"The divil fly away wid the law!" cried the skipper. "I bes skipper
here! I makes the law for this harbor--an' them as don't like the laws I
makes kin go somewheres else."

"Leave him be, skipper. That bes what I tells ye, for yer own good.
Don't kill him. Ye kin break up desarted wracks; ye kin fill yer pockets
wid gold; ye kin bat yer mates over the nob if ye wants to; but once ye
gets to killin' men, Denny Nolan, then ye'll find the law to yer back
sure enough, a-fixin' a noose around yer neck! Aye, lad, that bes the
truth! I warns ye because I likes ye--an' I bes glad to see ye so
prosperous."




CHAPTER X

MARY KAVANAGH


A number of men with sore heads and dry mouths made their way to the top
of the cliff, across the barrens and into a thin belt of spruces. There
they worked as well as they could at cutting timber for Father McQueen's
church. They were a dolorous company. The daring spirit of mutiny had
passed away, leaving behind it the fear of the skipper. The courage,
uplift and inspiring glow of the brandy had ebbed and evaporated,
leaving the quaking stomach, the swimming brain, the misty eye. They
groaned as they hacked at the trees, for the desire to lie down on the
cold snow was heavy upon them; but still they hacked away, for the fear