Behind him the girl’s head rose, gleaming first in the sun, then--as she found Miles--with an inward and more vital splendor. They did not speak, or need to; for in one bright instant of surprise each saw the other restored and exalted. Behind her, in turn, came huddling upward the faces of the men, some red, some pale, but all wide-eyed, gaping, and contorted, like faces of hunters at the mouth of a lair. “What in--Where’s he gone?” they shouted. “Got away,” called Miles. “Down a rope, and pulled it after!” The crowding heads ducked in a single impulse, the fury of the chase. “Down ag’in, boys! Out from under, there! Git along!” roared the voices; and below them, a seafaring bass, bawling in the deaf ears of Lazy-Hab, “Slid down a rope! Ketch him yit!” Slow and inquisitive, the teamster moved toward the window, leaned in the open section, and then suddenly turned, with a grin. “Look a-here, Mile,” he said, pointing a stubby finger. Far below, the sailor was racing straight down the beach. His red stockings twinkled as he leaped the rocks, scurried over the wet sand, and, running out knee-deep, fell forward with a great splash. His arm flailed the water in desperate over-hand strokes; his head became the black point in a widening arrow-head of ripples. “Let ’im go,” said Old-Hab stolidly. “We done our part. Good riddance, bad rubbage.” But Miles had turned. “They’ll fire at him,” he said, and clattered down the stairs. Shouts and curses rose to meet him, and outrageous blows set the tower resounding like a drum. Penned at the foot of the stairway, the men were battering the door with boot and gun-butt. And then for the first time, Miles, half laughing, half indignant, saw how the sailor had used him for the trick. These honest mad-caps had rushed in to his rescue; and fairly on the heels of the hindmost, Tony had reached in, stolen out the key, and locked the door. For a long time it held solidly, while they clamored and pounded. Forming a little phalanx, all hands, they flung at it together; again and again it held, and they fell back, rubbing sore shoulders; till at last hinge or casing crashed, splinters flew, and the captives tumbled through into the sunshine, with an impetus that sent Lazy-Hab rolling on the grass. “We’ll see!” he cried ferociously, and, bouncing up, ran round the base of the tower. The others streamed after. On a bare ledge of pink granite, all stood at fault, scanning the empty shore. Then Lazy-Hab, with a short, harsh sound of merriment, pointed calmly. Out in a steel-bright strip of water, a black disc, smaller than the tip of a buoy, bobbed with living regularity. “Long shot,” he chuckled, “but I’ve hit the kag on the beacon, furder.” He had swung up his gun, when Miles, breaking through the group, wrenched it from his hands. “Wha’ d’ ye mean?” bellowed the marksman, raging. “You let a foreign murd’rer--”