was set, and every light air cloth that could catch a puff of air. The
slanting sun rays glittered on her white paint and glossy varnish,
struck flashing on bits of polished brass. She looked her name, the
_Gull_, a thing of exceeding grace and beauty, gliding soundlessly
across a sun-shimmering sea. But she represented only a menace to the
man and woman in the fish-soiled sloop.

The man's face darkened as he watched the distance lessen between the
two craft. He reached under a locker and drew out a rifle. The girl's
high pinkish color fled. She caught him by the arm.

"Donald, Donald," she said breathlessly, "there's not to be any
fighting."

"Am I to let them lay alongside, hand you aboard, and then sail back to
Maple Point, laughing at us for soft and simple fools?" he said quietly.
"They can't take you from me so easily as that. There are only three of
them aboard. I won't hurt them unless they force me to it, but I'm not
so chicken-hearted as to let them have things all their own way.
Sometimes a man _must_ fight, Bessie."

"You don't know my father," the girl whimpered. "Nor grandpa. He's
there. I can see his white beard. They'll kill you, Donald, if you
oppose them. You mustn't do that. It is better that I should go back
quietly than that there should be blood spilled over me."

"But I'm not intending to slaughter them," the man said soberly. "If I
warn them off and they board me like a bunch of pirates, then--then it
will be their lookout. Do you want to go back, Bessie? Are you doubtful
about your bargain already?"