“Anyone would think to hear you that you are a chap whose life is protected by a charm,” he sneered. “I believe I have passed through too many dangers to have my life snuffed out down here in this part of the world, by such a miserable, worthless creature as you.” “Be careful!” snarled Flynn, rising. “Better keep that tongue still.” Frank laughed. It was the old reckless laugh that often came from his lips in times of danger. He did not quail in the least before the threatening man, and the scorn that blazed from his eyes was withering. “My tongue is my own, and it gives me great satisfaction to be able to use it to tell you just what a miserable cur you are. You are a thorough coward at heart, and you know it. It was a mistake that you were created in the form of a man. You should have been a snake to crawl along the ground.” With a fierce cry, Flynn struck Merry’s mouth with his clinched fist, cutting Frank’s lips and causing them to bleed a bit. And Frank laughed again! “That proves my words true!” he exclaimed, and Flynn shrank away, awed at last by the display of fearlessness. Snarling like a dog, the man rushed out of the cabin, leaving Frank alone. And the _White Wings_ raced through the night toward the open sea. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XVI CAST ADRIFT. “Good-by, Frank Merriwell!” Flynn was leaning over the stern of the _White Wings_, which was tossing on the heavy seas, and looked down into the small boat where Frank, still bound, had been cast. At the last moment, Walter Wallace had rebelled and tried to prevent Flynn from carrying out his plan. He had been silenced by a blow that knocked him flat upon the deck. Steve, the sailor, had taken no hand in the work, but Flynn had carried it out alone, and now he was preparing to set the small boat adrift. At times the clouds scudding across the sky broke and showed a few half-smothered stars. Somehow, even when no stars could be seen, it was not intensely dark on the face of the troubled water, which seemed to give out a light of its own. But it was a bad night, and everything seemed to indicate that a storm was approaching. The wind howled and the sea made a rushing sound. In the distance it could be heard thundering on The Horses. “Come!” growled the sailor at the wheel; “be lively there, Flynn. We’ve got to git in somewhere before long. This ain’t no place for us to-night.” “Good-by, Frank Merriwell!” repeated the man who leaned over the stern, holding the painter of the small boat in his hands. “You’ll go out to sea, and that boat will swamp long before morning. This is the last of you.” “You think so,” said Frank, his voice steady and firm, “but I tell you again that I’ll live to see you punished for this dastardly work. If you want to make a sure job of this, you had better finish me now before you set the boat adrift.”