e and looking like tufts of coarse
gray horsehair, lay in water-logged mats here and there. And in the open
places, the grass, beaten flat, was just beginning to rise again.

A rabbit scuttled across the path as it went down four steps of broken
stone into a sort of glen. Here some early owner of the plantation had
made an irregular pool of stone to be fed by the trickle of a tiny
spring. Frogs the size of postage-stamps leaped panic-stricken for the
water when Val's shadow fell across its rim. A leaden statue of the boy
Pan danced joyously on a pedestal above. Ricky would love this, thought
her brother as he dabbled his fingers in the chill water trying to catch
the stem of the single lily bud.

Out of nowhere came a turtle to slide into the depths of the pool. The
sun was very warm across Val's bowed shoulders. He liked the garden,
liked the plantation, even liked the circumstances which had brought
them there. Lazily he arose and turned.

By the steps down which he had come stood a slight figure in a faded
flannel shirt and mud-streaked overalls. His bare brown feet gripped the
stones as if to get purchase for instant flight.

"Hello," Val said questioningly.

The new-comer eyed young Ralestone warily and then his gaze shifted to
the bushes beyond.

"I'm Val Ralestone." Val held out his hand. To his astonishment the
stranger's mobile lips twisted in a snarl and he edged crabwise toward
the bushes bordering the glen.

"Who are you?" Val demanded sharply.

"Ah has got as much right heah as yo' all," the boy answered angrily.
And with that he turned and slipped into a path at the far end of the
glen.

Aroused, Val hurried after him to reach the bayou levee. The quarry was
already in midstream, wielding an efficient canoe paddle. On impulse Val
shouted after him, but he never turned. A rifle lay across his knees and
there were some rusty traps in the bottom of the flimsy canoe. Then Val
remembered that Pirate's Haven lay upon the fringe of the muskrat swamps
where Cajun and American squatters still carried on the fur trade of
their ancestors.

But as Val stood speeding the departure of the uninvited guest, another
canoe put off from the opposite shore of the bayou and came swinging
across toward the rough wooden landing which served the plantation. A
round brown face grinned up at Val as a powerful negro clambered ashore.

"Is dey up at de big house now?" he asked cheerily as he came up.

"If you mean the