the land-wash
below the fish-house and drying-stages. He saw the spars of his little
schooner etched black against the slate-gray of the eastern sky. He
stood at the edge of the broken slope, looking and listening. Presently
he heard a mutter of voices and saw two dark figures ascending the path.

"Good evenin', men," he said.

The two halted. "Glory be!" exclaimed the voice of Bill Brennen. "The
skipper himself, sure, praise the saints! Bes it yerself, skipper, an'
no mistake?"

"Aye, Bill, an' why for not?" returned Nolan. "Didn't ye t'ink as I
could make the trip to Witless Bay an' back in t'ree days? Bes that
yerself, Nick Leary?"

"Aye, skipper, aye," replied Nick. The two were now at the top of the
path, staring anxiously at the skipper through the gloom. Leary's head
was still in a bandage.

"We was jist a-settin' out to look for ye, skipper," said Bill.

Black Dennis Nolan laughed at that. "Was ye t'inkin' I couldn't find me
way back to me own harbor, in fair weather?" he asked.

"Aye, skipper, sure ye could," said Bill Brennen; "but it bes like this
wid us. Dick Lynch give us the slip this very day, wid a bottle o' rum
in his belly an' the smoke of it in his head, an' a gun in his hand.
Aye, skipper, an' we didn't larn it till only a minute ago from little
Patsy Burke."

"Aye, that bes the right o' it," broke in Nick Leary. "We heard tell o'
Dick Lynch a-slippin' away to the south'ard jist this minute from little
Patsy Burke. Drunk as a bo's'un he was, wid his old swilin'-gun on his
shoulder an' the divil's own flare in the eyes o' him. So we hauled out
too, skipper, intendin' to catch him afore he come up wid yerself if the
saints would give us the luck."

"Sure, then, I didn't catch a sight o' the treacherous squid," said the
skipper. "Ye see, b'ys, I took a swing off to the westward to-day to spy
out some timber. But what would Dick Lynch be huntin' me wid his
swilin'-gun for? Why for d'ye say he was huntin' me? Didn't I put the
comather on to him last time? The divil's own courage must be in him if
he bes out huntin' for me."

"He was tryin' all he knowed how to raise trouble yesterday," said Bill;
"but the b'ys wasn't wid him. This very mornin', when I called in to see
how he was feelin' for work, there he laid in his bed wid the covers
drug up over his ugly face, a-moanin' an' groanin' as how he wasn't fit
to hit a clip. Then we all o' us goes off to the choppin', to cut timber
for his river