"Three hundred! We've some passengers who must get to a certain place at a particular time, and they can't do it unless we can land 'em before daylight to-morrow. Say four hundred!" "That sloop isn't for sale." "Wouldn't you take five hundred for her?" "No; nor a thousand!" Jim's jaws came together. Back in his brain was forming a suspicion of these fishermen who raised their bid so glibly. Why were they so eager to reach the mainland that night, and why did the twenty have no voice in the discussion? He scrutinized them searchingly. "What are you staring at?" demanded the man, angrily. Jim did not reply. Percy passed by on his way to the cabin. He had been using his eyes to good advantage. He nudged Jim. "Those fellows are Chinamen," he whispered. "I've seen too many of 'em to be mistaken." His words crystallized Jim's suspicions into certainty. The whole thing was plain now. The crew of the _Clementine Briggs_ (if, indeed, that was her name) were no fishermen, but smugglers of Chinese! He remembered a recent magazine article on the breaking of the immigration laws. Chinamen would cross the Pacific to Vancouver, paying the Dominion head-tax, and thus gaining admission into Canada. A society, organized for the purpose, would take them in charge, teach them a few ordinary English phrases, transport them to New Brunswick, and slip them aboard some fast schooner. The captain of this vessel would receive three hundred dollars a head for landing his passengers safely here and there at lonely points on the New England coast, whence they could make their way undetected to their friends in the large cities. Thus were the exclusion laws of the United States set at naught. The destruction of the schooner had made it necessary for her passengers to be landed somewhere as secretly and as quickly as possible. Twenty men at three hundred dollars a head meant six thousand dollars. That explained the anxiety of the six white men to reach the mainland that night. They were criminals, breaking their country's laws for money. Jim decided that they should never make use of the _Barracouta_. The spokesman dropped his conciliatory mask and turned away defiantly. "All right, young fellow! You've had your say; now we'll have ours." "Throppy," said Jim in a low tone to Stevens, who was standing with Lane beside him, "these men are smugglers. Call the cutter!" He had time for nothing more. As Stevens slipped quietly back into the cabin there was an angry outburst among the group on the beach. "I've done my best, Cap," protested a voice. "He won't listen to reason. Now take that rag off your face and handle this thing yourself. It's up to you." There was a sudden rush of enraged men toward Lane and Spurling. As they came, two wrenched the handkerchiefs from their faces, revealing to the astounded boys the features of the would-be sheep-thieves of the first of the summer, Dolph and Captain Bart Brittler!