ted in the village,
especially among the rougher class, some of whom had sailed with
him--but he only waved his hand in thanks.

"I don't want to sit down; I'm looking for Bart. Has he been here?" The
sound came as if from between closed teeth.

"Not as I know of, cap'n," answered the landlord; "not since sundown,
nohow."

"Do any of you know where he is?" The look in the captain's eyes and
the sharp, cutting tones of his voice began to be noticed.

"Do ye want him bad?" asked a man tilted back in a chair against the
wall.

"Yes."

"Well, I kin tell ye where to find him,"

"Where?"

"Down on the beach in the Refuge shanty. He and the boys have a deck
there Sunday nights. Been at it all fall--thought ye knowed it."

Out into the night again, and without a word of thanks, down the road
and across the causeway to the hard beach, drenched with the ceaseless
thrash of the rising sea. He followed no path, picked out no road.
Stumbling along in the half-gloom of the twilight, he could make out
the heads of the sand-dunes, bearded with yellow grass blown flat
against their cheeks. Soon he reached the prow of the old wreck with
its shattered timbers and the water-holes left by the tide. These he
avoided, but the smaller objects he trampled upon and over as he strode
on, without caring where he stepped or how often he stumbled. Outlined
against the sand-hills, bleached white under the dull light, he looked
like some evil presence bent on mischief, so direct and forceful was
his unceasing, persistent stride.

When the House of Refuge loomed up against the gray froth of the surf
he stopped and drew breath. Bending forward, he scanned the beach
ahead, shading his eyes with his hand as he would have done on his own
ship in a fog. He could make out now some streaks of yellow light
showing through the cracks one above the other along the side of the
house and a dull patch of red. He knew what it meant. Bart and his
fellows were inside, and were using one of the ship lanterns to see by.

This settled in his mind, the captain strode on, but at a slower pace.
He had found his bearings, and would steer with caution.

Hugging the dunes closer, he approached the house from the rear. The
big door was shut and a bit of matting had been tacked over the one
window to deaden the light. This was why the patch of red was dull. He
stood now so near the outside planking that he could hear the laughter
and talk of those within. By this