She was not pretty--she was too tall for that--quite as tall as
Wilbur himself, and her skeleton was too massive. Her face was
red, and the glint of blue ice was in her eyes. Her eyelashes and
eyebrows, as well as the almost imperceptible down that edged her
cheek when she turned against the light, were blond almost to
whiteness. What beauty she had was of the fine, hardy Norse type.
Her hands were red and hard, and even beneath the coarse sleeve of
the oilskin coat one could infer that the biceps and deltoids were
large and powerful. She was coarse-fibred, no doubt, mentally as
well as physically, but her coarseness, so Wilbur guessed, would
prove to be the coarseness of a primitive rather than of a
degenerate character.

One thing he saw clearly during the few moments of the dory's trip
between bark and schooner--the fact that his charge was a woman
must be kept from Captain Kitchell. Wilbur knew his man by now.
It could be done. Kitchell and he would take the "Lady Letty"
into the nearest port as soon as possible. The deception would
have to be maintained only for a day or two.

He left the girl on board the schooner and returned to the
derelict with the axes. He found Kitchell on the house, just
returned from a hasty survey of the prize.

"She's a daisy," vociferated the Captain, as Wilbur came aboard.
"I've been havin' a look 'round. She's brand-new. See the date
on the capst'n-head? Christiania is her hailin' port--built there;
but it's her papers I'm after. Then we'll know where we're at.
How's the kid?"