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The mucker was extremely puzzled to account for his act. He did not look upon it

at all as a piece of heroism; but rather as a "fool play" which he should be

ashamed of. The very idea! Saving the life of a gink who, despite his brutal ways,

belonged to the much-despised "highbrow" class. Billy was peeved with himself.

Theriere, for his part, was surprised at the unexpected heroism of the man he

had long since rated as a cowardly bully. He was fully determined to repay Byrne

in so far as he could the great debt he owed him. All thoughts of revenge for the

mucker's former assault upon him were dropped, and he now looked upon the

man as a true friend and ally.

For three days the Halfmoon plunged helplessly upon the storm-wracked surface

of the mad sea. No soul aboard her entertained more than the faintest glimmer of

a hope that the ship would ride out the storm; but during the third night the

wind died down, and by morning the sea had fallen sufficiently to make it safe for

the men of the Halfmoon to venture upon deck.

There they found the brigantine clean-swept from stem to stern. To the north of

them was land at a league or two, perhaps. Had the storm continued during the

night they would have been dashed upon the coast. God-fearing men would have

given thanks for their miraculous rescue; but not so these. Instead, the fear of

death removed, they assumed their former bravado.

Skipper Simms boasted of the seamanship that had saved the Halfmoon--his own

seamanship of course. Ward was cursing the luck that had disabled the ship at

so crucial a period of her adventure, and revolving in his evil mind various

possible schemes for turning the misfortune to his own advantage. Billy Byrne,

sitting upon the corner of the galley table, hobnobbed with Blanco. These choice

representatives of the ship's company were planning a raid on the skipper's

brandy chest during the disembarkation which the sight of land had rendered not

improbable.

The Halfmoon, with the wind down, wallowed heavily in the trough of the sea, but

even so Barbara Harding, wearied with days of confinement in her stuffy cabin

below, ventured above deck for a breath of sweet, clean air.

Scarce had she emerged from below than Theriere espied her, and hastened to

her side.

Well, Miss Harding," he exclaimed, "it seems good to see you on deck again. I

can't tell you how sorry I have felt for you cooped up alone in your cabin without

a single woman for companionship, and all those frightful days of danger, for

there was scarce one of us that thought the old hooker would weather so long

and hard a blow. We were mighty fortunate to come through it so handily."

The Mucker