ling already every which way. We've got
them traveling south, Miss Wallace."

Perhaps his cheerful, matter-of-fact talk was the best possible tonic
for the depression which had settled upon us. I could not help think
what a blessing it was that we had picked up at Los Angeles this
competent frontiersman whose strong, brown hands could make or dress a
wound with equal skill.

It was plain to me that during the next few hours I would not be of much
use. Out of ten thousand, Tom Yeager was the one I would have picked to
take charge of the defense in my absence.

When a few minutes later the beat of the screw began again the sound of
it was like wine to me. It meant that, for the present, the mutineers
had had enough. They would join in a tacit truce while the yacht was
being worked south.

"Help Mr. Sedgwick down to his cabin, Morgan, and then both of you turn
in for a few hours' sleep. We'll look out for trouble. Won't we, Jimmie?
You and I and Billie Blue, eh?"

"Yes, Mr. Yeager."

"You'll call us if another attack threatens?" I asked.

"Sure."

The steady _throb--throb--throb_ of the propeller was again shaking the
yacht as she took up her journey. This might be a ruse to throw us off
our guard, but I did not think so. The enemy was badly demoralized, and
the chances were that Bothwell would welcome a chance to whip his forces
into shape again.

"Is the door from the galley to the main deck locked and nailed up,
Billie?" I asked of the flunky.

"Yes, sir."

"Nail planks across the window too. Philips will help you get dinner if
you can find him. I'll expect you to see that our party is well fed."

"Yes, sir," the young fellow promised.

"You must go to your room at a moment's notice, Miss Wallace. Have
Philips nail up your porthole. You need not be a bit afraid. We hold a
very safe position at present. Get all the sleep you can to-night."

"That's good advice, Mr. Sedgwick. Take it yourself," she returned with
a little flicker of a wan smile.

For an instant her hand, warm and firm, rested in mine. If I had not
been sure of my love before, there was no uncertainty now. While her
brave eyes met mine I seemed to drown fathoms deep in the blue of them.
Trouble was what I read in them, but part of that trouble was for me. I
gloried in that certainty.

She might not love me--it was presumptuous to suppose she did--but at
least I held a place in her regard. That was the thought I carried with
me down-sta