"Where's the dingey, Peterson?" I called, as he came up, grinning.

"Coming in," said he; and forsooth that water-rat, Willy, made a

better landing of it than any of us, and calmly helped us now to haul

the heavy motor skiff up the beach, a few feet at a time as the waves

thrust it forward.

"Thank God!" I heard Helena exclaim. "Oh, thank God! We're safe, we're

all safe, after all."

I looked at my little group for a time, all soaked to the skin, all

huddled now close together. Peterson, Williams, Willy--all the crew,

yes. Auntie Lucinda and the woman who had called me a coward--the two

captives, yes, Jean Lafitte and Henri L'Olonnois and myself, Black

Bart--all the ship's owners. What lacked? For a moment I could not

tell why I had the vague feeling that something or some one was

missing.

"Willy," said I at last, "where's John, the cook?"

"Why, I don't know," said Willy. "Didn't he come with you?"




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