right by me. It was
hard luck not to be able to take a shot at them. I could have got a
dozen of them at least."

"Probably more," I suggested.

"I really believe I could," agreed Charlie, in entire innocence. "Well,
as I have said, it was hard luck; but Sailor seemed to have something on
his mind, beside duck. As we poled along silently in the direction from
which the duck had risen, he grew more and more excited, and, at last,
as we neared a certain mangrove copse to which all the time he had been
pointing, he barked two or three times, and, I let him go. Poor old
fellow!"

As he told the story, Sailor, who seemed to understand every word,
rubbed his head against his master's hand.

"He went into the mangroves, just as he'd go after duck, but he'd hardly
gone in, when there were two shots, and he came out limping, making for
me. But, by this, I was close up to the mangroves myself, and in another
minute, I was inside; and there, just like that old black snake you
remember, was Tobias--his gun at his shoulder. He had a pot at me, but,
before he could try another, I knocked him down with my
fist--and--Well, we've got him all right. And now you can go after
your treasure, as soon as you like. I'll take him over to Nassau, and
you can fool around for the next month or so. Of course we'll need you
at the trial, but that won't come off for a couple of months. Meanwhile,
you can let me know where you are, in case I should need to get hold of
you."

"All right, old man," I said, "but I wish you were coming along with
me."

"I've got all the treasure I want," laughed Charlie. "But don't you want
to come and interview our friend? He might give you some pointers on
your treasure hunt."

"How does he take it?" I asked.

"Pretty cool. He talked a little big at first, but now he sits with his
head between his hands, and you can't get a word out of him. Something
up his sleeve, I dare say."

"I don't think I'll bother to see him, Charlie," I said. "I'm kind of
sorry for him." Charlie looked at me.

"Sorry for him?"

"Yes! In fact, I rather like him."

"Like him?" Charlie bellowed; "the pock-marked swine!"

"I grant," I said, smiling, and recalling Charlie's own words of long
ago, "that his face is against him."

"Rather like him? You must be crazy! You certainly have the rummiest
taste."

"At least you'll admit this much, Charlie," I said; "he has courage--and
I respect courage even in a cockroach--particularl