I've got a tooth-brush, or I did have one a year ago. Let me see." He turned and began to rummage in a dilapidated show-case, and at length brought forth with triumph the required article. He laid it carefully on the counter, and resumed his study of the list. A brush and comb were the next requisites, and these, after considerable searching, were produced.

"Yer doin' fine, Ezry," the captain encouraged. "Don't work too hard, though I would like to git back to me boat before the river freezes. I don't want to lay out thar all winter. What's next on the program?"

"A box of choc'lates, hard-centres. I don't keep 'em, Captain. I've only mixed-candy an' conversation lozenges. Maybe they 'd like some of them."

"All right, put 'em in; it's all the same to me. I never eat sich things. Is that all?"

"Yes, I guess that's all I can supply," the storekeeper replied as he finally viewed the list. "If ye wanted molasses, sugar, or anything in the hardware line I could accommodate ye. But kimonas, pyjamas, bedroom slippers, and such things, I don't carry."

During this conversation the auto driver had been an attentive listener. At times it was difficult for him to refrain from laughing outright, especially at the captain's embarrassment. It was not for amusement, however, that he was there, but for something far more important. What he learned seemed to please him, so with the light of satisfaction in his eyes, he left the store and returned to his car. When the captain came out a few minutes later he greeted him in a friendly manner.

"Fine morning, Captain," he accosted.

"Hello, John!" the captain replied. "I didn't know it was you. Where did ye drop from?"

"Oh, just on my way from the city. I didn't expect to meet you here."

"An' I didn't expect to be here, John. I've been hung up fer hours, an' can't git a breath of wind. I should be loadin' at Spoon Island by this time."

"Perhaps a rest will do you good, Captain. A trip ashore once in a while will do you no harm. You have been shopping, I see? I didn't know your wife and Flo were with you on this trip. They were home when I left."

"What makes ye think they're with me?" the captain somewhat sharply asked.

"Oh, it was merely a surmise on my part," and the young man smiled. "I happened to overhear the conversation between you and the storekeeper; that was all."

"Well, s'pose I was buyin' things fer me wife an' daughter, what of it?
Why should ye think they're on the boat when I buy things they want?"

"It was just a notion on my part. I happened to hear what they wanted, and naturally wondered why you should go to a store like that when you could have got all the articles in the city to far better advantage. It's none of my business, of course, only it made me somewhat curious."

The captain made no reply but turned and looked out upon the river, where the men were searching for the missing girl. The young man, too, looked, and there was an amused expression in his eyes as he at length turned them upon the captain's face.

"They don't seem to be meeting with much success, do they?" he casually remarked.

"Seems not," was the quiet reply.

"Perhaps they are not searching in the right place. They may be all astray, and the girl is not drowned after all."

"What makes ye think that?" the captain somewhat anxiously asked.

"Oh, certain things have made me come to the conclusion that the girl did not drown herself. It would be a most unlikely thing for Miss Randall to do. She is not that kind."

"H'm, that's no reason," the captain retorted. "Ye never know these days what notions gals'll take."

"I believe you are right," and the young man smiled. "They do take queer notions at times, as was proven by the list of articles you tried to buy in the store just a few minutes ago."

"Hey, what's that yer sayin'?" the captain demanded, swinging swiftly around. "What d'ye mean by them words?"

"Don't you know, sir? I think you understand my meaning. Look well after Miss Randall, and tell her to keep out of sight. So long. I hope to see you later."

The young man sprang into his car, and in another minute was speeding up the road, leaving the captain staring after him, dumb with astonishment.

CHAPTER VI

EBEN MAKES A DISCOVERY

After Eben had eaten his breakfast he sat for a few minutes watching his father as he rowed ashore. He next turned his eyes upon the boats searching for the missing girl. He even smiled, a somewhat unusual thing for him, especially at such an early morning hour. He was sitting upon deck, leaning against the mast full in the glare of the slowly-strengthening sun. Presently his left hand was run through his mass of tousled hair, while his right came down with a resounding whack upon his knee. Something out of the ordinary was amusing this tall ungainly youth which would have surprised his father had he been present.

At length he rose slowly to his feet, yawned, stretched himself, and moved cautiously along the deck toward the cabin. He walked around it once without deigning to look at the open door. The second time he shot a swift furtive glance, and caught a fleeting glimpse of someone in the cabin. His heart gave a great leap and he was about to hurry on his way, when a merry laugh arrested his steps, causing him to turn and peer down into the cabin. Then his cheeks crimsoned as he saw the girl standing at the foot of the steps, her face wreathed with a sunny smile.

"Don't be afraid; I won't hurt you," she told him. "I'm as harmless as a kitten."

Instantly Eben's mouth expanded into a grin, and he looked sheepishly around. He knew that he was on forbidden ground, and this added to his embarrassment. At the same time it gave him a certain degree of pleasure, as forbidden sweets are always the most delectable.

"Come on down," the girl invited. "I want someone to talk to, for it is rather lonesome here."

"You'd better come up," Eben found voice to reply. "It's nicer here in the sun."

"I know it is," and the girl's face became sober in an instant. "But I am afraid."

"What are ye afraid of?"

"Those men in the boats, of course."

"That they'll git ye?"

"Yes."

"But they won't out there, though," and again Eben grinned. "I knew ye didn't drown yerself. Ye'd be a fool to do it, wouldn't ye?"

"How did you know?"

"Oh, I saw ye last night headin' fer the 'Eb an' Flo.'"

"Did you see me come on board?"

"No, it was too dark. But when dad wouldn't let me go into the cabin, I guessed what was up. It was nicer down there than floatin' in the river, wasn't it? Wonder where ye'd be now, an' how ye'd feel if ye had drowned yerself."

The girl shivered, and her face turned white.

"Are you hungry?" she unexpectedly asked.

"Why, I jist had me breakfast."

"I know you did, but your father said you are always hungry. Suppose you come down and I'll give you something more. You didn't have much to eat."

To his own surprise Eben at once obeyed, lumbered down the steps, and seated himself by the little table. The girl placed a boiled egg before him, cut a slice of bread, and poured out a cup of coffee.

"I cooked one egg too many," she explained.

"Lucky ye did," Eben replied, as he broke the shell. "Say, it's great havin' you here. What's yer name!"

"Only Jess. I hope you will like it."

"I like it already. I think it's nice. An' say, I won't let anyone git ye."

"That's kind of you. But I thought you hated girls."

"Who told ye that?"

"Your father, of course. Isn't it true?"

"Mebbe it is, an' mebbe it isn't. An' mebbe after all it is. I never did take much stock in girls."

"Why?"

"Dunno, 'cept it's me make-up. Girls are too fussy fer me, so I like to keep out of their way."

"But you came my way this morning, though," the girl smilingly reminded.

"Oh, you're different. I like what you did. You came here to be protected, an' I'm goin' to see that ye are. I won't let them men git ye."

"What will you do if they come on board?"

Eben dropped his knife and fork suddenly upon the table, while his hands clenched hard.

"They won't come on board," he declared. "They'll do well to git close to this boat. Look," and he pointed to a rifle standing in one corner of the cabin.

"Oh, you mustn't shoot," the girl protested. "You might kill someone, and then you would be hung for murder."

"No, it's not likely I'll shoot, though I'll feel like doin' it if them men come snookin' 'round here. I'll jist keep the gun in me hands, that's all. Guess that'll be hint enough fer them fellers."

"Oh, I wish a strong wind would blow," the girl fervently exclaimed. "I want to get away from here, and out of sight of those men searching for me over there."

"It does give one a kind of creepy feelin', doesn't it?" Eben replied. "But I think we'll git a breeze when the tide comes up, an' then we'll show ye what this old tub kin do."

"Won't that be great! I have often longed for a sail on the river in a boat such as this. How you must enjoy this life. I know I should."

"Would ye?" Eben asked. "Well, I guess ye'd soon git tired of it if ye had to do it all the time. It makes a mighty big difference whether ye do a thing fer pleasure or fer business. I don't like it, anyway, an' I'm goin' to git clear of it as soon as I kin. Mebbe I'll follow your example, an' run away."

"Where do you want to go to, and what do you want to do?"

"I want to go to college an' learn to be an engineer."

"An engineer! What, to run an engine on the railroad?"

"No, not that. I want to be a civil engineer, to build bridges, an' do sich things. I'd like it better'n anything else."

"Why don't you, then? Won't your father let you?"

"No. He thinks it's all nonsense. He says he's raisin' me to take charge of this boat some day. But, gee whiz, he's countin' on the wrong chicken. Anyway, by the time dad's done sailin' this boat, it'll be fit fer the scrap heap."

"Why do you want to be a civil engineer?" the girl asked. "Do you know anything about the work?"

"Y' bet I do," and Eben smacked his lips. "I've been studyin' bridges fer years, 'specially the one across the falls. I've a lot of drawin's of it. Would ye like to see 'em?"

"Indeed I should," was the interested reply. "I used to draw some myself."

"Ye did!" Eben looked at the girl in admiration. "I never met anyone before who could draw. Hope ye won't make fun of my scrawls."

"Certainly not. You don't think I would do such a thing, do you?"

Eben made no reply as he was already on his feet, groping with his right hand upon a shelf over his bunk. In a few minutes he brought down a well worn scribbler, opened it, and laid it with pride upon the table.

"There's my drawin's," he began. "No one but meself ever sot eyes upon 'em before."

"You didn't even show them to your parents or sister?" the girl asked in surprise, as she looked upon the first drawing presented to view.

"Indeed I didn't. They'd only make fun of me if I did. I hate to be laughed at, don't you? It riles one all up."

"It does sometimes," the girl acknowledged. "But, then, it is better not to mind what people say or do, but just go on with our work. Why, what nice drawings you have here. I can hardly believe you did them yourself without anyone to teach you."

Eben made no reply, but his eyes shone with complete satisfaction. The girl was seated at the table and he was standing by her side. A thrill of joy possessed him such as he had never experienced before. This beautiful girl appreciated his drawings, and that was enough.

The sketches were crude, but they showed considerable signs of promise, and this Jess realised as she carefully examined them. One bridge, especially, arrested her attention, the one which spanned the falls.

"You must have made a long study of this," she remarked, "I recognised it at once."

"I did, Miss. I spent a whole day there once, an' every time we go under it I see something new. I ain't got it quite right yit."

For a few minutes the girl examined the drawings without speaking. There was a far-away look in her eyes when at length she pushed the book a little from her.

"Your drawings are remarkably good, considering everything," she told him. "But how would you like for me to give you some lessons?"

"How would I like it?" Eben gasped in amazement. "You give me lessons in drawin'!"

"And why not? We shall have time, I am sure, and I have not yet forgotten all I learned."

"Oh, it would be great! But what about dad? I'm afraid he won't let ye. He might think it will spoil me from bein' a captain some day. He wants me to study navigation, or something like that, which I hate."

Before any reply could be made, a slight shock was heard against the side of the boat which startled them both. The girl sprang to her feet, and looked up the stairway. Then the sound of footsteps was heard upon the deck above.

"They are after me!" she gasped. "Oh, where can I hide?"

"Stay right here," Eben ordered, as he leaped toward the stairs. "I'll fix 'em."

His foot had barely touched the first step when his father's body bulked large in the doorway above. Instinctively Eben drew back, and stood on the defensive, with every nerve strung to the highest tension.

Slowly the captain descended, and when he had reached the bottom of the stairway he stopped and looked around. In an instant he comprehended the situation, and a twinkle appeared in his eyes as he turned them upon his son.

"Is this the way ye obey orders?" he demanded. "Didn't I tell ye not to come near this cabin?"

"I know ye did, but that was last night," was the surly reply. "Ye didn't tell me to stay away this mornin'."

The captain stared at his son for a few seconds as if he had not heard aright.

"Well, I declare!" he exclaimed. "I gave ye credit fer some brains, but I guess I was mistaken."

"Don't blame your son, Captain," the girl interposed. "It was not his fault that he is here, but mine. I asked him to come."

"Ye did! Why, I thought ye didn't want anybody 'cept me to know of yer whereabouts."

"But it's different with your son here. He had to find out, anyway, you see, so it was just as well for him to do so this morning."

"So ye waited until I got on shore, eh? H'm, I guess all gals are alike, as sly as a weasel. As soon as the old man was out of the way, you two became very chummy. Fergot everything else most likely. It's a wonder ye weren't paradin' up an' down the deck."

"Oh, we took good care to keep out of sight," the girl laughingly replied. "We had enough sense left for that. This is certainly a great hiding place."

"D'ye think so, Miss? But mebbe it isn't so good as ye imagine."

A startled expression came into the girl's eyes, as she turned them full upon the captain's face.

"Thar, thar, don't be alarmed," the latter comforted. "I didn't mean to frighten ye. I only wanted to warn ye, that's all."

"Did you hear anything about me while ashore?" the girl asked. "Has anyone any suspicion that I am here?"

"It seems that way."

"Oh!"

"Yes," the captain continued, "I was talkin' to a young feller on shore, an' he sent ye his kind regards."

"Not Mr. Donaster! Oh, say it wasn't that man."

"No, it wasn't that critter, but another, an' a fine chap, too. Mebbe ye kin guess his name. He seemed mighty interested, an' asked me a number of questions."

"Did he?" The sigh of relief which the girl gave was more expressive than words. The captain chuckled as he watched her, and his eyes twinkled.

"Yes, Miss, he came along in a car an' tried to pump me dry with his queer questions. An' he was a mighty nice feller, too, good-natured, an' handsome enough fer any gal, no matter how pertic'ler she might be. He told me to take good care of ye. Hello! what's the matter?"

The cause of the captain's exclamation was the expression of confusion which suddenly overspread the girl's face. Eben also noticed it, and for the first time in his life a strange feeling began to agitate his heart. He could not account for it, but intuitively he felt a spirit of resentment against the man with the car. This beautiful girl had come into his lonely, misunderstood life like the sweet invigorating breath of spring, and he could not bear the thought that anyone else should have the slightest claim upon her. It was the jealous unreasoning throb of a first great love. The cabin seemed to be unusually close. He must have fresh air, and he wanted to be by himself that he might think. With a bound he was up the stairs to the deck above.

"Well, I declare!" the captain ejaculated, as he stared after his son. "What's the matter with that boy, anyway? Ye'd think a hull pack of wolves was chasin' him by the way he left this cabin. I can't understand him nohow."

The captain had barely finished speaking when a gust of wind struck the boat, causing the cabin door to close with a bang.

"Guess the breeze has come at last," he remarked. "It should be a big blow after this long calm. You jist keep close here while I go on deck. By the look of things we should be out of this in a few minutes. How'll that suit ye?"

"Oh, I shall be so thankful," the girl declared. "I cannot feel safe while we are so near that search-party. Please get away as soon as you can."

CHAPTER VII

GIVING MARTHA THE GO-BY

The wind which had come up with the tide was steadily increasing in strength, causing the "Eb and Flo" to scud rapidly forward with every inch of her one big sail stretched to its full capacity. There had been considerable work before the boat was well under way, and as the captain now stood at the wheel he was breathing heavily from his strenuous exertions. But the light of satisfaction glowed in his eyes as he looked straight ahead, and gave a few final orders to his son.

Jess Randall stood by his side, her face aglow with animation, and her heart lighter than at any time since she had first come on board. It was a great relief to be out of the cabin and once more in the open with the fresh breeze whipping about her, and tossing her hair over cheeks and brow. The searching party was left behind, and the small boats seemed like mere vanishing specks in the distance. She had no fear now, for she believed that the "Eb and Flo" would carry her safely away from her pursuers, whither she did not know. The strain through which she had recently passed, and the want of sleep the night before were telling upon her now, causing her to feel very tired. She leaned against the cabin for support, and this the captain at once noted.

"Here, take this wheel fer a minute," he ordered. "I want to go below. Jist keep her at that," he continued, when the girl with uncertain hands laid hold of the wheel. "Ye kin do it all right."

For the first time in her life, Jess was in command of a vessel, and a delightful thrill swept through, her as she watched, the full-swelled sail, and listened to the ripple of the boat as it cut through the water. What an easy thing it was to control such a craft, and cause it to do one's slightest bidding. And what a sense of freedom possessed her. It was a life for which she had so often longed, and she thought with amusement of her various social activities in the city. She had always been fond of life in the open, and she was never happier than when wandering through the fields or along some secluded woodland way. But such opportunities had been rare, for the barriers which surrounded her had been too firm and high.

In another minute the captain came from the cabin, carrying a three-legged stool, which he placed upon the deck.

"Thar, Miss," he said, "I think that'll be more comfortable than standin'. Ye kin lean aginst the cabin, providin' ye don't go to sleep an' push it over."

The girl smiled as she resigned the wheel and sat down upon the stool. It was certainly a relief to sit there leaning against the cabin for she felt unusually tired.

"You are very good to me, Captain," she remarked, turning her face to his. "I do not know how I can ever thank you."

"Don't try, Miss. I don't like to be thanked, anyway. It takes all the pleasure out of doin' anything, accordin' to my way of thinkin'."

The girl made no immediate reply, but sat looking out upon the river and away to the road winding along the shore. She could see an occasional auto speeding on its way, and she wondered what had become of the one which had been at the store when the captain was there. She was quite certain who the young driver was, and her heart beat somewhat faster when she thought of him. She longed to know how he had surmised where she was, and what he had said to the captain. She did not like to ask any questions lest she should betray her feelings, so she preferred to remain silent. She was aroused from her reverie by the captain shouting to his son.

"Hi, thar, Eben," he called, "hustle up an' split some wood. It's dinner time, an' thar isn't a stick cut. Guess ye must have burned it all up this mornin', Miss," he added, turning to his fair companion. "Anyway, that boy never keeps enough on hand. I wish to goodness he'd take some interest in things instead of mopin' around all the time."

"Perhaps he does take an interest in things he likes," the girl suggested.

"Then I'd like to find out what they are, Miss. I know he's mighty fond of eatin' an' sleeping but I guess that's about as fer as it goes."

"I made a discovery this morning, Captain," was the quiet reply.

"Ye did! In what way?"

"I discovered that your son has a great fondness for drawing."

"Humph!" the captain grunted, as he gave the wheel a quick, savage turn to the right. "Say, I nearly ran through that salmon net. It's too fer out, blamed if it isn't. Yes, I know Eben's fond of drawin', an' that's the trouble. He'd fiddle around all day with a paper an' pencil if I'd let him, an' not do a hand's turn."

"But suppose he should make a success of his drawing, though?"

"In what way? Wouldn't it be better fer him to learn boatin' so he kin take charge of this craft some day?"

"He never will do that, Captain. His mind is set upon being an engineer, and you should encourage him all you can."

"An engineer!" The captain stared at the girl in amazement.

"Yes, an engineer. He has a great liking for that, and the drawings he has made are remarkably good, considering that he has had no one to teach him."

"Ye don't tell! But what has drawin's to do with engineering I'd like to know. Ye don't have to make drawin's to run an engine, do ye ?"

"To be a civil engineer you do, and that is what your son wants to be. His mind is set upon bridge building, and you should see the drawings he has made of the bridge across the falls. I suppose you have never seen them?"

"No. Eben never showed 'em to me. Guess he was too scart."

"That's just the trouble, Captain. You have misunderstood the boy, and he has been doing this work on the sly. He showed them to me, though, and I have promised to give him some lessons."

"Ye have!"

"Yes, providing you will let me. And you will, won't you? It would be a great pity not to help and encourage him. If you do, you may be proud of him some day."

The captain gripped the wheel with firm hands, and looked straight before him. His face was a study, and the girl watched him somewhat curiously. She knew how his heart was set upon fitting Eben to take his place, and to relinquish that hope would be a great hardship.

"Guess I'll have to talk this over with Martha," he at length announced. "She an' Flo are so dead set upon Eben bein' a captain that I don't believe they'll listen to me fer a minute."

"But suppose Eben should take matters into his own hands?" Jess queried. "You may think you can control him, but you cannot tell how soon he may slip from your grasp. Would it not be better to hold his affections by helping him in every way you can? I wish I could see your wife and daughter. I feel quite sure that I could make them see the matter in a different light. Perhaps I could change their minds."

"Mebbe ye could, Miss," and the captain gave a deep sigh. "But I can't hold out much hope. If ye knew 'em as well as I do, ye wouldn't feel very sure, let me tell ye that. An' besides, Miss, I don't think ye'll ever see 'em, anyway, not on this craft."

"I won't!" The expression in the girl's eyes showed her surprise. "Why, I thought we would be at your home to-day, and that I would surely meet them."

"Yes, we'll be at me home, all right," and the captain's face grew serious. "We'll see it, but we won't stop. Oh, no, it would be all up with me if Martha an' Flo should catch you here. We'll jist give 'em the go-by to-day, an' it'll be the fust time I've ever done sich a thing. I've been allus mighty glad to git home, even fer a few minutes."

"Captain, are you really afraid of your wife and daughter?" the girl asked. "Wouldn't it be very easy to explain how I came on this boat, and that it wasn't your fault at all?"

"I wouldn't git a chance to explain, Miss. Ye see, Martha an' Flo are fine women when it comes to cookin', lookin' after the house, an' sich things. But when it comes to the question of other women, an' 'specially one who has run away from home, an' can't give a reasonable account of herself, well, that's different."

"Oh, I see!" The girl caught her breath, and her face flushed. "They might think I'm not exactly straight; is that it?"

"Mebbe they might, an' that would make it hard fer me an' Eben."

"But won't they listen to reason, Captain? Surely they will believe you and your son."

"They might, Miss, but I don't like to face 'em. I'm no coward when it comes to runnin' this craft in a nasty gale, or doin' something extry risky; but I do wilt right down before Martha an' Flo when their ginger's up. Why, a man hasn't a ghost of a chance with them women. They're a wonder, an' no mistake."

"Then what do you intend to do?"

"Do! Why, thar's only one thing to do in sich a case, an' that is to give 'em the go-by, an' then git clear of you. As soon as we reach the quarry you'll have to light out. I hate to say it, Miss, but thar's too much at stake fer me to keep ye on board any longer. I should have sent ye away before this, but ye wouldn't go, so what was I to do?"

"I am really sorry that I have given you so much trouble," the girl apologised. "I am very grateful for what you have already done, and as soon as I reach the quarry I shall leave you at once. I know I have placed you in a most embarrassing position."

"An' what do ye intend to do after ye leave this boat?" the captain somewhat anxiously enquired.

"I have not the slightest idea. But I am not going to worry about that now. I shall be free, and that will be worth a great deal to me."

When dinner was at last over, they were again upon deck. Jess had prepared a tempting meal, and while she and the captain dined, Eben took his turn at the wheel. The boy had hardly spoken a word after his father's return from the store, but a new light shone in his eyes, and his step was more buoyant than before. The furtive look that he at times cast upon the fair passenger was one of profound admiration. To him she was the most beautiful and wonderful person he had ever met, and her words of encouragement and appreciation had fallen upon his lonely soul like a refreshing rain upon a thirsty land.

The wind was stronger now, and running through the wide stretch of water, known as the "Long Reach," the boat encountered heavy swells, through which she surged, dashing the spray from her bow at each plunge. The captain was unusually silent, and Jess noticed that he was becoming somewhat nervous. This became more apparent the farther up the river they moved, and it was not until they had passed one of the three islands, which here studded the river, did she comprehend the meaning of the captain's uneasiness. With hands firmly grasping the wheel, he often cast his eyes shoreward, as if searching for some special object. Presently he emitted an exclamation of annoyance, and turned suddenly to the girl by his side.

"Git into the cabin," he ordered. "Martha's got the glass on us. I kin see her at the front door. Hustle. I don't want her to see ye. But ye needn't go all the way down, Miss. Jist set within the door, so she can't see ye."

Jess quickly obeyed, and perched upon the second step from the top, she waited to see what would happen.

"Does your wife always use the glass?" she at length asked.

"Allus, Miss. Guess she's had it turned on us ever since we hove in sight. Hope to goodness she hasn't spied you out."

The house toward which the captain's attention was directed, stood upon a gentle elevation, with a well-kept garden, sloping to the river. It was a cosy-looking place, and the surrounding trees protected the house from the storms of winter. The building was painted white, with dark trimmings, and owing to its situation, could be seen for miles from the river. The captain was naturally proud of his home, and was always glad when it appeared in sight. But this day was the first exception during his long years of boating. His face became stern, and his hands gripped the wheel harder than ever as he set his mind upon the task of running by that snug cottage on the hill side. Why had he been such a fool, he asked himself, as to let this strange runaway girl remain on board? He should have notified the search party at once as to her whereabouts, and delivered her into their hands. His heart, however, softened as he glanced down and saw the girl's wistful eyes fixed full upon his face.

"I am very sorry, Captain, that I am causing you so much worry," she remarked. "But for me you would soon be home with your wife and daughter."

"Tut, tut, Miss, don't ye bother about that," the old man replied, as he gave the wheel a vigorous yank to the right. "This boat was headin' straight fer the shore. She's run in thar so often that she does it of her own accord. She's almost human, this boat is. My! won't Martha git the surprise of her life when she sees us go by. She's wavin' now, blamed if she ain't! an' runnin' down to the shore. An' that's Flo behind her! Mebbe Flo'll try to swim out to us, fer she's great in the water, almost like a fish."

The "Eb and Flo" was now almost abreast of the captain's home, and scudding so fast that in a few minutes she would be by. It was possible for Jess to see the two women standing upon the shore, frantically waving their arms and shouting across the water. What they said she could not distinguish, though she guessed the purport of the words they were uttering. She pitied the captain, for she was well aware that when he did go home his reception would be far from pleasant. She kept her eyes riveted upon the women until they became mere specks in the distance. Then she turned to the captain. He was mopping his face with a big red handkerchief, and his hands were trembling.

"Dam it!" he growled. "I'm all het up. It must be ninety in the shade. Git me a drink of water, will ye?"

CHAPTER VIII

WHAT THE COW DID

"If she won't take ye in, yer welcome to stay here all night."

The "Eb and Flo" was lying securely fastened to the wharf at the Spoon Island stone quarry. She had made a good run up the river, and had reached her destination late in the afternoon. Captain Tobin was standing upon deck looking upon Jess and Eben as they started up the track toward the quarry.

"Eben'll show ye Mrs. Ricksteen's house," he told the girl. "I guess she needs extry help with the crowd of men she allus has. But she might want a recommendation, fer she's mighty pertic'ler, Mrs. Ricksteen is. Anyway, if she won't take ye in, yer welcome to come back here."

Jess thanked the captain, and told him that she was sure she could make out all right. She would return in the morning to tell him of her success, and get her belongings.

"See that Eben behaves himself," the captain reminded. "An' don't let him stay too long. Thar's a lot of work to do on board to-night."

"You needn't worry," was the girl's smiling reply. "Eben can return just as soon as he shows me the way. I won't run off with him."

The captain stood and watched them as they walked slowly up the track. "My, my, she's a fine gal, an' no mistake," he mused. "I never saw Eben so taken up with anyone as he is with her. Why, his face brightens the instant she speaks to him. Seems to me he's head over heels in love with her. It's only nat'ral, I s'pose. If I was young meself I'd lose me head an' heart over a gal like that. It'd be great to have her fer a daughter-in-law. Wonder what Martha an' Flo 'd say."

While the captain was thus musing, the young couple made their way slowly along the track which led across a wide stretch of interval. Eben was somewhat embarrassed at first when he found himself alone with the beautiful girl, so his words were few. But as they advanced, he felt more at ease, and readily answered all of her questions. He explained how the truck, carrying the granite blocks, was impelled across the interval to the river by the impetus given on the steep hill ahead. Two men were always in charge, who handled the brakes, and stopped the truck just at the right place on the wharf.

"But isn't it very dangerous coming down that steep hill?" Jess asked, as she looked up the track which ran through a forest of small trees.

"Y' bet," was the emphatic reply. "I came down once, an' me hair was standin' straight on end, an' I didn't have any breath left when we got to the bottom. It was great!"

"It certainly must have been," the girl enthusiastically declared. "I would like to try it myself."

"Ye would!" Eben stopped and stared at his companion in amazement.

"Yes, and why not? I like a little excitement once in a while."

"I guess ye must, Miss."

"Don't call me 'Miss,' say 'Jess,' I like it better. We are chums, you know, and chums must not put on any airs."

Eben's face coloured, and his heart beat fast. It was great to have her talk in such a friendly way. He believed that she liked him, too, and that meant a great deal to him. The world seemed a much brighter place since this runaway girl entered his life.

They had crossed the interval and were almost at the base of the hill, when a rumbling sound fell upon their ears.

"It's the truck comin'," Eben explained, at the same time laying his hand upon the girl's arm and drawing her off the track. "Now ye'll see something worth while."

And truly indeed they were both destined to behold something of a most unexpected and terrible nature during the next few minutes. They saw the truck far up the hill, and almost held their breath as it took the wild plunge in its mad career to the valley below. Just at this exciting instant, however, the bushes close to the line were suddenly parted, and a large cow appeared. She stepped upon the track, stopped, and looked up. Before a word could be said or a hand lifted, the truck swept upon her like a catapult. A sickening crash ensued, and men, cow, truck and granite blocks were hurled from the track, and tossed in a confused heap among the bushes several rods away.

When the crash took place, Jess gave a cry of dismay and buried her face in her hands to shut out the terrible sight. This was but for an instant, however, for she realised, that something must be done to help the unfortunate men should they be alive. Eben was staring as if rooted to the spot, his body trembling with excitement.

"Isn't it awful!" he groaned. "Oh, what kin we do?"

"Let us go and see," was the reply. "Come on."

Together they made their way up the track as fast as possible, and as they approached the spot where the accident had taken place, an indescribable feeling came over the girl. Suppose the men were dead! And if not dead, they surely must be fearfully mangled. How could she endure the sight? But struggle on she did, and at length saw one of the men limping painfully toward her. His clothes were torn, and his face and hands were bleeding. He staggered as he walked, and when he reached the track he sank down upon the ground.

"Are you much hurt?" Jess asked, hurrying to his side. Her fears had all vanished, and she thought not of herself, but only of the injured man.

"Never mind me," the man replied. "I'll be all right shortly. But for God's sake do something for Bill. He's over there among the stones all smashed up. I was pitched clear."

With a bound Eben left the track, and leaped among the bushes down where Bill was lying, half buried beneath a tangle of stones, trees and truck. The man was very still, and to all appearance dead. But, as Eben began to free his body, he opened his eyes and moaned. Fortunately none of the monster stones rested upon him, but only a small bent tree held his legs as in a vice. With considerable difficulty Eben was able to free the man, and then lifting him in his arms staggered out of the ruins, and laid his burden gently upon the ground a short distance away. In another minute Jess was kneeling by the injured man's side, wiping the blood which flowed down his face with her small white handkerchief.

"We must have help at once," she exclaimed, turning to Eben. "Is there a doctor anywhere near? Go for him, quick."

Scarcely had she ceased speaking ere the sound of hurrying footsteps fell upon their ears. In another minute several excited men were by their side, examining the wounded man and asking numerous questions. Jess rose to her feet and stepped back. As she did so someone touched her lightly on the arm, and whispered her name. Turning swiftly around, she came face to face with the driver of the car who had interviewed Captain Tobin outside the store that very morning.

"John!" It was all that she said, but the flush upon her face, and the light of joy which leaped into her eyes were more expressive than many words.

"How did you get here so soon?" the young man asked. "This is no place for you, Jess. Let me take you back to the boat."

"No, no," was the low reply. "We must look after this poor man first.
Oh, do what you can for him at once."

For a few seconds the young man looked into the eyes of the girl before him. The great longing of his heart was expressed in that look, and the girl understood. She turned toward the injured man, and absently watched his companions doing what they could for his welfare. Into her heart stole a peace such as she had not known for days. The one she loved was with her, and she knew that he loved her with all the strength of his true manly nature. Forgotten for a time were Donaster and her other persecutors. In this rough wilderness spot she felt secure from their grasp, and with John Hampton near she was ready and willing to defy the whole world.

The brief scene enacted between the young lovers was not noticed by the men earnestly discussing what should be done with their battered comrade. The accident alone so arrested and held their attention that the thought of love-making at such a critical situation never once occurred to them.

With Eben, however, it was different. He saw and understood far too much for his peace of mind. In an instant he grasped the meaning of the whispered words and the expression upon the faces of the lovers. A feeling such as he had never before known leaped into his heart. He forgot all about the injured man, and paid no attention to what was being done with him. He could think only of himself, and how another had come between him and the girl he loved. He knew John Hampton well, and it came as a great surprise that he should be on such friendly terms with Jess Randall.

In a few minutes the helpless man was lifted carefully from the ground, and borne gently away on a rude stretcher which had been speedily improvised by his comrades. Jess and John followed, talking with each other, though so low that Eben could not understand what they were saying. As they moved forward, he skulked a short distance behind. The girl paid no attention to him now. In fact, she did not seem to be even aware of his presence. She was taken up entirely with the young man by her side, so the idea that she meant anything to the awkward youth to the rear never once crossed her mind.

In about fifteen minutes the injured man's house was reached, and all entered except Eben. It was merely a shack, almost surrounded by trees, and situated a short distance from the main highway. Here Bill Dobbins and his wife lived during the summer months while work was being carried on in the granite quarry. Their real home was elsewhere, so this rude structure was all that they required during their temporary stay at the quarry.

Eben waited for a few minutes outside, uncertain what to do. At length he turned and made his way slowly back to the road, and down the track to the river. He said nothing to his father about the accident, and turned into his bunk at an unusually early hour. When the captain asked him about the girl, and if Mrs. Ricksteen had taken her in, Eben was curt in his reply, saying that he did not know. Not until the next morning did Captain Tobin hear about the accident, for he had been in the cabin when it had occurred. He then questioned his son as to the details, but received no satisfactory information. Later he learned of the whole affair from two men from the quarry, when they ran their first morning load of granite down to the river. The injured man was still unconscious, so they told him. The doctor had arrived during the night, and did what he could for his welfare. The men were loud in their praises of the young woman who had sat up all night with Mrs. Dobbins, and had made herself so agreeable and helpful.

"I guess she's there to stay," one of them remarked. "Wonder where in the world she dropped from. Ye don't see the likes of her every day, 'specially in a place like this."

"She and young Hampton seem to be very thick," the other volunteered.
"They must have known each other before by the look of things."

"Hampton, did ye say?" the captain asked. "D'ye mean Widder Hampton's son, of Beech Cove?"

"I don't know whose son he is," was the reply. "He arrived at the quarry yesterday afternoon, and has been hanging around ever since. Mebbe he planned to meet the girl here."

The captain made no reply but went on with his work. He thought, however, of the interview he had with Hampton down the river the day before, and he smiled to himself, He understood now why the young fellow was so interested in the fair passenger on board the "Eb and Flo," and for his sake, no doubt, the girl had run away from home.

Eben worked so hard all the morning that his father was greatly surprised. He had heard what the men said about Hampton and the girl, and it was necessary for him to do something to give vent to his intensely wrought-up feelings. He worked with a feverish energy, and seemed to possess the strength of two men as he helped at the derrick as the big blocks of granite were swung on board. He hardly touched his noon-day meal, and this caused his father considerable anxiety, for the boy had been always blessed with an excellent appetite.

All through the afternoon the work of loading the boat was continued, and such excellent progress was made that the captain was looking forward to sailing early the next morning. To all outward appearance Eben's mind was entirely upon the big stones which were being hoisted on board. But anyone watching closely might have noticed that occasionally he gave a keen, furtive glance up toward the quarry.

The day was fast wearing to its close, and the last block of stone was about to be moved, when Eben gave one of his quick looks up the hill. As he did so he suddenly straightened himself up and stared as if he had seen a ghost. His face became suddenly pale, and his hands trembled as he watched two people walking slowly down the track. He recognised them at once, and it was their appearance he had been expecting all the afternoon. He knew that they were coming to the boat, and he did not wish to meet the girl when Hampton was present. He felt that he could not trust himself, so great was his agitation.

Without a word to anyone Eben left the wharf, walked a few yards along the river, and disappeared among some bushes. He soon stopped when he was sure that he could not be seen, crouched low upon the ground, and watched all that was taking place near the "Eb and Flo." He could see John and the girl talking with the captain for a few minutes, after which the three went on board and entered the cabin. When they reappeared about fifteen minutes later, Hampton was carrying a small parcel in his hand, which Eben surmised contained the articles his father had purchased for Jess at the store. When once again upon the wharf, they stood and talked for a few minutes. What they said Eben could not make out, but presently he heard his father calling his name. This caused him to crouch lower upon the ground, fearful lest he should be observed. One of the quarrymen then spoke and motioned his hand in the direction the boy had gone. Eben heard the amused laughter which followed, and he fully comprehended its meaning. They were laughing at him for running away! It was almost more than he could endure, and his first impulse was to rush from his hiding place, challenge John Hampton for a fight, and show Jess that he was no coward. But a natural diffidence restrained him, which caused him to remain silent and unseen. It was only when he was certain that the visitors were well out of sight, did he venture back to the wharf. His father looked at him somewhat curiously, but was wise enough to ask no questions.

When darkness had settled over the land, Eben left the boat and made his way slowly up the track. Reaching the main highway, he moved forward with a long jerky stride until he came to the little clearing where the Dobbins' shack was situated. He stopped and peered cautiously around. A light shone from the one window facing the road, and toward this Eben stealthily moved. There was no blind to the window, so when near enough he could easily see all that was taking place within. The sight that met his first glance stirred him to a high pitch of angry jealousy. He saw the two sitting close to each other but a short distance from the injured man, who was lying upon a cot. John was talking to Jess in a most earnest manner, and the look upon the girl's face was one of intense happiness. She was evidently pleased at what her lover was saying, for occasionally her lips parted in a smile.

All this Eben saw in the few minutes that he stood there. His hands were clenched hard, and his eyes were filled with the fire of hatred. There was the man who had come between him and the girl he loved. He was but a short distance away, so acting upon the wild impulse of the instant he stooped down, and finding a stone lying right at his feet, he took careful aim, and hurled it with his full force through the window, straight at the head of his enemy. The sudden crash was followed instantly by a cry of pain, and then all was still. With fast-beating heart Eben looked, expecting to see Hampton stretched upon the floor. Great was his horror to behold the girl lying there instead, her deathly-white face stained with blood. With a startled cry as of a wild beast in agony, he turned and fled along the road, down the track, and back to the refuge of the "Eb and Flo."

CHAPTER IX

MARTHA TAKES A HAND

Throughout the entire night the horror of a great dread drove all sleep from Eben's eyes. As he lay in his bunk every sound seemed to be magnified, and he imagined that men would come for him and lead him away to trial. He felt quite sure that he had killed Jess and that he would be hung for murder. The girl's white face with the bloodstain upon it was ever before him, and he could not shut it from his mind. And he had murdered her, the one who had meant so much to him. The thought of John Hampton filled his soul with bitterness. He was the cause of all his misery, so he reasoned. Why had not the stone hit him instead of the girl?

Some time before daylight he went out on deck. The cabin was stifling, and he felt that he would smother if he stayed there any longer. He sauntered up forward, and looked out over the water. It was a beautiful night, with a gentle wind drifting in from the west. The accustomed sounds of darkness fell upon his ears, but he paid no attention to them now. His mind was not in tune with nature's sweet harmonies, so she brought no restful peace to his tumultuous brain. He longed to know what was taking place in the little shack in the forest. Was the girl lying there still in death? Would people know who did the deed? How would they find out? He had read about detectives searching for criminals, and following most unexpected clues. Had he left any trace behind? he wondered. No twinge of conscience troubled his soul. It was only regret that the stone had hit the wrong person. He was sorry for the girl, and for himself. His nature was as clay, full of many possibilities, and capable of being moulded by right methods into a choice vessel. But hitherto no one had understood his peculiar nature. Then when love for a noble woman did at length enter his soul, its influence was quenched by the spirit of hatred and revenge.

Great excitement reigned at the quarry when the men learned of the accident which had befallen Miss Randall. Feeling ran high and had they known the one who committed the deed, it would have gone hard with him. Captain Tobin heard the story when he visited the quarry during the morning. He had been more surprised than ever at Eben's silent and strange manner, especially when he had found him at daybreak at the bow of the boat. He could get nothing from the boy, and in disgust he had left him and ate his breakfast alone. He believed that his son was deeply in love with Jess Randall, and that the presence of John Hampton was the cause of his depression. He imagined that it was but a temporary affection, and nothing would come of it, until he heard of what had happened to the girl. Then a great fear forced itself upon his mind. He banished it at first as improbable. But the more he thought of it, and the more he considered Eben's strange manner, the more he was led to the painful conclusion that his son was the one who had thrown the stone through the window. He was well aware of Eben's impulsive nature, and the extent to which he would go when roused to anger. He overheard two men talking about the affair.

"I'd like to lay my hands on the skunk who threw that stone," declared one, "I'd show him a thing or two. The idea of hitting such a girl as that, an' her watching by Bill."

"Is she badly hurt, d'ye think?" the other asked. "Can't say. Mrs. Dobbins said she was able to sit up in the car when young Hampton took her away."

"Where did he take her to?"

"To the hospital, I guess. But maybe he took her to his own home. His mother lives down the river somewhere, so I understand."

The captain breathed more freely when he learned that the girl was able to travel in the car. At first he feared that she had been so badly injured that she might die. Then the guilty one would surely be found, and if it proved to be his own son how terrible it would be. Even now should suspicion rest upon Eben the quarrymen might prove very troublesome. He, therefore, decided to get away as soon as possible. He did not wish to shield his son if he were in the wrong. But he wanted him to receive a fair trial, if the matter went that far, and not have him dealt with by a number of excited men who might let their passions get the upper hand.

Shortly after noon the "Eb and Flo" slipped from her wharf, and headed downstream. The tide was fair, and the light breeze was favourable for a long tack out of the narrow channel into the main river below Spoon Island. The captain was at the wheel, with Eben by his side, ready for any orders which might be given. Very few words had passed between father and son during the day, and to all outward appearance they seemed like complete strangers. But the captain's mind had been busy upon more than his boat. He felt it was his duty to speak to Eben and find out if he did really throw the stone which hit the girl. Several times he was on the point of mentioning the subject, but always hesitated. It was a delicate matter, he well knew, and for the first time in his life he was at a loss for words. At length, however, he brought his courage to what he thought was the sticking point.

"Say, Eben," he began. Then he paused, and looked helplessly around.

"What is it, dad?"

"D'ye think it's goin' to blow hard to-day?"

"Mebbe it will, an' mebbe it won't."

The captain gave the wheel a slight turn, and ran a little closer to the island.

"Eben."

The boy looked curiously at his father.

"D'ye s'pose yer mother'll be waitin' fer us?"

"Most likely."

The captain shifted uneasily, and clutched the wheel with a firmer grip.

"Say, Eben, it was too bad that gal got hurt last night, wasn't it?"

The boy started, and gave his father a quick look. Then his eyes dropped.

"What girl, dad? Ye never told me about it."

"But don't ye know, Eben?"

"Know what?"

"Quit yer nonsense. Didn't ye hear about that gal who came up river with us gittin' hurt?"

"Naw, never heard a word."

"Ye didn't!" The captain stared at his son. Surely, he thought, the boy is not adding a lie to his misdeed.

"I ain't seen anybody this mornin' but you, dad," Eben explained. "How could I hear anything?"

"Sure, sure, I guess yer right. But I did think mebbe ye'd thrown that stone. I'm mighty glad to learn that ye know nuthin' about it."

"I didn't say I know nuthin'. Ye didn't ask me that."

"Didn't I? Why, I thought I spoke plain enough."

"Oh, shucks! Ye jist asked me if I had heard about it, which I didn't.
Nobody told me, but I know jist the same. I threw that stone."

There was an expression of defiance upon the boy's face, and his eyes were blazing. He partly expected his father to swing upon him with strong words of reproof. In this, however, he was mistaken. The captain remained very quiet for a few minutes, which seemed, to Eben much longer. At last he turned and looked at his son. His rough, knotted hands trembled on the wheel, and his eyes were misty. Eben never saw him look at him in such a way before. Had he stormed and raged it would have but increased his defiance. But that look of silent reproach smote his very soul, causing him to cower conscience stricken. Without a word, he left his father's side and went forward. And there he stood with his hands behind his back, staring straight before him. The captain watched him anxiously. His mind was greatly confused over the confession he had just heard. What would Martha and Flo say when they heard of it? The family would be disgraced, for the neighbours up and down the river would learn the truth sooner or later. What should he do? Would it be right to shield his son? The perspiration stood out in beads upon his forehead, and a groan escaped his lips. Then almost unconsciously he began to sing his old favourite verse:

"Here I'll raise my Ebenezer,
Hither by Thy grace I'll come,
And I trust in Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home."

"Seems to me," he mused, "that I've been tryin' to raise Eben without considerin' enough the great Stone of help. I've heard the parson say that's the meanin' of Ebenezer, and that the stone refers to the Lord. Yes, I guess I need His help more'n ever jist now."

The "Eb and Flow" made slow progress down river, for the wind was light, and it was necessary to beat most of the way. It was, accordingly, evening when at last she ran slowly into Beech Cove and dropped anchor. The captain's mind was worried about the reception he would receive, for he knew how angry his wife would be over his strange action on the up trip. He was at a loss to explain, for he could not bring himself to the extremity of telling a falsehood. He was thinking seriously of this when his wife appeared on the shore. She immediately launched a small row-boat and headed for the "Eb and Flo." The captain received her as graciously as possible, although he knew at the first glance that his entire stock of affableness could not dispel the threatening clouds.

"Well, Sam'l," Mrs. Tobin began, the instant she stepped upon the deck, "what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Nuthin', Martha, nuthin', 'cept I'm mighty glad to see ye."

"H'm, don't ye lie to me, Sam'l. Ye must be mighty glad to see me.
Why did ye go by on your up trip without stopping?"

"I was in a great hurry, Martha, an' had to git the wind when it served. We was hung up a long time down river."

"But ye never did such a thing before. Was there any special reason why ye didn't call just for a few minutes?"

Mrs. Tobin was a buxom, matronly-looking woman, with a usually bright, pleasant face. But now it was stern, and her dark eyes were filled with anger as she noted her husband's silence and confusion. Presently she turned to her son who was standing near.

"What have you to say, Eben? Your father seems to have lost his tongue all of a sudden. What have you two been doing?"

If his mother had asked him such a question that morning he would not have hesitated about telling the truth. But the thought of the expression upon his father's face when he had told about throwing the stone, deterred him. He looked at his mother uncertain what to say.

"Have you lost your tongue, too?" she impatiently demanded. "Dear me, there must be something wrong when you too are afraid or ashamed to speak. Things have come to a pretty pass, Sam'l, when you an' Eben conspire against me. Haven't I cooked for you, washed and mended your clothes all these years, and been a good wife to you, Sam'l?"

"Indeed ye have, Martha. Ye've done yer duty, all right."

"An' haven't I been a good mother to your children?"

"Sure, sure, ye have, Martha. Ye done yer duty to them, too."

"Well, then, Sam'l, why is it that you've treated me in such a manner?
Why have you set my only son against me?"

"I haven't set him aginst ye, Martha. Eben's got a tongue which he's at liberty to use. I s'pose he knows it's no use to speak, fer if ye won't believe me ye won't believe him, so thar. Ye needn't git on yer high-horse about nuthin'."

Mrs. Tobin looked at her husband in surprise, for seldom had he ever spoken to her in such a manner.

"And you've done nothing wrong?" she asked. "Are you sure?"

"No, we ain't done nuthin' wrong 'ccordin' to our way of thinkin'. We sailed by without stoppin', I acknowledge. But is that any crime? Bizness is bizness an' must be attended to."

Captain Tobin felt quite pleased at his own boldness, and for his victory over his wife. He had no idea that she would calm down so soon. Had he made a mistake in always giving in to her? he asked himself. Perhaps if he had been a little more assertive it might have been better for his welfare.

"I suppose the cabin's in a terrible mess." His wife's words suddenly aroused him.

"No, no, Martha, it's in great shape," he hastened to assure her. "I scrubbed the floor meself when we was held up down river."

"Then it must be in great shape, Sam'l. I've seen your scrubbing before. I'm going to have a look, anyway. No doubt there are some dirty clothes to take home. I suppose you didn't wash them."

Mrs. Tobin made her way to the cabin, and down the narrow stairway, closely followed by the captain and Eben.

"It smells close here, Sam'l," she commented, as she stood in the centre of the room and looked critically around. "You should have more ventilation. It isn't healthy. I have often——"

She paused abruptly as her eyes rested upon a narrow shelf on which a little clock was steadily ticking. Stepping quickly forward, she reached out her right hand, seized something and held it forth. It was a woman's innocent side-comb, but to the captain and his son it appeared more terrible than the most dangerous bomb. They stared as if they had never beheld such a thing before. Mrs. Tobin watched them as she gripped the comb in her hand. Her eyes blazed with anger as she glowered upon the two abashed ones before her. The captain clutched his handkerchief and mopped his hot brow. Then he looked helplessly around. He longed to escape, to flee anywhere from his wife's accusing eyes.

"Where did this come from?" The words fell slowly from Mrs. Tobin's lips, and to the two culprits they sounded like the knell of doom. She waited for some response, but none came. "Is it possible that you have had a woman in this cabin," she continued. "Can you deny it, Sam'l Tobin?"

The captain clawed nervously at the back of his head with the fingers of his right hand, and then glanced up the stairway. The gleam of triumph shone in his wife's eyes as she noted his embarrassment.

"You can't deny it, Sam'l," she charged, at the same time pointing an accusing finger straight at his face, "I can read you like a book. You've had a woman on board, and this is her comb. You can't deny it."

"It'd be no use, Martha," the captain replied. "Ye wouldn't believe me if I did."

"No, not in the face of this," and Mrs. Tobin again held forth the comb.

"Well, then, Martha, what's the use of so much talk? I've had a hard day, so am tired an' hungry. Guess Eben is, too."

"Tired! Hungry!" Mrs. Tobin snapped. "You'll be more tired and hungry before I'm through with you, let me tell you that. You might as well own up first as last about that woman you had on board. Who is the miserable hussy, and where is she now?"

A gleam of hope suddenly appeared in the captain's eyes, and he shot a swift glance toward his son.

"We had no miserable hussy on board, Martha," he replied. "That's the
Gospel truth, so if ye don't believe it, ye needn't."

"I'm afraid you're lying, Sam'l. If you didn't have a woman on board, where, then, did this comb come from?"

"Blamed if I know. How d'ye expect me to keep track of sich gear?"

Mrs. Tobin gave a sigh of despair as she turned to her son.

"Is your father telling the truth, Eben?" she asked.

"Yes, ma."

"And you had no bad, miserable hussy on board this boat?"

"No, ma, we didn't."

"And you haven't been doing anything wrong, anything that you're ashamed of?"

Eben's face suddenly coloured, and his eyes dropped. He remembered what he had done at the quarry. Mrs. Tobin was now convinced that she was being deceived, and that her husband and son were in league against her. She wheeled upon the captain.

"I want you to come right home with me, Sam'l. This is a very serious matter, and I need Flo's advice. She's got a level head, and will know what had better be done. I can hardly think, I'm so worked up."

"But you kin talk all right, Martha, even if ye can't think," the captain retorted. "If ye'd think more ye'd talk less. If ye don't believe what me an' Eben have said, ye needn't. Yes, I'll go home with ye, fer I guess Flo'll understand, if you don't. Eben, you look after things here. Ye might as well keep the sail up as thar's no wind. If it comes on to blow, ye can lower it. I'll be on hand bright an' early in the mornin' so's to catch the tide. We kin drift, even if thar's no wind. Come on, Martha, let's go."

CHAPTER X

UNWELCOME VISITORS

After he had eaten his supper, Eben washed his few dishes and went out on deck. He sat down upon one of the blocks of granite and looked out over the water. It was a beautiful evening, with not a breath of wind astir. The river shimmered like a great mirror, its surface only ruffled when an occasional motor-boat hurried by, and the little steamer "Oconee," on her regular evening trip from the city, ploughed past and blew for a wharf a short distance beyond. A noble river is the St. John, enwrapped with the halo of romance and deeds of daring. In days long ago it bore upon its bosom the light canoes of Indians as they journeyed to and fro for trading or warlike purposes. It felt the surge of larger vessels, both of England and France, during the stirring days when those two nations contended for the supremacy of a virgin land. Later it saw the slow-creeping boats of hardy pioneers, Loyalists, who came to make for themselves homes in the wilderness. Its shores re-echoed to the shouts and songs of sturdy raftsmen in the days when acres of great logs were floated down to the sea. It had cradled upon its bosom fleets of boats, their white sails swelling to every wind that blew. These were gradually replaced by noisy steamers and tugs until only a few remained, of which the "Eb and Flo" was one.

To an imaginative mind the history of such a river would be sufficient to thrill the soul. But to the youth sitting there alone upon deck it meant nothing. In fact, he did not notice the beauty of the evening, nor the soft calmness which surrounded him. His mind was upon other things. He was thinking of the scene which had just been enacted on board the boat. He was in a rebellious mood, and now, as often before, quietness and deep thought were his two choice friends. He glanced occasionally toward the shore and up to the little cottage nestling among the trees. It was his home, and yet he had little affection for the place. It was there he had received food and shelter nearly all his life, but no sweet memories clustered around that little house. He had always been misunderstood, and he could not recall the time when he had not been scolded for everything he did. His mother was a woman who did her duty according to her light, and looked well after the bodily welfare of her family. But she overlooked the fact that people need more than bread and clothing, and that eternal scrubbing, washing and dusting do not make a real home. For the first time in his life he felt a deep pity for his father as he thought of the stern inquisition he was no doubt undergoing. And Flo, too, would have much to say, for her mother had moulded her according to her own design.

"Poor dad must be having a lively time of it now," he mused. "I wish he'd show a little more spunk, an' stand up fer his rights. Ma an' Flo'd think more of him if he did. I don't believe all women act that way. I wonder——?"

His thoughts trailed off to the one girl who had ever stirred his soul. How different she was from his own sister, he thought. He felt quite sure that she would not always be finding fault with everything he did. His eyes glowed with a new light, and his heart beat faster as he remembered how interested she had been in his drawings. Then his feelings underwent a swift change. He was nothing to her. She never once thought of him after she met Hampton at the quarry. And he had struck her instead of his enemy! Would she ever learn the truth? he wondered.

A low rumble of thunder in the distance aroused him. He looked off toward the right. The sun had gone down, and big black clouds were massing in the distance and rolling up from the west. The thunder was becoming more audible, while flashes of lightning were already splitting the air. He was well accustomed to such storms, which at times came up suddenly after a day of intense heat. They were generally accompanied by a heavy wind, and he remembered, how twice that very summer the "Eb and Flo" had dragged her anchor when hit by a furious gale. The first time she had, drifted out into the main channel, and they only had time to hoist sail and get her under way. On the second occasion she had gone ashore, and barely escaped a pile of rocks. Fortunately it had been low tide, so when the water rose, a passing tug had pulled her off, undamaged. The anchor was too small, and his father had often spoken about getting a larger one. But this he had neglected to do, principally because of the expense. Had there been good anchorage at Beach Cove, Eben would have felt more at ease. But he knew that the bottom here was gravelly and would afford but a poor hold for the best of anchors. A louder rumble of thunder fell upon his ears.

"It'll soon be here," he muttered. "Guess I'd better lower the sail.
It won't do to have it up when the squall strikes."

He rose to his feet and was making his way across the pile of stones, when a motor-boat sputtered near, and slowed down close alongside. There were two men on board, one steering, and the other at the engine.

"Is this the 'Eb and Flo'?" the former asked.

"Guess so," was the reply. "What d'ye want?"

At once the motor-boat was made fast to the deck-rail, and the two men climbed on board. Such liberty was not at all pleasing to Eben. His fists doubled and his eyes expressed anger. He recognised one of the visitors as Donaster, the man from whom Jess Randall had fled. He did not like the look upon his face nor his insolent manner. What right had these men to come on board the "Eb and Flo"? he asked himself. He felt in a fighting mood, but he realised that he could do little, for Donaster's companion was a big burly fellow, of the fighting type. All this passed quickly through his mind as he stepped back and waited to see what the men would do. He did not have many seconds to wait, for Donaster, after peering keenly around as if expecting to see someone else, turned impatiently toward Eben.

"Have you a young woman on this boat?" he asked.

"S'pose I have, what bizness is it of yours?" Eben retorted, now more angry than ever.

"You'll know d—— quick whether it's my business or not if you don't answer my questions."

"I don't have to. This boat's me own, an' I kin have anyone I like on board. You clear out of this."

"Don't get insolent, you young cuss. Keep a civil tongue in your mouth or it won't be well for you. I want to know if you have a young woman on board?"

Eben did some quick, hard thinking just then. A spirit of natural shrewdness came to his assistance, and a sudden idea flashed into his mind. He could not fight these men single-handed, and win. He must get them at a special disadvantage, and there was only one way in which this could, be accomplished. He thought of the cabin.

"S'pose I have a woman on board, what of it?" he asked.

"We want her; that's all."

"Well, then, ye'll have to find her yerselves. Don't frighten her," and he motioned aft.

"What! In the cabin?" Donaster was much excited now.

Eben merely nodded, and stepped back.

"Come on, Bill," Donaster ordered. "I suspected she was here."

So intent were the two men upon their search that they paid no more heed to Eben, but hurried at once toward the cabin. Had they been the least suspicious and glanced back, they might have been more cautious. They would have seen the young man they despised as of no account following, his face clouded with anger, and bearing in his hands a stout stick he had picked up from the deck. But sure of themselves, the visitors reached the cabin and descended. No sooner had their heads disappeared below the hatchway than Eben leaped forward, and stood menacingly on guard above. In his hands he clutched the stick and waited. He heard the men groping around below.

"It's as dark as h—— down here," Donaster was saying. "Hustle on deck, Bill, and fetch that fool down to give us a light."

The man at once obeyed, but no sooner had he placed his right foot upon the bottom step than a roar of warning greeted him from above. It was Eben's voice, and there was no doubting its meaning.

"Come up an' I'll brain ye," he roared.

Instinctively Bill drew back, while an exclamation of annoyance and fear escaped his lips. In the twilight of evening he could see the threatening lad above and the uplifted stick.

"Here, none of that, you fool," he cried. "What's your idea?"

"Come up an' I'll show ye. But I guess ye'll stay there all right. Mebbe I'm not sich a fool as ye think. Ye know now who owns this boat, don't ye?"

The men were in a trap, and knew it. They were very angry and threatened and cursed in the most violent manner. But the more they raved, the more satisfied Eben became. It was rare sport, and he was enjoying it. But he was determined for all that, and if the men had ventured up the stairway he certainly would have knocked them down.

The peals of thunder were now becoming louder and more frequent. The intense calmness was ominous of the coming storm. Eben glanced uneasily toward the west and then forward. He knew that the sail should be down, but he did not dare to leave his post even for a minute. The men were whispering to each other. What they said he could not make out, but presently he heard the scratching of a match, and a light flared up. They were searching for a lamp, which they soon found and lighted. He knew that they could only escape from their prison by means of the door, for his father had built the upper part of the cabin exceptionally strong to keep out thieves when the boat was lying at her wharf in the harbour.

A vivid flash of lightning rent the air, followed almost immediately by a tremendous crash of thunder. From the cabin came a howl of fear, and looking down Eben could see two frightened faces staring up at him.

"For God's sake, let us up out of this hole!" Donaster pleaded. "We'll smother here."

"Jist stay where ye are," was the reply. "Ye got yerselves into this fix, an' ye'll have to make the best of it."

"But the lightning might strike the boat," Donaster argued.

"It would serve you divils right if it did. But, heavens, the storm's upon us!"

He slammed to the cabin door, and securely bolted it.

He next leaped across the deck-load and tore loose the halliard. Instantly the sail came down with a rush, the gaff striking the boom with a bang. Across the hills came the storm. It could be heard a mile or more away, and in a few minutes the first drops of rain pattered upon the deck. Eben struggled to gather together the sail as it flopped in the first fitful gusts of wind and make it secure. But before this could be accomplished the storm was upon him. The thunder was terrific and the lightning incessant. The rain descended in torrents, and the wind whipping across the deck, caught the half furled sail and drove the boom with a thud to the full length of its sheet. In a few minutes Eben was soaked to the skin as he leaned against the mast for support. But he thought little of himself. His only concern was for the "Eb and Flo" as she reeled beneath the storm and strained heavily at her anchor.

CHAPTER XI

IN PERIL OF DEATH

The storm which raged with unabated fury for a full half hour was one of the severest ever experienced on the St. John River. Hail mingled with the rain, and did considerable damage to the crops which happened to be caught in its on-rushing sweep. Trees were blown down, as well as several buildings, and in a number of farm houses the glass in the windows was broken by the fury of the driving hail.

While the storm was at its height, Eben sought shelter in the lee of the cabin. This afforded him some protection, and from here he watched anxiously to see how the boat would bear herself. During vivid flashes of lightning the whole country around became illuminated, and he glanced occasionally toward the shore upon his right. He had never been afraid of a thunder storm, so it did not affect him now. In fact, he rather enjoyed it, for it harmonised with the state of his mind. If only the anchor would hold; that was his sole concern. He thought of his prisoners within the cabin, and chuckled. He knew what a noise the hail was making upon the roof, and he could hear the men pounding at times upon the door and begging to be released.

Another quivering flash, followed instantly by a more terrific roar of thunder, told Eben that something had been hit not far away. He caught a glimpse of the trees along the shore and then all was dark. But that fleeting vision was enough to cause him to straighten suddenly up. The "Eb and Flo" was drifting before the wind! Another flash showed that she was making fast for the main channel, and something had to be done at once to save her. It was high tide now, he was well aware, and should the boat, heavily loaded as she was, ground on the soft marshy flats across the river, it would be next to impossible to get her off again. Apart from the valuable cargo, the loss during the busy carrying season would mean much. He must get the boat under steerage way, and head her down stream.

It took him but a second to reach the cabin door and tear it open. A bright flash showed him two white faces at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hustle up here, an' give a hand," he ordered.

"W-what's wrong?" Donaster asked, shaking with fear.

"Never mind what's wrong. I ain't got time to explain. Git a move on."

The men at once obeyed, scrambled up the steps, and tumbled on deck.

"Come on," Eben commanded. "Follow me."

This, however, was no easy thing to do, for the two men found it most difficult to make their way across the blocks of stone. The lightning blinded and dazed them so much that they often stumbled and fell, so by the time they reached their guide who was standing by the halliard, their bodies were bruised in a number of places.

"Lay hold on this rope," Eben ordered. "We've got to hist the sail or this boat'll be aground. Now, pull fer all yer worth."

"Without a word the two men did as they were bidden, and as the sail slowly rose it flapped wildly in the wind, and threatened to tear itself loose from the yards. Fortunately at this critical moment the wind lulled for a brief spell, which enabled them to accomplish the task, and make the halliard fast.

"Now come over here," Eben again commanded. "I want ye to look after the sheet-line." He darted across the deck, the men following him as fast as possible. "Look after this rope," he continued, "an' do jist as I say." He then sprang aft, and laid hold of the wheel.

Although this had taken but a short time the "Eb and Flo" had already drifted into the main channel and in a few minutes she would have been aground on the opposite shore. A quick turn of the wheel caused the boat to fall off to the left, and presently she was under way, headed down the river. And not an instant too soon, for scudding through the rough water she cleared by only a few yards the edge of the soft ground. With sail hauled closer than was safe, she sped forward and at length reached a wider stretch of water. Eben breathed a deep sigh of relief when the danger was past, and he steered the boat a little more to the left. The two men at the sheet obeyed his every command, and he smiled to himself as he remembered how high and mighty they had been when they boarded the boat that evening.

The storm was now rolling away to the east, and the wind was lessening. But still there was a fine sailing breeze, so by exercising special care, Eben was able to make good progress as he beat from side to side of the river. He was well acquainted with the course, and he was greatly helped by the steady gleam of a lighthouse ahead. He made up his mind to keep on sailing all night, and thus reach the city early the next morning. If the wind held firm, he knew that he could run on longer tacks where the river was wider in the lower part of the Reach and in Grand Bay. He was certain that his father would be very anxious in the morning when he found that the "Eb and Flo" had disappeared. But he would show the folks at home that he could be depended upon, and could handle the boat in an emergency. He would go to the city, discharge his cargo and return in triumph to Beech Cove. Just what to do with his passengers he was not sure. At first he felt inclined to report them to the police. But upon second thought, he decided to let them go. But for their assistance he would not have been able to save the boat, and he was somewhat grateful to them now. In fact, he felt quite friendly with his visitors.

"How d'ye feel?" he at length called out, just after he had taken another tack for a long run across the river.

"Wet to the skin," Donaster angrily replied. "When are we to let up on this job? I'm sick of it."

"Same here," his companion agreed.

"Well, I guess ye'll have to make the best of it, me hearties. We'll reach the city early in the mornin', if the wind holds. Ye kin change yer clothes then."

The men made no reply, but Donaster, leaving Bill to manage the sheet, scrambled over to Eben's side.

"My, it's confoundedly dark and nasty to-night," he growled. "It's absolutely beastly."

"Don't like it much, eh?" Eben queried. "Ye got more'n ye expected, didn't ye?"

"Should say I did. But I thought you had Miss Randall on board. Where in h—— is she, anyway? You know, don't you?"

"So it's her ye was lookin' fer, was it?"

"Certainly. Didn't I tell you so?"

"No, ye didn't. Ye only asked me if I had a woman on board."

"Oh, well, you understood all right, so you needn't make believe you didn't. You knew I was looking for Miss Randall."

"But she's dead, isn't she?"

"Dead! When did she die?"

"Why, they was searchin' fer her body down river."

Donaster laughed, and reaching out laid his hand upon Eben's arm.

"Say, stop your fooling, will you? Miss Randall's not dead. She ran away, and came on board this boat. Own up now, like a good fellow."

"What did she run away fer?"

"Because she doesn't want to marry me. She's acted very foolishly, and I'm bound that she shan't escape. I shall find her, no matter where she is."

"Did she promise she'd marry ye?"

"No, she never did. But her parents said I could have her."

"She doesn't love ye, then?"

"Love, be d——! What do I care about love? There's no such a thing as love. It's the girl I want. Love has nothing to do with it."

Eben made no reply. His attention was taken up with bringing the boat around for a short starboard tack, and in giving orders to Bill. When she was running steadily once more, his mind reverted to what he had just heard. So the girl had thrown over Donaster, too, he mused, the same as she had treated him at the quarry. He felt a certain degree of sympathy for the man. Why should he not help him, and take her away from Hampton? It would be some satisfaction, for the spirit of revenge was still rankling in his soul. But Donaster didn't love her. He had said that there was no such a thing as love. He knew that the man was wrong, for he himself loved the girl as he had never loved anyone before. She meant everything to him, and his life was bleak and desolate since she had left the boat. Why should Hampton have her?

"Look here, you haven't answered my question." It was Donaster speaking.

"What question?"

"I asked you where Miss Randall is. I am sure you know."

"Yer mistaken, then. I don't know where she is." Eben suddenly remembered the stone he had hurled through the window. He realised that the less he said the better it would be. If he should commit himself in the least degree as to what he knew about Miss Randall, he was certain that Donaster would continue to bother him with no end of questions.

"But surely you must know where she is," the man persisted. "I am positive that she went up river with you on this boat. What became of her after she left you?"

"I told ye I don't know where she is. Ye'll have to go an' find her yerself, if yer so interested in her."

Several times during the night Donaster attempted in vain to wrest the secret from Eben, and his failure made him angry. Lack of sleep, his wet clothes, and the stubbornness of the boy annoyed him. But he could do nothing, so at length, giving up in despair, he went down into the cabin, and lighted a fire in the little stove, for he was very chilly. And there he crouched, leaving the work of looking after the sail to his companion. Selfishness bulked large in his nature, and this was never more apparent than now. His own comfort was the first consideration, no matter how much others might suffer.

After midnight the last clouds rolled away and the stars appeared. The gale subsided to a fair sailing breeze, and the "Eb and Flo" ploughed steadily on her way. Eben was tired as he stood hour after hour at the wheel, and he knew from the motion of the man tending the sail that he too was weary. There was nothing else, however, for them to do, and so without a word of complaint each kept at his task.

Dawn found them at the entrance to Grand Bay, the largest body of water in the entire river. From here a long close-hauled tack would bring them to the Narrows, a rocky gorge-like formation leading to the noted Reversible Falls below. The tide now was running down, and this greatly aided the boat in her onward sweep. Far away in the east the sky rapidly reddened, and the light of a new day was dispelling the shades of night. Eben's heart caught the glow of the rising sun, and a spirit of elation possessed him. He had brought the boat in safety this far, and in another hour he hoped to have her tied up at one of the wharves, ready to slip through the falls when the tide served.

Just before entering the Narrows, Eben called Donaster up from the cabin. He had to shout several times before he received any response, for the man had fallen asleep in his chair. He stumbled sleepily on deck and looked around.

"Why, we're almost to the city!" he exclaimed.

"Sure. Ye didn't imagine we was tied up to a tree, did ye?"

Donaster walked to the side of the boat and looked over.

"I forgot all about the motor-boat last night," he remarked. "But I see it hung fast all right."

"An' a wonder it did," Eben replied. "The rope must have been a good one. It held better 'n the anchor. Guess it's gone fer sure."

"Chain break?" Donaster queried.

"Something's gone, that's certain. We're not draggin' the anchor, anyway. We couldn't git this fer with the anchor towin' below. It would have caught in something or other an' brought us up if it had been there. But it ain't there. The chain must have snapped an' let the boat go adrift. It broke once before an' dad fixed it with a piece of wire. Now we've got to buy a new anchor, an' mebbe a new chain. It doesn't pay to botch things, does it?"

Donaster made no reply, but stood looking straight before him. He had not heard Eben's words, for his mind was upon matters of more importance to him than an old chain and anchor. They were gliding down the Narrows now, the wind and current bearing them rapidly along. They had reached the first turn and had swung sharply to the left, when the first glimpse of the city appeared to view. In another quarter of an hour they hoped to be at one of the wharves, and the boat tied up.

The current was much swifter now, and Eben was becoming anxious. He knew the danger of the place, and hitherto his father had always piloted the "Eb and Flo" through the Narrows. If the breeze would only hold, he could easily make thee wharf. Should it fail, there would be serious trouble as the current would bear them rapidly down to the falls. But so far the wind served, and the boat sped steadily forward. A few minutes more and the wharf would be reached. Eben felt quite safe now, and the anxious expression disappeared from his face.

But such was not to be, for in a twinkling the wind died down, and the sail hung limp and useless. With a startled cry, Eben gave the wheel a rapid turn and headed the boat for the shore, hoping thus to escape from the racing current into slower water to the left. But the "Eb and Flo" was in the grip of a stronger master, and swinging partly around, obeyed the current's strong behest. Leaving the now useless wheel, Eben rushed to the side of the boat and lifted up his voice in a series of ringing calls for help. He was heard on shore, and he saw men running to and fro. Several tugs were lying at their wharves, but no smoke issued from their funnels. What was he to do? He looked ahead, and the wild, boiling, leaping waters of the falls seemed terribly near. Instantly he thought of the motorboat. It would save them. But Donaster and his companion had thought of it first and were already on board. The rope was almost untied when Donaster called to him.

"Come with us. This is our only chance. Hustle."

Only for a second did Eben hesitate. He was young and life was dear. But he must not leave. He was in charge of the "Eb and Flo," and no true commander ever deserted his post of duty. He would not be a coward. The engine was already started, and the propeller was churning the water.

"Hurry up," Donaster impatiently ordered.

"I'm not going," was the reply. "Hustle yourselves."

"Are you crazy, boy? It's sure death down there!"

"Can't help it. I'm goin' to stay."

Donaster was about to further insist, when Bill stepped quickly forward, shoved him roughly aside, and tore away the rope from its fastening.

"Leave the fool if he doesn't want to come," he growled. "We can't waste any more time."

The motor-boat immediately left the "Eb and Flo," and was soon bucking across the current to the left. Eben watched them as if in a dream. He felt now that nothing could save him, for no one could go through the falls at almost low tide, especially on a stone laden boat, and live. The roar of the leaping waters was pounding in his ears, and the boat was moving more rapidly than ever. In a few minutes all hope of rescue would be past, for the tide was now running like a mill-sluice.

Eben was standing near the bow of the boat, his heart beating fast, and his face white as death. How often he had heard his father tell of the boats which had gone through the falls, and those on board had never been heard of again. Great whirlpools below, so it was believed, had sucked down their bodies into vast underground passages. And soon his body would be there! The thought was appalling, maddening. His eyes were riveted upon the breakers ahead. They fascinated him as they leaped and curled. Their roar sounded like voices of demons, and the dancing spray appeared like long white curving hands reaching out ready to grasp their victim.

Suddenly above the thunder of the waters a hoarse blast rent the air. Eben turned, and as he did so his heart gave a great bound, for there but a short distance away was a powerful tug. Where she had come from he did not know. Neither did he care. It was enough for him that she was near, with men standing on the bow with coils of ropes in their hands. They shouted aloud, but he could not understand what was said. The tug was coming across the current, and running a fearful risk in attempting the rescue. Then a rope was flung across the bow of the "Eb and Flo," and in a twinkling Eben was upon it. Never in his life had he pulled so hard and fast, for everything depended upon his efforts now. How long that rope seemed to be. He could hear the shouts of the men on the tug, and they seemed to be words of encouragement. The rope was long, and the warp, for which he was pulling, was dragging heavily in the water. Could he get it aboard? Would he have the strength? These thoughts passed through his mind with lightning rapidity. But still he kept on, and ere long he had the joy of seeing the big hook loom in sight. Then an almost superhuman pull, and the warp was on deck, and securely fastened around the capstan. A shout went up from the tug when this had been accomplished, and Eben staggered back, exhausted by his mighty efforts. He saw the warp suddenly tighten, and felt the "Eb and Flo" swerve to the right. Would the line hold? That was the all-important question now. The strain was terrible, and the rail over which it passed snapped like matchwood. It creaked, as it bit into the deal below, and at times Eben imagined he could see the strands parting. Fortunately it was a new rope and held firm as the tug battled its way against that racing current. Inch by inch it moved, dragging its heavy, helpless burden from the jaws of destruction. There were no shouts now on board the tug, for in the presence of so great a danger and with so much at stake lips were silent.

Eben stood like a statue near the capstan, his eyes fixed upon that straining warp, to him the rope of deliverance. He knew that it was holding, and that the tug was making better headway now. The crisis was past, and in a few minutes he felt sure that he would be safe. Neither was he mistaken, for ere long the tug escaped the deadly current by drawing somewhat to the left. Then from the shore he heard cheers and shouts of excited men who had gathered there. Several blasts from the tug sounded forth as signals of her success, as she triumphantly ploughed her way to a wharf on the right.

Eben could not recall very clearly what happened after that. He heard numerous voices as the boat was being tied up, saw as in a dream men crowding on board, and listened to their questions and words of congratulation. He was dazed by the confusion, and longed to be away by himself that he might think. He was only able to do this, however, when the crowd had departed, and he was left alone upon deck. He had not deserted his post of duty, and a thrill of pleasure swept over him at the thought that he had been true to his trust. Then his mind turned suddenly to Jess Randall. He wondered if she would ever hear of what he had done, and if she did, would she be proud of him?

CHAPTER XII

CORNERED

Donaster had finished his dinner, and was deep in an evening paper in the smoking-room of the Fundy Hotel. So intent was he upon the article he was reading that he allowed his cigar to go out, a most unusual thing for him. But there was a reason, for he was reading a vivid account of the daring rescue which had been made early that morning on the brink of the falls. It occupied two pages of the paper, describing accurately and in detail all that had taken place. It told of the thunder storm up river, of the breaking loose of the "Eb and Flo," the run to the city, and the noble action of Eben Tobin, who would not desert his post of duty. Donaster breathed more freely when he found that his own name was not mentioned. The paper merely stated that two men had escaped by means of a motor-boat after they had been unable to induce the young commander to go with them. Much praise was given to the men on the tug for the great risk they had run in making the rescue. When he had read the article through for the second time, he laid the paper aside, re-lighted his cigar, and sat for some time in deep thought.

During the whole of this time Gabriel Grimsby had been sitting not far away watching Donaster most intently. He was much better dressed than on the evening he had presented himself before Mrs. Randall and demanded payment for his silence. His face still bore the placid expression of peace and contentment, while his eyes beamed their goodwill to all. Anyone observing his manner might have mistaken him for a visitant from another world, clothed in human fashion, and mingling for a time in the ways of men. Such was the outward appearance of Gabriel Grimsby, the stand-between.

After a while Donaster rose and made his way into the billiard-room at the rear of the building. He was an expert player, and soon was deeply engaged in his favourite game. Grimsby followed, and for a time stood and watched the game. Then he went back to the smoking-room, resumed his seat, and brought forth, a handful of papers from an inside pocket of his coat. Glancing furtively around to see if anyone was watching, he selected a newspaper clipping and read it through very carefully. It told of the mysterious disappearance of Miss Jess Randall, the only daughter of Henry Randall, the noted lumber merchant. It was believed that she had drowned herself near the Randall's summer home along the river, and men were already searching for her body. Grimsby next referred to another article, written a day later, which told of the unsuccessful search for the body of the missing girl. A smile overspread his face as he read this, and he glanced toward the billiard-room. He evidently knew something which was giving him considerable satisfaction. He believed that Donaster would play for some time yet, so there was no hurry.

Slipping the newspaper clipping back into his pocket, Grimsby picked up three letters and read them through. His smile was more pronounced, now, and the light of triumph gleamed in his eyes. He felt proud of himself, and his chest slightly expanded with the spirit of importance. "Gabriel Grimsby," he said to himself, "you hold the trump-card all right this time. You may be of no account, but you know a thing or two, and it's up to you to make the most of your knowledge. But, hello! here comes the sucker."

Donaster left the hotel, and went at once to his lodging-place. It was only occasionally that he went to the Fundy for his meals, and this evening was one of them. He could not afford to go often, much as he would have liked to do so. He had to be careful until he had secured Jess Randall, and then he could indulge himself to his heart's content. That he should eventually win her, he had not the slightest doubt. Her father and mother were on his side, so what could a girl do against such a strong combination. After this escapade she would, no doubt, be glad to return and obey their wish. Thus he reasoned as he sat alone in his room that night.

A knock sounded upon the door, and when it was opened Grimsby entered. He greeted Donaster in a free and easy manner, and without waiting for an invitation, sat down and helped himself from a package of cigarettes lying upon the table. Donaster stared at him in amazement, for a minute dumbfounded by such unheard-of impudence. Then he rose to his feet, and angrily approached the visitor.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "and how dare you come here?"

Grimsby smiled, flicked the ashes from his cigarette, and waved his hand.

"Don't be afraid, sir; I won't hurt you. I'm as harmless as a dove."

"H'm, I have no fear of you. I want to know what you mean by your impudence in coming into my room unbidden?"

"Impudence! Impudence, do you say?" and Grimsby assumed a look of astonishment. "Why, I have a special right here. I don't need any invitation."

Donaster stared at the intruder, uncertain whether to class him as a fool or a madman. Grimsby divined his thoughts and his eyes twinkled more than ever.

"Yes," he continued, "duty leads me into many places, and sometimes I receive rebuffs. But when a man has a great mission, such as mine is, he bears all things patiently. Patience is a great virtue, sir. It is worthy of cultivation."

"What in h—— are you driving at?" Donaster roared. "What has 'mission' and 'patience' to do with your visit here? If you don't explain at once I'll kick you out of the room or have you arrested."

"Go slow, young man, go slow." The smile passed suddenly from Grimsby's face, and his eyes contracted. "I am here on business, special business, and it concerns you. Sit down, and I shall come to the point at once. There, now, keep cool, and do as I say. That's better," he added, when the angry man had reluctantly obeyed. He leaned over and looked Donaster full in the eyes.

"You want to marry Miss Randall, do you, not?"

Donaster gave a start, and stared at his visitor for a few seconds.

"Well, what business is it of yours if I do?" he demanded. "What right have you to ask such a question? I can attend to my own affairs without any interference from you or anyone else."

"No, ye can't, young man, and that's why I'm here. You can't marry Miss Randall without my assistance. I'm a stand-between, you see, and so have come to your assistance."

Donaster's face suddenly brightened, and he looked keenly at Grimsby.

"Do you know where Miss Randall is?" he eagerly asked.

"Ah, I thought I'd fetch you," and Grimsby smiled. "Do I know where Miss Randall is? Well, we can consider that matter later. I want to know first of all if you want to marry her?"

"Certainly I want to marry her. Do you think I'm a fool?"

"Very good, very good," and Grimsby rubbed his hands, a sure sign of his satisfaction. "That point's settled. But the girl's not agreed, so I understand. Is that so?"

"I'm afraid it is. However, her parents are willing, and they are the main ones."

"Why do they wish you to marry their unwilling daughter?"

"Why? Oh, that's quite clear. They know it will be to her advantage."

"In what way?"

"From a social point of view. As the wife of Lord Donaster's son she will occupy a very high position. She will be received into the best families, and eventually she will be Lady Donaster. You see, I am an only son, so the title will come to me. You can readily understand how anxious her parents are for the consummation of the marriage."

"Certainly, certainly; it is only natural. I suppose you have explained to them your prospects?"

"Yes, I have often talked the matter over with them and they are perfectly satisfied. The title and the social position appeal to them very strongly."

"And in return?" There was a peculiar expression in Grimsby's eyes as he asked the question, which Donaster failed to notice.

"Oh, they have agreed to settle a dowry upon their daughter in consideration of the favours she will receive."

"A large sum, I suppose."

"Yes, quite satisfactory to me. But what has this to do with your visit? There is no reason why I should tell you all this, and I cannot understand myself for doing so. Anyway, it relieves my mind to talk it over with someone."

Grimsby did not at once reply. He helped himself to another cigarette, lighted it and smoked for a few minutes in silence. Donaster was becoming impatient. He was tired after his experience on the river the night before, and he wished to be rid of his visitor. But he was anxious to know what he wanted. He felt that this man knew where Miss Randall was, and he must find out before he left.

"And so you hope to make Miss Randall Lady Donaster?" Grimsby at length questioned.

"That is my intention. Why do you ask?"

"But what if you never will be Lord Donaster? What then?"

"Why, what do you mean? I shall inherit the title as soon as my father dies."

"But suppose you have no right to the title?"

Donaster gave a distinct start. Then he laughed.

"H'm, you needn't worry about that. Just you wait."

"But suppose you are not Lord Donaster's son?" Grimsby's question was very deliberate, but it had an immediate effect.

"Not his son! What are you driving at, anyway? Stop your nonsense.
If I am not Lord Donaster's son, who am I, then?"

"You are an impostor, that's what you are. There is no Lord Donaster. Your father is a shoemaker in the State of New Jersey. I have proof, so you needn't try to deny it."

Donaster had now risen to his feet. He was trembling violently, and his face was as white as death.

"For God's sake!" he gasped, "how did you learn all this? Who are you, anyway?"

"Never mind who I am," and Grimsby smiled with satisfaction. He was succeeding better than he had expected. "You know what I say is true."

"Does anybody else know this?" Donaster asked. "Have you told anyone?"

"Not yet."

"Not yet! Then you intend to do so, I suppose?"

"Why not? Should not Mr. and Mrs. Randall know at once what a vil——, excuse me, what an impostor you are?"

"Don't, don't tell them! For the love of heaven, keep this a secret.
They must not know. It will ruin me."

"What am I to do, then?"

"Say nothing. Keep silent."

"Ah, now you are coming to the point. That's why I'm here. Yes, I will keep silent, but what will you pay for my silence. Let's get down to business at once."

"So you want money, eh? How much?"

"That all depends, sir, upon how much you are able to pay."

Donaster looked at Grimsby for a minute without replying. He was angry, and he longed to kick this fellow out of the room. But he knew he had to be cautious if he expected to secure the prize. He must muzzle him somehow until then, otherwise he would spoil his chance completely.

"I am afraid I can pay you but little," he at length confessed. "I am rather hard up myself."

"Oh, that's all right, sir. I'm not hard to please. Let's be partners and divvy up. Give me half of what you have, and I'm at your command. Then, when you get the girl—and the money—you can give me some more." Grimsby's eyes twinkled as he made this suggestion, and he watched to see the effect upon Donaster.

"And you promise that you'll not squeal on me if I do this?"

"Sure. I'll do almost anything for money—like yourself, eh?"

"Do you think you can find the girl?"

"Leave that to me, sir. You came down river on the 'Eb and Flo,' didn't you?"

"How did you hear about that?" Donaster quickly queried.

"H'm, don't ask me how I find out about things. I generally know what's taking place. Eben Tobin's quite a lad, eh?"

"He certainly is. You know him, then?"

"Should say so; ever since he was a baby. Guess he has a pretty good idea where that girl is."

"He told me he didn't."

"Ah, he'd tell you that. But just wait till I get hold of him. You didn't go about it the right way. He's in a class all by himself, Eben is."

"And will you see him?" Donaster was all eagerness now.

"But what about that money? I'm hard up. You can't do much without money these days. It makes people talk when nothing else will. How much can you spare?"

Donaster thought for a few minutes, and his brows wrinkled.

"I've only five hundred in the bank," he at length explained. "You'll have to wait until to-morrow for any of that."

"Five hundred! My, that seems a fortune to me. Where did ye get it?
Steal it?"

Donaster shot a quick startled look at his companion as if he would read his mind. Then he gave a nervous laugh.

"Never mind where I got it," he warded. "Don't ask too many questions."

Grimsby leaned across the table and looked keenly at his victim.

"I won't ask any more questions, sir. But I believe you are a bigger rogue than I imagined. It's even necessary for me to be on my guard. How much money have you on hand now?"

"About fifty dollars."

"That's good. I'll take half, according to our agreement."

Donaster hesitated for a few seconds, but at length pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and counted out twenty-five dollars.

"Now, make me out a cheque for half of what you have in the bank," Grimsby ordered as he pocketed the money. "I want to draw it as soon as the bank opens in the morning."

Donaster at first protested, but Grimsby was firm, and threatened what he would do.

"I shall give you just five minutes to do what I wish," he told him. "Otherwise, I shall go at once to Mrs. Randall. Make up your mind, and be quick about it."

Very reluctantly Donaster obeyed, and made out a cheque payable to Gabriel Grimsby. The latter held it in his hand and studied it carefully for a few minutes after he had received it. He smiled as he looked at Donaster. "We are getting along nicely now, are we not? But there is something else I want you to do."

"For heaven's sake! what is it?" Donaster angrily and impatiently asked.

"Give me a piece of paper and a pen: I will write it down."

When these were produced, Grimsby wrote rapidly, Donaster watching him somewhat curiously.

"Listen to this," he ordered when he had finished.

"'One week after the date of my marriage with Miss Randall I promise to pay Gabriel Grimsby the sum of one thousand dollars for services rendered.'"

"There, how will that suit you?" he asked, "You'll sign that, of course. It's just a little inducement to urge me to greater efforts."

Donaster sat for some time in silence. He seemed to be in deep thought, and his brows knitted with perplexity.

"Do you think you can find Miss Randall?" he at length asked.

"I have no doubt about it," Grimsby replied. "Leave that to me."

"But I want you to do more than find her."

"What do you mean?"

"Yes, you must do more than find her. That will not be enough. You must arrange matters in such a way that she will need help, see?"

"So you will be on hand to rescue her?" Grimsby smiled. He was pleased at himself for his quick intuition.

"That's just it. You must arrange things in such a manner that she will think I am her rescuer from great peril. Then, perhaps, she will look upon me with favour. You see, I am not at all sure of her, even though she should be taken home. I begin to doubt whether her parents will be able to induce her to marry me against her will. Do you think you can help me?"

"Certainly; I have never been stuck yet. Leave it to me. I shall go up river to-morrow, so you hang around here, and when I need you I shall telephone. Have an auto in readiness, and come like the wind when I phone. But you must sign this paper first."

"And you want one thousand dollars? Isn't that a large amount?"

"Large! Why, man, I am astonished at myself for not asking more.
Unless you sign this, I shall not assist you."

Seeing that Grimsby was determined, Donaster reluctantly signed the paper and handed it back.

"There, I hope you're satisfied now," he growled.

"I am." Grimsby smiled as he folded the paper, and put it away carefully in his pocket. "Hope to goodness it won't be long before I present it for payment. Good night. I must be off."

CHAPTER XIII

A TRICKY PASSENGER

The "Eb and Flo" had come through the falls at high tide, and was lying at one of the wharves above. Eben was in great spirits. He had taken the boat through the falls the day before, discharged the cargo, and had brought her safely back. He had made this call for Gabriel Grimsby, who had arranged with him early that morning to take him up river. As Eben sat upon deck, his hand at times slipped into the right pocket of his trousers and touched the crisp ten dollar bill Grimsby had paid him for his passage. It was more money than he had ever had in his life, so he felt quite rich and important. Just why Grimsby had given him that amount he did not know. Neither did he care. It was good to have so much, and he was happier than he had been for days. He thought of what he would buy with the money, and his mind turned naturally to a new coat, for his best Sunday one was old and worn. He wanted a new pair of boots, nice shiny ones, like city people wore, and not the rough clumsy kind such as his father had always bought. He pictured to himself the look of surprise and admiration upon Jess Randall's face should she see him so well dressed. His Sunday vest, collar and trousers were new, so the coat and boots were all he needed.

Grimsby was late in coming, and when he did at length arrive, it was almost noon. He carried a small grip in his hand, which he placed upon the deck, and went down into the cabin where Eben was preparing dinner.

"Hello," he accosted. "Thought I was never coming, I s'pose?"

Eben grinned as he turned from the frying-pan where several pieces of bacon were sizzling. He had always liked Grimsby, and the thought of the ten dollars made him more friendly than ever.

"Guess yer in time fer dinner, Gabe," he replied.

"Yer always on time fer that, eh?"

"Indeed I am. My! that bacon smells good. And what bread! Did your mother make it?"

"No, Flo cooked that. She certainly does know how to make bread. But, fall to, now, an' help yerself. This bacon's done."

A gentle breeze favoured the "Eb and Flo" as she left her wharf, ran up through the Narrows, and headed out into Grand Bay. It was a perfect summer afternoon, and Grimsby, seated on deck, with his back against the cabin, smoked a cigar to his heart's content. It was a Club Special he was smoking, a rare treat to him. But with so much money in his pocket, he had indulged himself that morning by buying a box of his favourite brand. He felt very prosperous, and contented with himself and the whole world.

"Did ye ever smoke?" he asked Eben, who was standing at the wheel.

"Naw. I tried it once, but it made me sick. Dad licked me fer it, too."

"My, ye miss a lot in life," and Grimsby gave a sigh of satisfaction as he blew a cloud of smoke into the air. "Smoking is a great soother of the nerves, it certainly is."

"Ma doesn't like terbaccer," Eben volunteered. "She says it smells up the house awful. Flo says she'll never marry a man who smokes."

"She won't, eh?" and Grimsby laughed outright. "I s'pose she'll make her husband buy her chocolates instead."

"Most likely. Flo's mighty fond of choc'lates. She'd eat 'em all the time if she could git 'em. She's allus beggin' me to bring her a box every time we come from the city."

"She's just like all girls; they like sweet things. That's the reason,
I guess, they like me. I'm always sweet with the girls. It pays.
Hand me that grip, will yon? I want to show you something I've got for
a pretty girl."

Eben reached over, and handed the grip to Grimsby. The latter slowly opened it, and brought forth a box, wrapped up in paper. He untied the string, and held forth a box of chocolates for Eben's inspection.

"Like one, eh?"

"Y'bet. Me mouth's waterin'."

"Then, it'll have to water. These are for a prettier mouth than yours, let me tell you that. My! you should see her, 'specially when she's eating candy."

"Your wife?" Eben asked.

Grimsby shook with laughter, as he carefully placed the paper back upon the box, and returned it to the grip.

"No, no, no, not for my wife this time, Eben. It's for someone else, a special friend of mine. She's up river now, and I'm going to see her. She's in a class all by herself, though just now, poor girl, she's in trouble."

"She is?" Eben was becoming interested.

"Yes, she ran away from home, you see, and her folks don't know where she is. Why, what's wrong, boy? You look scared."

"D'ye mean Miss Randall?" Eben asked. "Are them choc'lates fer her?"

"Ah, you're a good hand at a guess, Eben," and Grimsby smiled. "Yes,
I'm taking them to her. She'd never forgive me if I forgot them. Why,
I've known Jess Randall ever since she was a baby," he lied. "She
calls me 'Uncle Gabe.'"

"She does!" Eben was more impressed than ever with Grimsby.

"Oh, yes, she's a great friend of mine. She must be waiting for me now, so you can pull up and run me ashore when we get there. She phoned to me to come at once, as she wants to see me on special business."

"I'm goin' to stop, anyway," Eben replied. "Dad'll be waitin' fer me.
He went ashore with ma."

It was only with difficulty that Grimsby repressed a chuckle of delight. He could hardly believe it possible that Eben had fallen so easily into his snare. But as he glanced at the boy he saw not the slightest sign of suspicion upon his face. Eben's hands were upon the wheel, and his eyes were fixed upon a steamer coming down river. Grimsby was certain now that Miss Randall was at Mrs. Hampton's. So far he had met with remarkable success. He wondered how much further he dare go.

"Guess it'll he some wedding," he ventured. "I'll have to get a brand new suit."

"What weddin'?" Eben asked.

"Why, don't you know? Miss Randall's, of course. She's going to marry
Lord Donaster, that swell dude of a chap."

"She's not!" The words snapped, from Eben's lips, and his hands gripped hard upon the wheel as he swung the boat somewhat to the left, while the steamer surged by.

"What makes you say that?" Grimsby questioned. This was the first glimpse he had caught of the boy's feeling, and he surmised its meaning.

"D'ye think she'd marry a thing like Donaster?" Eben contemptuously asked. "She's got more sense."

"So you know her, then?" The question caught Eben off guard, and his face suddenly flushed. Grimsby smiled. "She came up with you, on your last trip, didn't she?"

"How d'ye know that?" Eben's hands let go of the wheel in his amazement.

"Oh, I know everything. But I guess you're right, Eben. Miss Randall will never marry Donaster. He's after her good and hard, though, so it's up to you and me to help her."

"In what way?"

"She and John Hampton are in love with each other, I understand. Can't we do something to keep Donaster away? He's a deep-dyed villain, that's what he is, and we must not let him bother Miss Randall. He thinks that I'm going to help him out."

"How?" Eben hardly knew that he had asked the question. He was thinking deeply, and wondering why he should help Grimsby. Had not Miss Randall left him for Hampton? The thought rankled in his soul. Why should another have her when she was so much to him? He was aroused by his companion.

"Say, lad, what's the matter with you? I've asked you two questions, and you seem to be stricken dumb. What are you thinking about? Not in love yourself, are you?"

Eben grinned sheepishly, and his face crimsoned a deeper hue than ever,

"What were ye askin' me, Gabe? Guess me mind must have been wanderin'. It goes off sometimes an' fergits to come back. It's bad havin' a mind lake that, isn't it?"

It certainly is, and a sure sign that a man's in love, so I've been told. Now, look here, Eben, are you in love with Miss Randall? There, now, don't get excited. It's only natural. I was young once meself."

"Why d'ye ask me that, Gabe? What makes ye think I'm in love with her?"

"From your actions, boy. And say, if you're in love with Jess Randall, then by the jumping moon, I'm going to help you to get her. I don't care a rap for Donaster or anyone else. I've known you ever since you were a kid, and I've a fancy for you, so there."

Eben made no reply, but stood staring straight before him. During the last few days a notable change had come over this awkward youth. The influence of a deep passion had transformed him from boyhood to manhood, and he was now able to view things in a different light. He did not want Donaster to have Jess Randall, so it was necessary for him to do all in his power to keep her out of his grasp. As for himself he knew there was not the slightest hope that she could ever care for him. And why should she? He had only known her for a brief space of time, and why should such a girl feel any stirring of the heart for such a clown as himself. He knew that he was tall, ungainly, roughly clad, and ignorant. His hands clutched hard upon the wheel as he thought of all this, and an expression of determination overspread his face. A vision of the girl, her beauty, the light in her eyes, and her gentle encouraging voice rose before him. She had been kind to him, and had been interested in his drawings. Between him and her there was a vast gulf, and he knew it. But she had been kind to him. That idea kept repeating itself over and over again in his mind. What could he do to repay her? "Keep Donaster from getting her," came the answer. Yes, but what else? "Help her in her love for Hampton." But in what way? Grimsby broke his reverie.

"Say, Eben, I was almost asleep. I didn't rest well last night."

"What was the trouble, Gabe? Why couldn't ye sleep?"

"Thoughts, boy, thoughts. I was thinking about Donaster."

"H'm, it's no wonder ye couldn't sleep with that skunk in yer mind.
Couldn't ye find something better to think about?"

"I suppose so, but I didn't want to. Ye see, he's anxious for me to find Miss Randall for him. Then when she's found, to make a show of kidnapping her, or getting her into a dangerous place, so he can come along and rescue her. See?"

An amused expression shone in Eben's eyes as he turned them upon the face of the reclining man.

"Something like a movin'-picture show, eh?" he queried. "A pretty girl, villains, an' hero all made to order. Ho, ho, that's a good one."

"Seems so. And I guess he wants us to be the villains, Eben. Suppose we try it, boy. It'd be great fun, wouldn't it?"

Eben thought for a few minutes, and then he brought his right hand down upon his thigh with a resounding whack.