his pocket.

Without a moment's hesitation he set out on the trail of Captain Plum. A
quarter of a mile down the path he overtook the object of his pursuit.

"Ah, how do you do, sir?" he greeted as the younger man turned about
upon hearing his approach. "A mighty fast pace you're setting for an old
man, sir!" He broke into a laugh that was not altogether unpleasant, and
boldly held out a hand. "We've been expecting you, but--not in this way.
I hope there's nothing wrong?"

Captain Plum had accepted the proffered hand. Its coldness and the
singular appearance of the old man who had come like an apparition
chilled him. In a moment, however, it occurred to him that he was a
victim of mistaken identity. As far as he knew there was no one on
Beaver Island who was expecting him. To the best of his knowledge he was
a fool for being there. His crew aboard the sloop had agreed upon that
point with extreme vehemence and, to a man, had attempted to dissuade
him from the mad project upon which he was launching himself among the
Mormons in their island stronghold. All this came to him while the
little old man was looking up into his face, chuckling, and shaking his
hand as if he were one of the most important and most greatly to be
desired personages in the world.

"Hope there's nothing wrong, Cap'n?" he repeated.

"Right as a trivet here, Dad," replied the young man, dropping the cold
hand that still persisted in clinging to his own. "But I guess you've
got the wrong party. Who's expecting me?"

The old man's face wrinkled itself in a grimace and one gleaming eye
opened and closed in an understanding wink.

"Ho, ho, ho!--of course you're not expected. Anyway, you're not
_expected_ to be expected! Cautious--a born general--mighty clever thing
to do. Strang should appreciate it." The old man gave vent to his own
approbation in a series of inimitable chuckles. "Is that your sloop out
there?" he inquired interestedly.

Something in the strangeness of the situation began to interest Captain
Plum. He had planned a little adventure of his own, but here was one
that promised to develop into something more exciting. He nodded his
head.

"That's her."

"Splendid cargo," went on the old man. "Splendid cargo, eh?"

"Pretty fair."

"Powder in good shape, eh?"

"Dry as tinder."

"And balls--lots of balls, and a few guns, eh?"

"Yes, we _have_ a few guns," said Captain Plum. The old man noted the
emphasis, but the darkness tha