-o-x-a-n-a L-e-e_!"

At the sound of the name in his ears, a strange expression came over the
fisherman's features. It was an expression compounded of many warring
emotions, which it might well have puzzled an observer to interpret. But
his muttered soliloquy made his feeling clear.

"Wall, I'll be plumb damned! Here it is, most twenty year since I has
spoke them words an' God knows I didn't aim to now, but bein' a leetle
slow on spellin', an' kinder beflustered over identifyin' these-here
thievin' cusses they got out before I realized what I was sayin'. That
boat's named fer my old gal!"

Captain Ichabod had no time for further musing. His attention was
attracted by a crackling of twigs in the small brush on the side of the
dune. As he looked in the direction of the sound he saw hurtling toward
him the barrel of molasses. The two beach-combers had succeeded in
topping the rise with their burden; then, suddenly excited and confused
by the approach of the coast-guard men, they had turned it loose with a
violent push. It shot downward at speed, nor did it stop until it had
reached the very edge of the water of Core Sound, almost at Ichabod's
feet. After the heavy barrel came the two plunderers, running rapidly.
One of them was a mere lad, certainly not more than nineteen years of
age, while the other was of advanced years as was proclaimed by his
deeply lined face and gray hair.

As the two drew near, Captain Ichabod quickly concealed himself behind a
haw bush, there to await developments. He had a particular reason for
not wishing to be recognized by these men--at least not until he should
have had time to get his bearings and to decide what course it were best
to pursue in this unexpected situation. For that matter, he was half
tempted to leave the place without showing himself and without
denouncing the paltry thieves.

Ichabod's indecision was not of long duration. His course of action was
decided more quickly than he had anticipated by the arrival of the
coast-guard men. They had hurried after the fugitives with some
apprehension lest the old fisherman might be roughly handled. Now the
men descended the slope with a cheer, and in another moment had pounced
on the two cringing wretches, who were eagerly clutching their
ill-gotten barrel of "long sweet'nin'," as if loath to give it up.

This was not the first time that old Sandy Mason, for such was the name
of the gray-haired man, had been driven away from his ne