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                          GRIFTERS' ASTEROID

                             By H. L. GOLD

             Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever
            to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought!
            Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them
             five buckos for a glass of water--and got it!

                       Planet Stories May 1943.

Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,
though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, with
no dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of land
that had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontifically
into the battered metalloy saloon--the only one on Planetoid 42--his
tall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing something
incoherent. They met in the doorway, violently.

"We're delirious!" Joe cried. "It's a mirage!"

"What is?" asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton.

Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,
speechless for once.

In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panacea
purveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never had
they seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon.

Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in two
hands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in the
remaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpish
Harvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering this
impossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruit
juice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously.

"Nonsense," Harvey croaked uncertainly. "We have seen enough queer
things to know there are always more."

He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:
"Water--quick!"

Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought out
two glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, asked
for more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartender
had taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey.

Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water so
fast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender's
impersonal eyes studying them shrewdly.

"Strangers, eh?" he asked at last.

"Solar salesmen, my colonial friend," Harvey answered in his usual
lush manner. "We purvey that renowned Martian remedy, _La-anago
Yergis_, the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves in
the ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous in
proclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire history
of therapeutics."

"Yeah?" said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaser
glasses without washing them. "Where you heading?"

"Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gone
without water for five ghastly days."

"Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port?" Joe asked.

"We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't land
here unless they're in trouble."

"Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off."

"Mayor takes care of that," replied the saloon owner. "If you gents're
finished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos."

Harvey grinned puzzledly. "We didn't take any whiskey."

"Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with every
chaser."

Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. "That--that's robbery!" the lanky man
managed to get out in a thin quaver.

The barkeeper shrugged. "When there ain't many customers, you gotta
make more on each one. Besides--"

"Besides nothing!" Joe roared, finding his voice again. "You dirty
crook--robbing poor spacemen! You--"

[Illustration: _"You dirty crook!" Joe roared.
"Robbing honest spacemen!"_]

Harvey nudged him warningly. "Easy, my boy, easy." He turned to the
bartender apologetically. "Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands are
sometimes overactive. You were going to say--?"

The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression.

"Folks are always thinkin' the other feller's out to do 'em," he said,
shaking his head. "Lemme explain about the water here. It's bitter
as some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in with
buckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think--I
was chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I charge
because I gotta."

"Friend," said Harvey, taking out a wallet and counting off eight
five-bucko bills, "here is your money. What's fair is fair, and you
have put a different complexion on what seemed at first to be an
unconscionable interjection of a middleman between Nature and man's
thirst."

The saloon man removed his dirty apron and came around the bar.

"If that's an apology, I accept it. Now the mayor'll discuss filling
your tanks. That's me. I'm also justice of the peace, official
recorder, fire chief...."

"And chief of police, no doubt," said Harvey jocosely.

"Nope. That's my son, Jed. Angus Johnson's my name. Folks here just
call me Chief. I run this town, and run it right. How much water will
you need?"

Joe estimated quickly. "About seventy-five liters, if we go on half
rations," he answered. He waited apprehensively.

"Let's say ten buckos a liter," the mayor said. "On account of the
quantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts me
more to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to,
that's all."

The mayor gestured to the native, who shuffled out to the tanks with
them. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intently
watched the crude level-gauge, crying "Stop!" when it registered the
proper amount. Then Johnson rubbed his thumb on his index finger and
wetted his lips expectantly.

Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: "But what are we to
do about replenishing our battery fluid? Ten buckos a liter would be
preposterous. We simply can't afford it."

Johnson's response almost floored them. "Who said anything about
charging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing.
It's just the purified stuff that comes so high."

After giving them directions that would take them to the free-water
pool, the ponderous factotum of Planetoid 42 shook hands and headed
back to the saloon. His six-armed assistant followed him inside.

"Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague?" said Harvey as he and Joe
picked up buckets that hung on the tank. "Johnson, as I saw instantly,
is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly."

"Just the same," Joe griped, "paying for water isn't something you can
get used to in ten minutes."

In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang from
the igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents,
according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. They filled their
buckets and hauled them to the ship, then returned for more.

It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine on
a bright surface off to the left. The figure, 750, with the bucko sign
in front of it, was still doing acrobatics inside his skull and keeping
a faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went to
investigate.

Among the skimpy ground-crawling vines, they saw a long slender mound
that was unmistakably a buried pipe.

"What's this doing here?" Harvey asked, puzzled. "I thought Johnson had
to transport water in pails."

"Wonder where it leads to," Joe said uneasily.

"It leads _to_ the saloon," said Harvey, his eyes rapidly tracing the
pipe back toward the spaceport. "What I am concerned with is where it
leads _from_."

Five minutes later, panting heavily from the unaccustomed exertion of
scrambling through the tangle of planetorial undergrowth, they burst
into the open--before a clear, sparkling pool.

Mutely, Harvey pointed out a pipe-end jutting under the water.

"I am growing suspicious," he said in a rigidly controlled voice.

But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water and
tasting it.

"Sweet!" he snarled.

They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample.
His mouth went wry. "Bitter! He uses only one pool, the sweet one! The
only thing that needs purifying around here is that blasted mayor's
conscience."

"The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on," said
Harvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. "Joseph, the good-natured artist in
me has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until we
have had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from this
point hence."

Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door they
stopped and their fists unclenched.

"Thought you gents were leaving," the mayor called out, seeing them
frozen in the doorway. "Glad you didn't. Now you can meet my son, Jed.
Him and me are the whole Earthman population of Johnson City."

"You don't need any more," said Harvey, dismayed.

Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hair
and held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously been
born and raised in low gravity. For any decent-sized world would have
kept him down near the general dimensions of a man.

He held out an acre of palm. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his own
hand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again when
his fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressed
one.

"Pleased to meet you," piped a voice that had never known a dense
atmosphere.

The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick and
unpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for....

"Joseph!" he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. "Don't you
feel well?"

Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes were
gently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his features
drooping like a bloodhound's.

"Bring him in here!" Johnson cried. "I mean, get him away! He's coming
down with asteroid fever!"

"Of course," replied Harvey calmly. "Any fool knows the first symptoms
of the disease that once scourged the universe."

"What do you mean, _once_?" demanded Johnson. "I come down with it
every year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get him
out of here!"

"In good time. He can't be moved immediately."

"Then he'll be here for months!"

Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor and
his gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathe
in tiny, uncontaminating gasps.

"You'll find everything you want in the back room," Johnson said
frantically, "sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suction
cups--"

"Relics of the past," Harvey stated. "One medication is all modern man
requires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever."

"What's that?" asked the mayor without conviction.

Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-hand
rocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport. He returned within a
few minutes, carrying a bottle.

Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowly
crossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,
put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.
When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partner
drink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back and
waited for the inevitable result.

Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for several
moments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomed
to perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his features
straightened out.

"Are--are you all right?" asked the mayor anxiously.

"Much better," said Joe in a weak voice.

"Maybe you need another dose," Harvey suggested.

Joe recoiled. "I'm fine now!" he cried, and sprang off the bar to prove
it.

Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,
and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" Johnson ejaculated.

"_La-anago Yergis_ never fails, my friend," Harvey explained. "By
actual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-three
minutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caught
this one before it grew formidable."

The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. "If you
don't charge too much," he said warily, "I might think of buying some."

"We do not sell this unbelievable remedy," Harvey replied with dignity.
"It sells itself."

"'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a whole
case," said Johnson.

"That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared with
the vast loss of time and strength the fever involves."

"How much?" asked the mayor unhappily.

"For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundred
buckos."

Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression of
doing so. "F-four hundred," he offered.

"Not a red cent less than four seventy-five," Harvey said flatly.

"Make it four fifty," quavered Johnson.

"I dislike haggling," said Harvey.

The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos and
fifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: "And we will include,
_gratis_, an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurian
handicraftsmanship."

Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. "No tricks now. I want a taste of
that stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me."

Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. The
mayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuing
minute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle which
the man gradually won.

"There ain't no words for that taste," he gulped when it was safe to
talk again.

"Medicine," Harvey propounded, "should taste like medicine." To Joe he
said: "Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task to
which we have dedicated ourselves."

With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed the
clearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe dropped
his murderous silence and cried:

"What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of that
snake oil?"

"That was not poison," Harvey contradicted quietly. "It was _La-anago
Yergis_ extract, plus."

"Plus what--arsenic?"

"Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufacture
our specific for all known ailments, with the intention of selling
yonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods--an entire case,
mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had been
swindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit have
been, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course."

"But why use it on me?" Joe demanded furiously.

Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. "Did Johnson ask to
taste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to produce
the same _medicine_ that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were a
guinea pig for a splendid cause."

"Okay, okay," Joe said. "But you shoulda charged him more."

"Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of which
that swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables he
possesses. We could not be content with less."

"Well, we're starting all right," admitted Joe. "How about that thing
with six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off?"

Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively.

"I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.
Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.
At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with our
streamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolic
suckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on the
audio-visiphone. Then our triumph--we shall sell him at a stupendous
figure to the zoo!"

Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carried
the case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared a
place of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put it
down carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gave
him, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been at
least as good as the first; he gagged.

"That's the stuff, all right," he said, swallowing hard. He counted
out the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariously
balanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his pain
at paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,
and asked: "You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now."

Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking about
food at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry.

"It's only water we were short of," Harvey said apprehensively. "We've
got rations back at the ship."

"_H-mph!_" the mayor grunted. "Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.
Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcome
to our hospitality."

"Your hospitality," said Harvey, "depends on the prices you charge."

"Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying," answered
the mayor promptly. "What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here you
can't get anywhere else for any price."

Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He saw
none.

"Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe," he said guardedly.

Johnson immediately fell into the role of "mine host."

"Come right in, gents," he invited. "Right into the dining room."

He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more or
less private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was little
chance of company.

Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen with
two menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,
silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,
which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders.

Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices were
phenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, he
grinned, bowed and asked: "Everything satisfactory, gents?"

"Quite," said Harvey. "We shall order."

For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, the
culinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the service
was as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius played
deftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian _viotars_, using his other two
hands for waiting on the table.

"We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen," Harvey
whispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in the
kitchen, attending to the next course. "He would make any society
hostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sum
to women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire."

"Think of a fast one fast," Joe agreed. "You're right."

"But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,"
complained Harvey. "I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honest
merchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimate
our check at a mere bucko twenty redsents."

The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion.

"It's been a great honor, gents," he said. "Ain't often I have
visitors, and I like the best, like you two gents."

As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe and
Harvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished in
a yelp of horror.

"What the devil is this?" he shouted.--"How do you arrive at this
fantastic, idiotic figure--_three hundred and twenty-eight buckos_!"

Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,
not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirty
fingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu.

Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty with
rage. The minute note read: "Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80
redsents."

"You can go to hell!" Joe growled. "We won't pay it!"

Johnson sighed ponderously. "I was afraid you'd act like that," he said
with regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it on
his vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. "Afraid I'll have to
ask the sheriff to take over."

Johnson, the "sheriff," collected the money, and Johnson, the
"restaurateur," pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign to
remain calm.

"My friend," he said to the mayor, and his tones took on a
schoolmasterish severity, "your long absence from Earth has perhaps
made you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered the
folk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is folly
to kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is pound
foolish.'"

"I don't get the connection," objected Johnson.

"Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you put
out of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantial
deal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer for
the peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds the
way you have--"

"Who said I wanted to sell him?" the mayor interrupted. He rubbed his
fingers together and asked disinterestedly: "What were you going to
offer, anyhow?"

"It doesn't matter any longer," Harvey said with elaborate
carelessness. "Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway."

"That's right," Johnson came back emphatically. "But what would your
offer have been which I would have turned down?"

"Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now?"

"Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable to
sell."

"Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money would
tempt you!"

"Nope. But how much did you say?"

"Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius!"

"Well, I'll tell you something," said the mayor confidentially. "When
you've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,
it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,
you can buy this and that and this and that and--"

"This and that," concluded Joe. "We'll give you five hundred buckos."

"Now, gents!" Johnson remonstrated. "Why, six hundred would hardly--"

"You haven't left us much money," Harvey put in.

The mayor frowned. "All right, we'll split the difference. Make it
five-fifty."

Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then he
stood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensively
acquired.

"I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature," he said to
Johnson. "I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only your
filial mammoth to keep you company."

"I sure will," Johnson confessed glumly. "I got pretty attached to
Genius, and I'm going to miss him something awful."

Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing off
the table almost all at once.

"My friend," he said, "we take your only solace, it is true, but in his
place we can offer something no less amazing and instructive."

The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. "What is it?" he
asked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at its
worst and expects nothing better.

"Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room of
the ship," Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: "You must see
the wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partner
will soon have it here for your astonishment."

Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. "Aw, Harv," he
protested, "do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we were
getting the key!"

"We must not be selfish, my boy," Harvey said nobly. "We have had our
chance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who might
have more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here."

Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out.

On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiosity
would probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting with
questions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. For
his part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoeba
until Joe came in, lugging a radio.

"Is that what you were talking about?" the mayor snorted. "What makes
you think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers and
political speech-makers."

"Do not jump to hasty conclusions," Harvey cautioned. "Another word,
and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,
with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventor
of this absolutely awe-inspiring device."

"I ain't in the market for a radio," Johnson said stubbornly.

Harvey nodded in relief. "We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.
He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue our
study, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to an
enormous fortune."

"Well, that's no plating off our bow," Joe grunted. "I'm glad he did
turn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three whole
years."

He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door.

"Now, hold on!" the mayor cried. "I ain't _saying_ I'll buy, but what
is it I'm turning down?"

Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His face
sorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet.

"To make a long story, Mr. Johnson," he said, "Joseph and I were among
the chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just before
his tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane." He
banged his fist on the bar. "I have said it before, and I repeat again,
that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredit
his greatest invention--this fourth dimensional radio!"

"This what?" Johnson blurted out.

"In simple terms," clarified Harvey, "the ingenious doctor discovered
that the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged by
energy of all quanta. There has never been any question that the
inhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized than
ourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge would
find himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science!"

The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar.

"And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension?"

"It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied Doctor
Dean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact."

The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and stared
thoughtfully at the battered cabinet.

"Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts," he
conceded. "But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks up
there wouldn't talk our language."

Again Harvey smashed his fist down. "Do you dare to repeat the scurvy
lie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide?"

Johnson recoiled. "No--no, _of course not_. I mean, being up here, I
naturally couldn't get all the details."

"Naturally," Harvey agreed, mollified. "I'm sorry I lost my temper.
But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcasts
emanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that be
so difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there was
communication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admired
our language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their own
hyper-scientific trimmings?"

"Why, I don't know," Johnson said in confusion.

"For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detect
the simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosed
broadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctor
failed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his could
stand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure to
solve the mystery caused him to take his own life."

Johnson winced. "Is that what you want to unload on me?"

"For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will be
rewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man who
could devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously a
person with unusual patience."

"Yeah," the mayor said grudgingly, "I ain't exactly flighty."

"Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem!"

Johnson asked skeptically: "How about a sample first?"

Harvey turned a knob on the face of the scarred radio. After several
squeals of spatial figures, a smooth voice began:

"There are omnious pleajes of moby-hailegs in sonmirand which,
howgraismon, are notch to be donfured miss ellasellabell in either or
both hagasanipaj, by all means. This does not refly, on the brother
man, nat or mizzafil saces are denuded by this ossifaligo...."

Harvey switched off the set determinedly.

"Wait a minute!" Johnson begged. "I almost got it then!"

"I dislike being commercial," said Harvey, "but this astounding device
still belongs to us. Would we not be foolish to let you discover the
clue before purchasing the right to do so?"

The mayor nodded indecisively, looking at the radio with agonized
longing. "How much do you want?" he asked unhappily.

"One thousand buckos, and no haggling. I am not in the mood."

Johnson opened his mouth to argue; then, seeing Harvey's set features,
paid with the worst possible grace.

"Don't you think we ought to tell him about the batteries, Harv?" Joe
asked.

"What about the batteries?" demanded Johnson with deadly calm.

"A very small matter," Harvey said airily. "You see, we have been
analyzing these broadcasts for three years. In that time, of course,
the batteries are bound to weaken. I estimate these should last not
less than one Terrestrial month, at the very least."

"What do I do then?"

Harvey shrugged. "Special batteries are required, which I see Joseph
has by chance brought along. For the batteries, the only ones of their
kind left in the system, I ask only what they cost--one hundred and
ninety-nine buckos, no more and, on the other hand, no less."

Johnson was breathing hard, and his hand hovered dangerously near his
gun. But he paid the amount Harvey wanted.

Moreover, he actually shook hands when the two panacea purveyors
collected their six-armed prize and said goodbye. Before they were
outside, however, he had turned on the radio and was listening tensely
to a woman's highly cultured, though rather angry voice, saying:

"Oh, you hannaforge are all beasa-taga-sanimort. If you rue amount it,
how do you respench a pure woman to ansver go-samak--"

"I'll get it!" they heard Johnson mutter.

Then the sound of giant feet crossing the barroom floor reached their
ears, and a shrill question: "What's that, Papa?"

"A fortune, Jed! Those fakers are damned fools, selling us a thing
like--"

Joe gazed at Harvey admiringly. "Another one sold? Harv, that spiel
pulls them in like an ether storm!"

Together with the remarkable planetoid man, they reached the ship.
Above them, dark, tumbling shapes blotted out the stars and silently
moved on. Joe opened the gangway door.

"Come on in, pal," he said to Genius. "We're shoving off."

The planetoid man grinned foolishly. "Can't go arong with you," he said
with an apologetic manner. "I rike to, but pressure fratten me out if I
go."

"What in solar blazes are you talking about?" Harvey asked.

"I grow up on pranetoid," Genius explained. "On big pranet, too much
pressure for me."

The two salesmen looked narrowly at each other.

"Did Johnson know that when he sold you?" Joe snarled.

"Oh, sure." The silly grin became wider than ever. "Peopre from Earth
buy me rots of times. I never reave pranetoid, though."

"Joseph," Harvey said ominously, "that slick colonist has put one over
upon us. What is our customary procedure in that event?"

"We tear him apart," Joe replied between his teeth.

"Not Mister Johnson," advised Genius. "Have gun and badge. He shoot you
first and then rock you up in prison."

Harvey paused, his ominous air vanishing. "True. There is also the
fact, Joseph, that when he discovers the scrambled rectifier in
the radio we sold him, he will have been paid back in full for his
regrettable dishonesty."

Unwillingly, Joe agreed. While Genius retreated to a safe distance,
they entered the ship and blasted off. Within a few minutes the
automatic steering pilot had maneuvered them above the plane of the
asteroid belt.

"I got kind of dizzy," Joe said, "there were so many deals back and
forth. How much did we make on the sucker?"

"A goodly amount, I wager," Harvey responded. He took out a pencil and
paper. "Medicine, 469.50; radio, 1,000; batteries, 199. Total--let's
see--1668 buckos and 50 redsents. A goodly sum, as I told you."

He emptied his pockets of money, spread it out on the astrogation table
and began counting. Finished, he looked up, troubled.

"How much did we have when we landed, Joseph?"

"Exactly 1668 buckos," Joe answered promptly.

"I can't understand it," said Harvey. "Instead of double our capital,
we now have only 1668 buckos and 50 redsents!"

Feverishly, he returned to his pencil and paper.

"Drinking water, 790; battery water, free; meal, 328; planetoid man,
550. Total: 1668 buckos!" He stared at the figures. "We paid out almost
as much as we took in," he said bitterly. "Despite our intensive
efforts, we made the absurd sum of fifty redsents."

"Why, the dirty crook!" Joe growled.

But after a few moments of sad reflection, Harvey became philosophical.
"Perhaps, Joseph, we are more fortunate than we realize. We were,
after all, completely in Johnson's power. The more I ponder, the more
I believe we were lucky to escape. And, anyhow, we did make fifty
redsents on the swindler. A moral victory, my boy."

Joe, who had been sunk desparingly into a chair, now stood up slowly
and asked: "Remember that bottle-opener we gave him?"

"Certainly," Harvey explained. "What about it?"

"How much did it cost us?"

Harvey's eyebrows puckered. Suddenly he started laughing. "You're
right, Joseph. We paid forty-six redsents for it on Venus. So, after
all that transacting of business, we made four redsents!"

"Four redsents, hell!" Joe snapped. "That was the sales tax!"

He glared; then a smile lifted his mouth. "You remember those yokels on
Mars' Flatlands, and the way they worshipped gold?"

"_Goldbricks!_" Harvey said succinctly.

Grinning, Joe set the robot-controls for Mars.


weeds as though they were never used. There is no sign of anyone about
either."

"Just notice those cabins," his chum exclaimed, "They look just
like the pictures I have seen of houses the first settlers used to
build during the Indian times. They are built of great logs and have
loopholes like the forts of those days. What a queer place!"

"Well, there's smoke coming from the chimney of that nearest cabin, and
there seems to be someone working out in the field by it," said Walter
with a sigh of relief. "I was beginning to think it was an abandoned
village."

The two bent their steps towards the cabin indicated. It was set in
a square clearing of about twenty acres, that was surrounded by a
strip of pine woods which separated it from its nearest neighbor. As
they drew nearer, they could see a man at work near the cabin. He was
ploughing up the ground with a rude plow hitched to a yoke of oxen.

As the boys stepped out of the road into the clearing, they were
greeted by savage barks, and a pack of dogs lolling around the cabin
woke into sudden life and came tearing towards them.

The man at the plough let go the handles and sprang into the cabin. The
next minute a rifle barrel protruded from one of the loopholes, "Halt
right where you-all is," called a voice from behind the rifle.

"Call off your dogs," shouted Charley, as he and Walter, snatching up a
couple of sticks, endeavored to keep the growling, snapping curs at bay.

"Who are you-alls an' what do you want?" demanded the holder of the
rifle.

"We were shipwrecked twenty-five miles up the coast. We want supplies
and help to bring in two companions, one of whom is badly hurt,"
answered Charley.

"Come closer an' let me have a good look at you-all," commanded the
cabin's occupant, "Here yu Bet, yu Tige, yu Jim, be still thar," he
called to the snarling pack which slunk growling away at his harsh
commands.

The boys drew near the cabin in obedience to his order. A brief survey
of them seemed to convince its owner that they were not what he feared.
The cabin door was flung open, and, rifle in hand, he appeared in the
doorway.

"Come in you-alls an' have a cheer," he invited. "I'll jis' unhitch
them oxen an' then, while I'm rustling up a bit of supper, you-alls can
give me your story."

The tired, hungry boys accepted his invitation with alacrity, and,
while he was busy unharnessing the yoke of steers, they seated
themselves in a couple of rude home-made chairs, and gazed curiously
about them.

The cabin was about twenty feet square. Its rough log walls were
whitewashed, and its pine-slab floor spotlessly clean. At one end
was a big old-fashioned fireplace from the rafters above which hung
home-cured hams, slabs of bacon, and strings of sausages. A barrel
in a corner was heaped high with huge, sweet, sugary yams. Several
boxes beside it were heaped with onions, cabbages, carrots, pumpkins,
and other vegetables. In another corner stood a barrel of home-ground
corn meal and a big hogshead of water. Taken all in all, the little
cabin's interior was a sight to fill the two hungry lads with satisfied
anticipation. They had hardly completed their survey of it when their
strange host entered latching and bolting the heavy door behind him.

He was a man about forty years of age, strongly built, but sallow
with the sallowness of the native Floridian. His face was kindly in
expression but stamped on its every line was a look of uneasiness and
apprehension. It was not an expression of fear but rather the look of
a brave man who was simply on his guard every moment against expected
dangers.

"I sho' have got to ask you-all to excuse me fur the way I dun greeted
you," he apologized, "but, you see, strangers are mighty scarse around
hyar an' one has to be plum' careful. I'se powerful glad to see a new
face though--it's been mighty nigh two years since I had talk with a
stranger. I reckon, you-alls must be some hungry. I'll rustle up a
little supper while you-all gives me your tale."

With a deftness that indicated long batching experience, he cut great
slices of ham and placed them to broil over the coals, mixed a pone
of corn bread and put it to bake in a Dutch oven, and buried a dozen
big yams to roast among the embers. While he was thus engaged, Charley
related the story of their voyage and shipwreck omitting only any
mention of the gold. His story was frequently interrupted by his host's
exclamations, "I swan, an' dew tell." When the lad had finished, the
stranger beamed upon him with evident pleasure. "I swan, hit's jis'
like a novel I read once," he declared, "hit was writ by a fellow
called Russell, Clark Russell, if I don't disremember his name. I don't
reckon his story was true though. I 'lows he just made it up outer his
head--but the vittals is ready now, you-alls jis' back up to the table
thar an' helps yourselves."

The hungry boys needed no second invitation but fell to work on the
tender juicy ham and sugary yams with hearty appetites while their host
as he ate, watched them with evident pleasure at their enjoyment. When
all had finished, he put away the dishes, filled his corn-cob pipe, and
leaned back in his chair against the wall.

"You-alls can't go back to whar yu left the captain an' the little
nigger to-night, noways," he observed.

"No," Charley agreed, "but we would like to start back early in the
morning if we can get a wagon or a boat."

"Thar ain't no fitten road for a wagon leading up the coast," observed
their host. "I owns that little sloop anchored down thar by the dock. I
reckon, you-alls could make out with her. I don't reckon them Wrights
would stop you-alls from going if they understood jis' how things
stood. I don't 'low they would be so pesky pisen mean as all that.
I'd like to go with you-alls an' see that ole captain an' that little
nigger, I sho' would."

"We would like to have you go with us," said Walter, eagerly. "Why
can't you?"

"'Cause I don't ever expect to leave this hyar cabin alive," said his
host, calmly.

The boys stared at him in uneasy astonishment.

"No, I ain't crazy," said the man quietly. "Hush, jis' lis'en' a bit."

A long prolonged growl came from one of the dogs outside. The man arose
and taking up his rifle stepped over to the loophole beckoning to the
lads to follow. The moon lit up the little clearing almost as light as
day. The dogs were moving around outside, sniffing and uttering low
growls.

The boys could see nothing unusual in the clearing but they felt a
sense of danger in the very air. Their host's eyes, more accustomed to
the surroundings than their own, evidently detected something ominous
in one of the shadows thrown out from the belt of pines. He thrust
the barrel of his rifle out through the loophole and the next instant
its sharp crack rent the stillness of the night. The lurking shadow
vanished amongst the pines with a whoop of defiance.

Their host pulled in his rifle, "A plum' miss," he said, disgustedly,
"Wall, the war is on for fair now. Better outen that light an' draw
your cheers up by the fire an' I'll tell you'alls about hit."

FOOTNOTE:

[A] This account of Judson is the description of a little West Florida
town as it actually has been, and is to-day. Nineteen of its scanty
population have died by a fierce war. The author has only changed the
first letter of the town's real name.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE FEUD.

"THAR ain't no call to keep watch at the loopholes," said their host
as the alarmed lads' glances kept wandering towards the dark openings.
"The dogs will tell we-alls if anyone tries to come near the cabin." He
leaned back in his chair in silence for a few minutes gazing into the
heart of the fire whose flickering rays lit up his bronzed, thoughtful,
kindly face.

"Hit all began years ago when I warn't but a little bit of a shaver,"
he began, quietly. "Judson was a right-prosperous, happy, contented,
little place, then. Thar was mighty nigh a hundred people living in
the town, an' in the woods nigh about hyar. Each family had hit's own
little cabin an' farm an' raised all hit's own living of meat, corn,
taters, an' sugar cane, an' each family had hit's patch of cotton
with which they bought what things they needed that they didn't raise
themselves. We had a right tidy little schoolhouse. I went to hit two
terms when I was a little shaver," he said with evident pride, "an'
I learned how to read an' write pretty well--the reading's been a
heap of company to me during the years since then. Each family had a
plenty to eat an' wear, an' thar warn't none that you could call real
poor people like I hearn tell you-alls have in the North. We used to
have dances and barbecues, an' picnics an' a right sociable time. The
town was started by two families, the Turners an' the Wrights--I'm
a Turner,--an' all the people about was kin to one or the other
family, which made everybody friendly and sociable with each other.
Hit was jis' a little Eden on earth, this place, 'till the serpent
came twisting an' crawlin' in. The devil must have sho' had a hand in
making some of the men folks believe that the Good Lord intended the
honest corn they raised for anything but food for man an' beast. Yes,
I reckon, hit sho' must have been ole Satan that made a few of the
Turners an' Wrights get together an' start a little whiskey still over
thar in the woods yonder. The womin folks was again hit from the start,
as, bless their hearts, they've always been again the cursed stuff. Hit
was Christmas week that the still was started goin', an' Christmas Eve
the ones running hit gave a big barbecue at the still to celebrate it.
Most everyone went, as they always did to doin's in the neighborhood.
Even my daddy an' two brothers, Ben an' Abe, went to see the fun as
they called hit, but mammy she was a good, religious woman, she staid
at home an' kept me with her. She would have liked to keep the other
boys with her too, but they had grown out of her control as boys
sometimes do." His bronzed face grew sadly thoughtful, as he continued,
"I recollect, I cried because I couldn't go too, but mother sang to me
an' tole me stories--mother was a powerful hand at telling the kind of
stories boys like an' I soon quit cryin' an' went to sleep quiet an'
happy with mother singing to me. Hit was the last time I ever heard
mammy sing. I reckon hit was 'bout midnight when a noise woke me up.
The door had been flung open--hit was never locked in them days--an'
father an' Abe came rushin' in. Father's face was white as a sheet
an' I'll never forget the look on mammy's face. Hit seemed as if she
knowed without a word from daddy what had happened. Thar was a curious
tremble in her voice as she asked, 'Whar's Ben?' At the sound of her
voice father broke down an' sobbed like a child. 'He's dead,' he cried.
'They've killed my boy Ben. Those Wrights have killed my boy Ben.'"

The man paused as the recollection of that terrible scene crowded his
mind, while the two lads looked at each other with sympathetic horror.

"No one seemed to know just how the trouble started," went on their
host, quietly. "All hands had taken a little too much liquor, there had
been a few hot words, a blow, an' Ben had keeled over with a knife in
his side. Then the fightin' started between the kin of both families,
an' daddy an' Abe had run home to git their guns. Sore at heart as
mammy was, she begged 'em not to shed no more blood but to leave it
to the cotes, for mammy, as I have said, was a religious woman. But
both Wrights and Turners came first from the mountains of Kentucky
whar man don't go to law again' man but settles his quarrels with his
rifle, An' so the blood-feud began. Thar was more than Ben killed that
night,--Wrights as well as Turners. When all had sobered up from the
liquor thar came a kind of lull or truce, but war always bruk out again
when either families got to drinkin'. They got Abe the followin' year,
but not 'fore he had shot a couple of Wrights. Hit was three years
afore they got father. Mother, she pined away an' died soon after they
got him. I think she was kinder glad to go, such things are wearin' on
a woman. An' so the killin's been goin' on ever since by spells when
the liquor gets to flowin'. I am the only Turner alive, now, though
thar's a few of my kin still scattered around hyar. I've been shot at
a powerful lot of times, but, I reckon, I've been lucky. Then too,
they ain't none of them hunted me so powerful hard, for I ain't took
no part in any of the killin's. I've shot a couple of times to scare
them away but not to kill. My own kin 'lows that I'm poor-spirited, but
somehow or other, I can't forget the look on mammy's face the night
Ben was killed. I don't want to be the cause of puttin' no such look
on any woman's face. I've knowed all these years though that my time
must come sooner or later. I heard to-day that the Wrights have got in
a lot of liquor from Tarpon Springs an' they are sayin' that the last
Turner has got to be wiped out of Judson. So, I got me in a store of
water an' grub an' fixed to lay low for awhile. I may be able to hold
out until their liquor is gone an' the danger is past, but I reckon hit
doan' make so powerful much of difference. They air plum' sho' to get
me sooner or later. Wall, that's the story, young fellows, hit's been
a right smart relief to have someone sympathetic to tell hit to. Don't
you worry none though. As soon as comes mornin' I'll hist a flag of
truce an' arrange to have you fellows let out peaceful. You can take
my boat an' go after your captain an' that little nigger, but I sho'
advise you not to stop hyar on youah way back. Keep right on to Tarpon
Springs. Some of my kin folks kin bring the sloop back from thar."

"You are very good," Charley exclaimed. "But tell me why you have never
left this awful place. There are hundreds of places where you could
have made as good a living and been free from dread and worry."

"Mammy's grave is out thar among them pines," said the man, simply,
"an' daddy's, an' Ben's, an' Abe's, then, atter all, this place is
home, no other place could be that."

"I see," said Charley, much abashed.

"I am proud to have met you, Mr. Turner," declared Walter, warmly. "I
think you are a noble man."

"No? I sho' reckon you is mistaken," said the man in surprise. "Me
noble? I reckon not. My own kin 'lows I'm mighty poor-spirited 'cause I
won't take no hand in the killin'."

"I don't care a cent what your kin says," began Walter, hotly, but he
was interrupted by the crack of a rifle, the whistle of a bullet, and
the howl of a dog outside.

His host winced as if the bullet had struck his own body. "They've
killed Bet," he cried. "Bet, what I raised from a little bit of puppy.
They hadn't ought to go an' shoot a poor defenceless, dumb animal, hit
ain't right. My God, be they goin' to kill all my poor faithful dawgs,"
he cried, as another shot rang out followed by another pitiless howl.

Rifle shot followed rifle shot while the man stood trembling with eyes
flashing as he listened to the whining of the animals outside. At last,
heedless of the bullets pattering against the logs, he flung the door
wide open and called to the hounds. They came crowding in, a whining,
mangy, ill-looking pack, but disreputable as they were, they had been
the man's only friends through his lonely years and the two lads
respected him for his act.

As soon as he had bolted the door again, he rummaged in a corner and
brought out three rifles. He handed one to each of the boys. "I reckon,
we'll have to watch at the loopholes now the dawgs air inside," he said
quietly. "You-alls can take the ones at the ends, I'll tend to the
sides. Be right careful 'bout standin' in front of 'em, a bullet might
pass through. An' don't shoot to kill if you can help it."

"An' his kin people call that man poor-spirited," whispered Walter in
wonder to his chum as they took up their positions.

CHAPTER XXX.

BESIEGED.

THE boys had little opportunity for conversation in their new rôle as
guards, being separated from each other by the length of the cabin.
Strange as was the position in which they found themselves, they felt
but little fear. The massive logs of which the cabin was constructed
bid defiance to the entry of a bullet, and neither of them could
believe that the affair would amount to more than a few shots being
fired at the building while the attacking party was under the influence
of the liquor they had drank. They believed that with the coming of
day the feudalists would disband and retire to their homes, while they
would be free to return to the rescue of their friends on the island.
Nevertheless, they were not going to take any chances in the duties as
sentinels. They stood well to one side of their loopholes and peeped
out at the little clearing plainly visible in the bright moonlight.

"I reckon they can't see to shot through the loopholes, but you-alls
want to keep youah bodies out of line with them," cautioned Mr. Turner.
"Hit mought be that a stray bullet would pass through one of them. An'
don't either of you young fellows fire 'less you jes' have to. You
doan't want to get mixed up in this hyar quarrel. If yu' jis' naturally
have to shoot, aim low an' give it to 'em in the laigs."

"There seems to be several of them gathering together at the edge of
the woods," called Charley anxiously. "Here they come straight for the
house!"

His host darted to his side. "They've got a long pole an' air aiming to
batter down the door," he announced. "Keep back, boys, an' let me do
the talking an' shootin', if thar's got to be any."

But the boys crowded close to his side, eager to view the coming
attack.

There were about a dozen men in the approaching party and they advanced
at a rapid trot, bearing between them a huge pine log.

"Halt whar you air," commanded Turner when they had approached to
within sixty feet of the house. "If you-alls come any closer meanin'
trouble, someone is goin' to get hurt."

There were enough of timid spirits in the party to cause a halt in the
advance.

"We're goin' to get youah hide this time, Bill Turner," shouted
the foremost of the gang, a big, heavily-whiskered man. "Hit's a
disgrace on us Wrights to have one of youah name livin' still in this
settlement. You're goin' to be done for this time."

"Now, I ain't done nothin' to you-alls in all these years," said Turner
quietly and argumentatively. "You ain't got no cause to come 'round
hectoring me."

"More shame for you," shouted the big man. "We're goin' to do you,
first, 'cause you're a Turner, second, 'cause you've been too
poor-spirited all these years to put up a man's fight."

"Pears lak hit needs a powerful lot of yu to do fo' one, lone,
mean-spirited critter," said Turner, mildly.

The big man stamped his foot with rage. "Hit don't take none but me,"
he roared. "Yu come out hyar an' we'll have it out, man to man."

"I ain't a-doubting you're courage, Jim Wright," returned the other,
slowly, "but I ain't aimin' to hurt no man 'less I have to. Besides, if
I did get the best of yu, all the rest of youah gang would come down on
me. Jes' keep away from my cabin, that's all I've got to say."

"Come on, boys," roared the leader. "He's too mean-spirited to hurt a
fly. He can't shoot all of us, anyway."

There was some hesitation, but his fellows, evidently, believed that
the man inside would not fire. Under the urging of their leader they
picked up the log and started on a run for the door.

But they quickly discovered their mistake. From the loophole shot
out quick jets of flame as the man inside worked the lever of his
Winchester. The log dropped unheeded to the ground as its bearers
broke for the cover of the woods. Some were not able to run but limped
away groaning with pain. After the fleeing ones strode the big leader,
cursing them for cowards and imploring them to return to the assault.

"I don't reckon I've hurt any one of them very much," Turner remarked,
as he slipped more shells into his rifle. "I jes' aimed for their
laigs."

"Thank God, it has all ended without loss of life," Charley said
earnestly, but his host shook his head.

"Hit ain't ended, hit's jes' begun, Jim Wright ain't one to be scart
out by a little lead. He don't know what fear is. If he can't get none
of 'em to come back with him, he'll come back alone. I wish you young
fellows were safe outer hyar, but it won't do for you to try to leave
now. Crazy drunk, like them fellows is, hit wouldn't be safe for you.
Maybe by morning they'll be sobered up enough to listen to reason."

In spite of his words, the boys were hopeful that the night would pass
off without further trouble, but they were soon undeceived. Half an
hour had not passed when the big leader emerged from the woods followed
by a half a dozen of his fellow feudalists.

His followers halted by the fallen log but he advanced boldly direct
for the loophole.

"Keep away, for Gawd's sake, keep away, Jim," Turner implored. "I don't
want to have to shoot you."

"Hit's you or me this time!" shouted the other, "The sun don't rise on
no living Turner in this town."

"Keep back," warned Turner, thrusting his rifle through the loophole,
but even in his desperate situation, the boys, crowded close beside
him, and could see that he aimed only at the legs of the advancing man.

Ruffian though he was, the other was not without brute courage. He
never paused in his advance. "Shoot," he shouted as he whipped out a
pistol, "Shoot, that's what I want yu to do."

The two reports came almost together, but the pistol shot was a
fraction of a second ahead of the other. Like a fire-swept weed Turner
crumpled to the floor, his rifle exploding as he fell.

The big man clapped one hand to his side and fell to the ground.

With the report of his rifle, his followers had grabbed up the log and
rushed for the door, but Charley had been quick to see the danger.
Snatching up the rifle from the fallen man, he fired at the moving
legs as fast as he could work the lever. The whistling lead was more
than the assaulters could stand. Three dropped their hold on the log
and limped hurriedly for cover while their fellows, deprived of their
aid, could no longer sustain the heavy timber, which sank again to the
ground while they hastened after their wounded companions.

The boys watched them in silence until they entered the woods then
Charley set down the rifle.

"I don't think they will be back right away again," he said. "Anyway,
we have got to risk a light. Perhaps Mr. Turner is not dead."

With hands that trembled with excitement Walter struck a match and lit
the lamp, then, the two boys lifted the prostrate man and laid him upon
the bed. "Keep watch at the loophole while I see if anything can be
done for him," Charley commanded.

The man's shirt was matted with blood and the lad did not attempt
to take it off, but cut it away with his sheath knife, exposing the
white chest in the center of which gapped a horrible hole. "He's badly
wounded," he announced after a careful examination of the wound.
"There's two holes, one in his chest and one in his side. I believe the
bullet struck a rib and glanced, coming out at his side. If so, he will
pull through if I can only stop the blood flowing. I'll have to keep
this lamp lit for awhile even it is risky. I'll be as quick as I can."

There was little in the rude cabin with which to do in such a case,
but the resourceful lad made the best of the situation, working with
feverish speed so as to be able to extinguish the lamp as soon as
possible. First, he washed out the wash basin thoroughly and filling it
with clean water from the barrel added to the water a generous handful
of salt. With this he washed the ugly-looking wound, then tearing into
pieces a fresh sheet he found lying on a shelf, he made a little wad
of rags with which, after soaking them in salt water, he plugged up
the gaping hole. Over this he bound wet strips of the sheet to hold it
securely in place. He was rewarded for his labor by seeing that the
flow of blood was quickly checked and soon ceased entirely. As soon as
he made certain of this, he extinguished the light and crept to his
chum's side.

"I think he will pull out all right," he announced. "He is unconscious
yet, and when he does come to he'll be very weak from loss of blood.
Have you seen any more of those fellows?"

"They're still in the woods around the clearing. Listen and you'll hear
their voices every now and then."

"Has the man who was shot moved any?"

"No, he lays just as he fell. I guess he's dead."

"It's a horrible affair," said Charley with a shudder. "I'll never
forget this night. It has put us in a bad fix. We can't leave here now,
and I don't like the way the wind is coming up. If there's a heavy
storm, the captain and Chris will be in danger, it wouldn't take a very
heavy sea to cover that marsh. Just listen how it's blowing."

Walter seemed not to hear what his chum was saying. He stood staring
out at the still figure stretched on the ground. "He hasn't moved, but
maybe he isn't dead," he said at last. "Perhaps, he is bleeding to
death and a little attention might save his life."

"You're right," Charley exclaimed. "We must bring him in."

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE ENEMIES.

IT was a risky thing to attempt. To venture outside would be to expose
themselves in the bright moonlight to the bullets of the feudalists,
but the two plucky lads never hesitated. The body lay not a dozen steps
from the cabin and it would not do to let his fellows approach that
close to the little fort. Either they must save him themselves, if he
was not already dead, or leave him to die alone in the night.

"We must be quick about it," Charley declared. "As soon as I unlatch
the door, we must run out, grab him by the shoulders, and drag him
in--he's too heavy to lift."

In this bold move fortune seemed to favor the lads. They got their
heavy burden to the door before a shot was fired and, then, the bullets
whistled harmlessly above their heads.

"We were lucky that time," Charley panted as he barred the door again.
"Now keep a sharp lookout. I'll have to light that lamp again."

"This fellow is not so very badly hurt," he announced, as soon as he
had examined his new patient. "The bullet has gone right through the
fleshy part of his shoulder. He will come out of it all right if the
wound is kept clean." In a few minutes he had washed and dressed the
wound as he had the other man's, then, putting out the light once more,
he rejoined his companion at the loophole. "Anything stirring?" he
inquired.

"No, I don't even hear their voices now. Perhaps they will not bother
us again to-night," Walter replied, hopefully.

"I am not worrying about them as much as I am this wind," said his chum
gloomily. "We are safe enough here so long as the grub and water holds
out, but, God knows how it is faring with Chris and the captain."

The gale was now howling and whistling around the little cabin with a
force to justify Charley's gloomy apprehension. The boys had to speak
loudly to make themselves heard above its uproar. They soon abandoned
all attempts at conversation and waited wearily and silently for
another assault from the feudalists and for the coming of day.

Either the ruffians had at last become over-powered by the liquor they
had drank or else they had decided to wait the coming of day, for they
did not again show themselves in the clearing. Day, however, came at
last, after what seemed to the exhausted lads an age of waiting.

As soon as it became light enough to see, Charley removed the bandages
from their stricken host and redressed his wound more carefully. "His
pulse is getting stronger and there is some color in his face," he
remarked to his chum. "I believe, I could bring him to, but I guess
it's best to let him lie unconscious as long as he can. He will suffer
enough when he does regain consciousness."

As soon as he finished with Turner, Charley turned to his other
patient who was beginning to move uneasily and show signs of returning
consciousness. While he was yet bathing his wound the man opened his
eyes.

"Gosh! how my shoulder hurts," he growled. "Be mighty careful how you
touch it, young fellow, or I'll skin you alive."

Charley set aside the basin of water and rising to his feet looked down
on the fellow with a face full of scorn.

"You great, big, drunken, cowardly murderer," he exclaimed. "It's a
pity that bullet didn't kill you. You are not fit to live on God's
green earth. You're shot when trying, with a crowd of your fellows, to
kill a lone, inoffensive man. Your friends don't think enough of you to
come back and get your carcass. We bring you in and care for you and
instead of thanks, your first words are a growl and a threat. You are a
cowardly, disgraceful cur,--that's what you are."

Astonished rage filled the man's face. "No man ever said words like
that to Jim Wright and lived," he gasped. He attempted to rise but was
too weak to gain his feet, and sank back with a groan.

"Oh, I guess you won't do any killing for a little while," sneered
Charley, whose anger was at white heat. "I've no doubt people have
been afraid to tell you the truth before, but you are going to hear
it for once in your life. I've no doubt with your strength and
disposition you've bullied everything until they are afraid to do
anything but flatter you, but, now you are going to take a dose of your
own medicine." Then, seating himself just out of reach of the man's
powerful arms, he proceeded to tell him what he thought of him in words
that stung with contempt and scorn. Then, as his anger subsided, he
repeated the story Turner had told him, contrasting Turner's quiet,
patient, peaceful heroism with the other's blood-thirstiness and
violence, with all the power of the earnestness he felt.

At first the man kept interrupting him with curses and abuse, but as
he went calmly on ignoring the interruptions the fellow lay quiet, his
face turned to the wall.

Once Charley stopped, thinking he might have fainted he lay so still,
but he spoke up gruffly.

"Did I kill him?"

"No, but it's not your fault that you didn't," the lad replied, curtly,
and went on with his arraignment. "I don't care a hang what you and
your cowardly fellows think," he concluded, "all decent people would
say that that poor fellow lying there is a brave hero while you are the
mean-spirited, cowardly one. And, now, if you'll lie quiet and keep
your mouth shut, I'll dress that wound. I hate to pollute my hands by
touching you, but it's got to be done."

The man lay quiet while the lad washed and bound up his wound. Charley
could see that his features were working convulsively, but whether from
rage or pain he could not determine.

As soon as his task was completed, Charley relieved his chum at the
loophole and Walter set about making coffee and cooking some breakfast.
They were both sadly in need of food and felt much better after they
had eaten. As soon as they had finished, Charley made his chum lie down
to take a nap, promising to call him, and lie down himself in a couple
of hours.

While Walter was asleep Turner came out of the deep swoon which had
followed his wound. He was weak and in terrible pain but in full
possession of his senses. It was evident that he was greatly bewildered
at the sight of his enemy lying helpless on the floor, and Charley
explained the situation to him in a few words.

"I sho' am glad I didn't kill him," said the sick man, thankfully. "I
jes' shot at his laigs, the gun must have gone off when I fell. I am
sho' sorry I hurt you so bad, Jim, I didn't aim for to do hit."

But Wright kept his face turned to the wall and answered not a word.

As the morning advanced Charley was much puzzled by the constant sound
of hammering coming from the woods near the clearing. It was evident
their enemies were preparing another surprise but he could not guess at
its nature.

All the morning long the hammering continued, then shortly before noon
there emerged from the woods an object which caused him at first, to
stare in bewildered surprise, and, then, as it drew nearer the cabin to
send him to shaking Walter, whom he had let sleep on.

"Wake up! Wake up!" he cried. "We have got to fight for our lives.
Those fellows have built a heavy breastwork on the front of a wagon and
are shoving it ahead of them up to the cabin."

"Young fellows! help me up and help me to that loophole," gruffly
commanded the wounded man on the floor. "Don't hesitate," he cried as
the lad was about to refuse the surprising command, "them fellows have
got a couple of sticks of dynamite in that cart an' if they get near
enough to throw it thar won't be enough left of this cabin to make a
good toothpick. We was aiming to use it last night if we couldn't get
Turner no other way."

Between them the two startled lads got the big fellow on his feet and
supported him to the loophole where he leaned against the logs, his
face twitching with the pain of his effort.

It was just in time, for the wagon with its burden of death was scarce
a hundred feet away when he shouted: "Stop where yer are, boys. Thar
ain't no call to throw any of that stuff."

"Is that you, Cap?" called one of the men. "Why, we 'lowed yer was
dead."

"An' I might have been for all of yu fellows, leaving me to die on the
ground like a poisoned dog."

He paused while a chorus of excuses came from the men behind the
breastwork.

"Well, I ain't dead, but it ain't no thanks to yu fellows," he went on
slowly and painfully. "Now, yu fellows jes' roll that wagon back whar
hit came from an' go home and behave yerselves. Yu fellows know me
an' know I'll do what I say. Hit's jes' come to me, an' hit's come in
a powerful rough way, that I've been powerful mean, pisen an' onery.
My eyes am sho' opened at last, an' I'm powerful ashamed of how I've
been carryin' on. But hit's all over now. From now on Bill Turner is
my friend, an' the man that lifts a finger again' him lifts it again'
me, an' me an' my close kin will make this place too hot to hold him.
That's all I've got to say. Now, go home."

Murmurs of astonishment arose from the men behind the wagon as they
slowly but obediently backed the wagon towards the woods. Over the face
of the wounded man on the bed stole a look of joy unspeakable.

The bewildered but delighted boys helped Wright back to his place on
the floor.

"I want to shake hands with you, Mr. Wright," said Charley, earnestly.
"I am afraid I talked pretty rough to you."

"I needed hit," said the other as he took the proffered hand. "Hit's a
pity, young fellow, that thar ain't more like yu down in this neck of
thar woods."

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE CASTAWAYS AGAIN.

LEAVING the boys safe from the danger that had threatened them, let us
return to the castaways whom we left confronted by that menace, the
most grewsome of all to shipwrecked sailors, the lack of water.

The sponger captain needed no explanation but the captain's simple
words to realize the terrible tortures and awful death that awaited
them all if help in some shape did not soon come to their rescue. His
bronzed face grew white beneath it's coat of tan.

"I am frightfully thirsty, already," he exclaimed, "Is there no way we
can reach the mainland. Thar's water in plenty thar."

"If we were birds or fish, we might get thar, I reckon," replied
Captain Westfield, "but, being as we are only human beings, I calculate
it ain't no way possible."

The Conch eyed the raging water that stretched between the little
island and the shore.

"A strong swimmer might make it," he observed, musingly. "I've swum
farther many a time but it was when I was in a sight better shape than
I am now."

"Yes, I reckon a right powerful swimmer might make it," assented the
captain, "but this little fellow and I are not equal to it, we'd never
reach the land."

"I believe I could do it even now," said the sponger calculatingly,
"but I won't desert yo' two Yo' saved my life an' I'd be worse than a
Greek to leave yo' here."

"If you can do it, go ahead, man," said the old sailor. "You can't do
us any good by staying. Better save your own life," but the Conch shook
his head sadly.

"My life ain't worth much, now," he said sadly. "My little ship's
gone, all my brave comrades drowned, an' everything I had in the world
lost. I've not much to live for now."

"Bosh, man," said the old sailor, "I reckon, thar's always something
for a man to live for as long as the Good Lord let him live. If thar
wasn't the Lord wouldn't let him live."

But the Conch was not to be comforted, the full extent of his loss was
beginning to make itself felt as he regained his strength and the full
possession of his senses after his terrible ordeal. He soon moved a
little apart from the two castaways, and, seating himself on the sand
buried his face in his hands. The two watchers could see the tears
trickling between his fingers and they turned away greatly moved at
that most impressive of sights, the grief of a strong man, ashamed of
displaying his tears. When they looked again he was on his knees and
his bowed head showed that he was praying. When he rejoined them, his
manner was filled with the calm and quietness of one who has found
peace for his afflictions.

"I see there is no wood here with which to build a raft," he observed.
"Things look pretty bad, but they say the darkest hour is just before
the dawn. We must take courage. Yo'r young friends may return with help
at any hour."

The captain shook his head sadly. "Something has happened to them or
they would have been back long ago. They cannot return now until the
storm is over."

"It cannot last much longer," declared the Conch, confidently. "It is
losing force now, I believe it will blow out by morning."

"Maybe, but it will take a long time for the sea to go down so a boat
can live in it, and, in the meantime we have no water."

"We must not give way to despair," said the Conch, who seemed like
another man after his devotions. "Let's dig another well right in the
midst of the island, perhaps we can get water fit to drink."

With but little hope the three fell to work and by noon had dug a hole
to water, but they had only their labor for their pains, the water
was salt, bitter, and undrinkable. Indeed their labor was worse than
fruitless for their exertions had greatly increased their thirst.

Chris kindled a fire and roasted some of the turtle meat and eggs, but
the castaways only partook of a few mouthfuls, as eating seemed but to
increase their thirst.

The Conch had lost his hat when wrecked and Chris, observing his bare
head, set about braiding him another hat from the green palmetto leaves.

The Sponger watched him with interest. "Do yo' think yo' could make a
water-tight mat of that stuff?" he enquired, eagerly.

"Golly! I reckon, dis nigger could," declared the little darkey. "I'se
done made baskets ob hit dat would hold water like a bucket."

"How long would it take yo' to make a mat four feet square?"

The little negro considered, "I guess I could do hit in a day."

"Then drop that hat business and get to work on hit. Work like yo'
never did before. There's a chance, jes' a chance, that it will be the
saving of us. Captain, there is work for us to do. Get the entrails out
of one of those turtle shells. Clean them out good, pack them full of
sand, and stretch them out in the sun to dry. I've got a plan in mind.
It may fail, but it's worth trying. Be careful not to break the skins."

It was evident from the man's manner that he was intensely in earnest
and the old sailor lost no time in asking idle questions but went
quickly to work at the task assigned him. In a short time he had
cleaned and washed out the turtle entrails and filling them with dry
sand stretched them out to dry in the hot sun. When thus prepared they
formed a kind of small hose some thirty feet in length.

While he was thus engaged, the Conch dragged the empty shell down to
the water and cleaned and washed it out thoroughly. Leaving it near
the water's edge, he collected and piled close beside it, a heap of
dry wood. Then he returned to where Chris was working and fell to
helping him by stripping and preparing the palmetto buds for the little
darkey's nimble fingers.

Just before sundown he carefully removed the sand from the dried
entrails and was in possession of a long, tough waterproof hose without
hole or break in it.

Night brought no cessation of the strange labor. A fire was kindled
beside the little darkey and he plaited on by its light while the
captain and the Conch kept him supplied with palmetto strips.

About midnight Chris held up his work with a weary sigh; "Hit's done,"
he announced.

"Now for the test," cried the Conch, trembling with excitement.

Taking the strong, flexible, green mat he hurried down to the turtle
shell which he had filled half full of sea water. Placing the mat
over the top of the shell, he bound it firmly in place with wisps of
palmetto leaves. Then, cutting a small hole in the center of the mat,
he inserted in it one end of the strange hose, packing wet sand around
it to make it air-tight. He next coiled down the hose in the edge of
the sea and placed the other end of it in the empty turtle shell. Then,
heaping wood around the mat-covered shell, he started a fire.

The Captain and Chris at last understood his plan. With his rude
contrivance, he was going to try to distill fresh water from salt after
the manner they do on big steamships with costly and complicated
apparatus. The steam from the heated water was supposed to escape from
the shell through the hose. In passing through it it would become
chilled when the hose was coiled down in the cold sea water and,
condensing into water again, reach the other shell fresh and free from
salt.

In theory the plan was perfect, but would the rude contrivance do the
work?

The three thirsty watchers fairly held their breath as they kept the
fire roaring around the shell and awaited results. At last tiny wisps
of steam began to trickle through the closely-woven mat. Tiny drops of
moisture were dropping from the end of the hose. These grew larger and
larger until at last a tiny stream of water trickled forth.

They danced and shouted for joy. "It works! It works!" they cried.

But thirsty though they were they had to possess their souls in
patience and wait for the process worked very slowly. All night they
staid by the shells keeping the fire going. Just at day-break the Conch
gave the command to put out the fire. In the other shell was several
gallons of clear, pure water. As soon as it had cooled sufficiently
they dipped it up with shells and drank greedily. It was slightly
bitter and tasteless but never did drink taste better to parched
throats. With the satisfying of their thirst, came hunger and they all
made a hearty meal off the roasted meat and eggs left from dinner.
Just as the sun arose they lay down to sleep completely exhausted but
with thankfulness to God in their hearts. Their greatest danger was
past. They had water and food in abundance, and the storm was slowly
but surely subsiding.

They slept through the long day, awakening only when the shades of
night began to fall. Then after satisfying their hunger and thirst,
they lay down and slept until morning came.

They opened their eyes upon a clear, still day. The storm had gone and
the sea was growing calm. Far to the South there showed on the blue
water a tiny patch of white,--a sail.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE RESCUE.

THE castaways watched the distant sail with mingled feelings of joy and
suspense. Was it the boys, or was it merely a strange craft beating up
the coast? Would it pass near the island or would it go by too far out
for them to make their presence known? These were the questions they
debated as they strained their eyes on the distant patch of white.

One thing soon became evident to the eager watchers, the sail was
steadily growing larger. Although the storm had passed and the sea
subsided there was still a brisk breeze blowing and each passing hour
brought the stranger craft visibly nearer. No thought of breakfast
entered the castaways' minds, all their attention was fixed on the
approaching sail.

At last it became evident that the vessel was a small sloop, that it
was headed directly for the island and that it was rolling and pitching
frightfully in the still heavy seas.

On it came, plunging and tossing like a frightened steed and sending
showers of spray from its cut water. At last it was close enough to
discover two figures on its decks, one at the wheel, the other forward,
tending the jib sheet.

"Hit's Massa Charley and Massa Walter," shouted the sharp-eyed Chris.
"Praise de Lawd, Praise de Lawd," and his over-joyed companions shouted
a fervent "Amen."

The sloop came steadily on, passing the island and rounding up under
its lee as near as its young captain dared to approach. Anchor was
dropped, sails lowered, and launching a small boat it carried on deck,
its crew of two came sculling for the shore.

And what a demonstration of joy there was when it grounded on the sands
and the chums so long separated and so long beset with perils were
once more reunited. Such hand-wringings and congratulations, and eager
questions and chorused answers. All happy. All excited. All talking at
once, and no one making himself thoroughly understood in the general
clamor.

But Charley soon interrupted the talk-feast. "We will be here all day
at this rate," he said, laughing. "We had better get on board and get
under way. That sloop is pretty old and cranky for these waters and
we'd better get back as soon as we can for fear another squall will
come up. We can tell our stories on the way."

The suggestion was wise and as none cared to linger long on the
dreary little island which had been the scene of so much anxiety and
suffering, there was no delay in carrying it out. All climbed into the
little boat and were carried out to the sloop. Her sails were hoisted,
her anchor weighed, and her bowsprit headed South for Tarpon. Down in
the sloop's cabin the castaways found a hot meal of ham, eggs, potatoes
and coffee waiting for them, which Walter had prepared as a pleasant
surprise. In their excitement they had forgotten they were hungry, but
they remembered it now and fell upon the tasty food with appetites that
only left bare dishes when satisfied, at last. The boys had brought a
pile of clothing with them, and after a wash-down in cool sea water,
the castaways threw away their soiled, tattered garments, and, fed,
washed, and freshly clothed, felt like new men.

The Captain's eyes danced with joy when Walter presented him with a
pipe and tobacco he had brought with him.

Later all gathered around the wheel and stories and experiences were
exchanged, but the reader is already familiar with the most of them.

"Even after the trouble was all over we couldn't get away at once,"
Charley said, concluding his tale. "I can tell you we were worried to
have to lay around and wait for the storm to pass, knowing that you and
Chris must be in danger on the island. The people were awfully good to
us after the feud was ended. They could not do enough for us. They even
wanted to give us money, but of course we couldn't take that. As soon
as the wind went down we borrowed this boat of Mr. Turner and started
out. We are to leave her at Tarpon and he will get her from there."

"Well, all's well that ends well, I reckon," said the captain, puffing
in supreme content. "We are safe an' well now an' while we ain't got
much money, we will have the 'Beauty' as soon as she comes into port,
an' she's jes' the same as two thousand dollars in the bank."

"And we will have another try for that gold when we get her," Charley
declared. "I figure that those fellows had to cast loose during the
storm and scud before it. They could not ride it out at anchor. Now
that the buoy's gone, it will take them a long time to locate the gold
again. We, knowing the latitude and longitude can get back to the spot
before they can find it and get all the gold removed, if we can get a
revenue cutter at Tarpon, as I think we can."

The Captain's face was filled with dismay. "I've clean forgot the
figures, boys," he exclaimed. "I put it down in the log all ship-shape,
the latitude and longitude, but I've clean forgot what it was. I ain't
got no memory for figures."

It was a heavy blow for the golden-hopes of the two boys and a silence
of disappointment followed the old sailor's announcement.

"It's no use crying over spilt milk," said Charley, at last,
cheerfully. "We have still got the schooner, and, with the money we get
from her, we can make a good start at something else."

"You have still good cause for rejoicing," observed the sponger
captain. "You will still have your vessel, but I have lost my all."

The two chums were not the boys to give way to repining and they were
soon again as bright and cheerful spirits as if their brightest hopes
had been realized.

It was midnight when the little sloop at last crept into the harbor of
Tarpon. It was useless to go ashore at such an hour so the little party
made everything snug aboard and turned in on deck for a few hours'
sleep.

They were up early next morning, and, after a hasty breakfast, hurried
ashore to notify the Commissioner of their arrival and get him to take
steps for the seizure of the "Beauty" as soon as she reached port.

Mr. Driver was standing out in front of his store as they came up the
street. Amazement and incredulity filled his face when he sighted them.

"You!" he cried, "Why, I thought you were all at the bottom of the
Gulf."

"No, we are slightly disfigured but still in the ring," laughed Charley
as he shook hands. "Our schooner has not come in yet, has she?"

Mr. Driver stared at him for a second. "There's a mystery here," he
declared. "Come on into the store, and let's hear your story."

Seated in the store's little back room, Charley recounted their
adventures while Mr. Driver listened attentively. When he had
concluded, Mr. Driver remained silent for a moment.

"I hate to be the teller of bad news," he said, at last, "but you must
learn it, and it had better come from a friend. Your schooner is lost
with all hands on board."

"Lost!" cried all together.

"Yes, she went down at anchor during the storm. The Greek sponger
'Zenephone' was passing when she went under. Not a man was saved.
Every one on the 'Zenephone' wondered why she did not scud before it
instead of hanging to her anchor. I understand now. They did not want
to leave the neighborhood of the gold."

It was a heavy blow. At one sweep they were robbed of their all. The
little band of chums sat paralyzed with grief, looking helplessly at
each other. Mr. Driver arose quietly and closed the door softly behind
him, leaving them alone with their grief.

For a few moments no one spoke. "It's hard, but it must be met," sighed
Walter at last. "What are we going to do? We have nothing left now, not
even the clothes we wear."

"God knows," answered Charley, hopelessly, at a loss for once. "I
suppose we will have to hunt work at something or other."

"And likely be scattered and separated for the first time in years,"
exclaimed the captain.

"That's the worst of it," agreed Walter, sadly. "I don't mind working
but I hate for us all to have to drift apart."

"Me too," wailed Chris. "Golly! I don't want to be with no one but
you-alls."

"I don't believe the 'Beauty' is lost," Charley declared. "I believe
this is just another of Manuel's tricks. He is as sharp a rascal as
ever lived. I'll bet she is safe and sound somewhere and that Manuel
just bought the Greeks on the 'Zenephone' to tell that story."

"Maybe," admitted the captain, doubtfully. "The story rings true,
though. It would have been likely for them to hang to their anchor by
the gold."

"And it would be just the kind of details Manuel would think of,
knowing we would be more likely to believe the story if we escaped
alive. He is an artist at rascality."

"Even if you're right, I reckon it won't help us much," said the old
sailor. "The story's tied our hands all right. The Commissioner won't
do anything just on our suspicions, an' we ain't got any money to do
anything ourselves."

"I feel that Charley is right," Walter declared, "but we've got only
one chance to prove it. Get to work, get some money and hire a Greek
detective to look into the matter for us. The first question is, what
can we do to earn money?"

They were engaged in a fruitless discussion on this point when Mr.
Driver entered. He heard their discussion with sympathetic interest.

"There is no work around here," he declared. "The Greeks work cheaper
than an American can. It's hard for an American to earn a bare living
here. I understand from what you say that you do not want to be
separated. I might find work for one of you, but I couldn't for all.
There is only one suggestion I can make in such a case."

"Please give it to us," Walter requested.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CONCLUSION.

"WELL," said Mr. Driver, "there is a large fish-house at Clearwater,
twenty miles below here. You probably could get a job fishing for it.
You could all work together then. It is hard, dirty work but there is
pretty good money in it if a man works hard."

The chums exchanged glances.

"I believe we will try it," Charley said. "Of course we will have to
talk it over before we decide, but there does not seem to be anything
else we can do."

"Very well," said Mr. Driver, "I'll give you a letter to the fish boss,
I know him personally. And you'll need a little money to pay your fares
there. You can return it when you get to earning."

The chums thanked the kind-hearted storekeeper for his advice and
assistance and adjourned to the sidewalk where they discussed the
matter earnestly. It did not take them long to decide to follow Mr.
Driver's suggestion. They bid good-bye to the sponger captain, who
decided to remain in Tarpon and try to get service on one of Mr.
Williams' schooners, and, accepting the loan of ten dollars, which Mr.
Driver pressed upon them, they boarded the first train going South and
soon landed in the little town of Clearwater. And there, we must leave
them for the present.

THE END.

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired. The original text had no table of
contents. One was created to aid the reader. Chapter I is untitled.

Page 3, "tatooed" changed to "tattooed" (tattooed arms and rolling)

Page 10, two lines were transposed. The original read:

    shouted, as the smiling Greek shrugged his shoul-
    up with the money by to-morrow night I'll close up
    ders. "You know what I say. If you don't come
    this place and have you prosecuted for obtaining

Page 14, "hundreth" changed "hundredth" (a hundredth part of)

Page 43, "alloted" changed to "allotted" (allotted to their boat)

Page 62, "along" changed to "alone" (worse than being alone)

Page 74, repeated word "see" removed from text Original read: (I don't
see see what his object)

Page 78, "Manual" changed to "Manuel" (Manuel approached Captain)

Page 85, "blow" changed to "below" (been below for only)

Page 89, "exclaimation" changed to "exclamation" (an exclamation of
surprise)

Page 93, "captian" changed to "captain" (the captain declared)

Page 100, "gapping" changed to "gaping" (gaping hole in her)

Page 101, "was" changed to "were" (There were no)

Page 102, "that" changed to "than" (time than it has)

Page 105, "aim" changed to "air" (working the air pump)

Page 109, "baton" changed to "beaten" (Greeks had been badly beaten)

Page 128, "averge" changed to "average" (better than average marksmen)

Page 164, "squaking" changed "squawking" (marsh hens, the squawking)

Page 190, "minues" changed to "minutes" (in a few minutes he)

Page 203, "taveling" changed to "traveling" (further traveling
dangerous)

Page 231, repeated word "is" removed from text. Original read: (awhile
even it is is risky)

Page 231, "gapping" changed to "gaping" (up the gaping hole)