There was sure to be a watcher in the “tail-house,” if the stills were at work, to mark the runs of oil; and Starbuck walked more slowly. But his steps were muffled in the drifts of snow; moreover, he was close by the blower, and the rapid whirling of the iron fans would drown all other noise. When he got to the steps that led to the door of the tail-house, there were fresh foot-prints in the snow; and he ascended cautiously until his head was at the level of the window and then looked in. The light inside came from a small tubular stove of ridged iron, white-hot; and by its comfortable warmth a man sat in an old armchair, his head upon his breast, asleep. Starbuck studied his features for a few seconds and then opened the door and entered. “Who is it?” cried the man, starting up. “It’s only I, Ned,” answered Starbuck. “Don’t be so nervous.” “Oh, is that all,” returned the other. “I was afraid it might be some feller come to do a mischief,” he added, with a grin. “I wanted to make sure it was your watch,” said James. “You don’t keep a good one--if anything happens to-night I shall have to report you.” “The h--l you will,” laughed the other. “I’m pretty sure I heard a boat land, down by the end of the pier.” “No?” said the other. “I did indeed,” added Starbuck. “I wish you’d go down and see. I got rumors of a plot in town, and came over to warn you.” “No?” said the other, again. “Did ye though? And suppose I’m kilt--I’m to come back and tell yer, I suppose? Why don’t you come along yourself?” “I want to take a turn by the spraying-house first,” answered James. “I’ll join you there in a minute--on the wharf, I mean.” And as he spoke, Starbuck left the little cabin and went down the steps. “It ’ud be awk’ard if any fellow were to happen in here while we’re both gone, wouldn’t it?” he called out; but Starbuck was already out of hearing, threading his way through the darkness to the spraying-house; the fountain not playing now, at night, when there was no sun to brighten it, and the great well of oil lying still and sleeping, warmed by the steam-pipes that were coiled, like warm-blooded serpents, in its depths. The man called Ned watched him go, the grin that had accompanied his last remark quickly fading on his face; then, wrapping his overcoats around him, he, too, went out and walked away with rapid steps through the dark yard. * * * * *