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have befallen him, and likely enough it was the blow of the gun that killed him. But the Old One was roused to such a pitch of wrath at being balked of his revenge that he was like a wild beast in his fury.

Quicker than thought, he turned on the man who had pushed against him, and reaching for the coffin that was made to Will’s measure — a great, heavy box it was! — raised it high and flung it at the fellow.

It gashed the man’s forehead and fell over the side and floated away, and the man himself, with a string of oaths, clapped his hand to the wound, whence the blood trickled out between his fingers.

“Swine! Ass!" the Old One snarled. ‘‘I was of a mind to lay thee in Will Canty’s bed. But let the coffin go. Th’ art not worthy of it.” The boat grated on white sand, and leaping to his feet the Old One cried with a high laugh as he marked his victim’s fear, ‘‘Get thee gone! If ever I see thy face again, I will slit thy throat from ear to ear.”

"Nay, nay, do not send me away! Do not send me away!” the man wailed. “O God! No, not that! I shall perish of Indians and Spaniards! The wild beasts will devour me. Nay! Nay!”

The Old One smiled and reached for a musket, and the poor fellow, his face streaked with gore, was overcome by the greater terror and fled away under the palms. No shot was fired and neither knife nor sword was drawn ere the echo of the fellow’s wailing died into silence; but the Old One then fired a single shot after him, which evoked a last scream.

“Come, Martin, take the scoundrel’s oar," quoth the Old One, and he turned the head of the boat to sea.

They said little and were glad to row briskly out to