know well. I see
it all now. He sent me a note the night before asking to ship on the
_Lass_, and I went to get him before any of the other skippers got
wind of it. You don't suppose he did this thing on his own account, do
you?"

"Easy, skipper, easy! What's he got against you?"

"_He's_ got nothing against me!" cried Code passionately. "But he is
working for the man who has. Do you think that stupid ox would have
sense enough to work a scheme like this? Never! Nat Burns is behind
this, and I'll bet my schooner on it!"

Schofield dumped the bait-tub over the deck and rolled it around,
examining it. Suddenly he stopped and peered closely.

"Look here!" he cried. "Here's proof!"

With a splitting knife that he snatched out of a cleat he pried loose
a tiny plug in one of the bottom boards that had been replaced so
carefully that it almost defied detection.

"The whole thing is simple enough. He turned the tub upside down, cut
out this plug, and inserted the acid. Then he refitted the plug and
set it right side up again. It's as plain as the nose on your face."

"By thunder, I believe you're right, skipper!" said Ellinwood
solemnly. "The dirty dog! Cookee, run that tub up to the truck again.
We'll have to call the men in on this."

"Oh, he was foxy, that one!" said Code bitterly. "Going out in the fog
that way so all hands would think he was lost! I never remembered
until this minute that the motor-dory could be run. I guess she went,
all right, and that scoundrel is ashore by this time."

"Had a bad name in Castalia, didn't he?"

"Oh, a little more or less that I heard of, but what's that in a
fisherman? When the men come in have them go through all the bait."

Pete fired the old rifle, and the crew at work began to pull in
through the choppy sea.

"Hello!" cried the mate, looking behind him. "There's something going
to be doin' here in a minute. It's the cutter from Halifax, all
right."

Code, his former danger forgotten for the time, glanced up. The smudge
of smoke had quickly resolved itself into a stubby, gray steam-vessel
with a few bright brass guns forward and a black cloud belching from
her funnel. She was still some five miles away, but apparently coming
at top speed.

Three miles before her, with all sails set, including staysail and
balloon-job, raced a fishing schooner. There was a fresh ten-knot wind
blowing a little south of west--a wind that favored the schooner, and
she was putting her