"Not a doubt of it! Brittler and Dolph stayed below, afraid we might recognize 'em. They didn't see our faces that night, so they don't know how we look; but they tried to make me talk enough so that they might recognize my voice. Guess that lookout's not so deaf as he pretended to be! Once Brittler felt sure who it was, he gave orders to the wheelman to run over us. He'd have done it, too, if I hadn't seen the schooner's bow start swinging the wrong way." The _Cassie J._ slowly outdistanced the sloop. By the time the stranger was a quarter-mile off six or seven men had appeared on her deck. "Feel it's safe for 'em to come up now," commented Spurling. "Wonder what they're cruising along the coast for, anyway! Something easier and more crooked than fishing, I guess! Here's hoping they steer clear of Tarpaulin!" At dinner that noon the boys related their narrow escape to the others, and all agreed it would be well to keep a sharp lookout for Brittler and his gang. "They've got a grudge against us, fast enough," said Lane. "They intend to even matters up if they can find the chance." That afternoon Percy again wielded the splitting-knife. "You'll soon get the knack of it," approved Jim. "Don't pitch in too hard at first. Later on, after you grow used to it, you can work twice as fast, and it won't tire you half so much." In dressing a fifteen-pound hake Percy came upon a mass of feathers in the stomach. He was about to throw them aside, when a silvery glint caught his eye. "What's that?" he exclaimed. Rinsing the mass in a pail of water, he picked from it the foot of a bird; round its slender ankle was a little band of German silver or aluminum, bearing the inscription, "U43719." He held it up for the others to inspect. "That's the foot of a carrier-pigeon!" said Throppy. "I know a fellow at home who makes a specialty of raising 'em. The bird that owned this foot was taking a message to somebody. Perhaps he was shot; or he may have become tired, lost his way, and fallen into the water, and the hake got him." They looked at the little foot with the white-metal band. "My uncle Tom was fishing once in eighty fathoms off Monhegan," Spurling remarked, "and pulled up an odd-patterned, blue cup of old English ware. The hook caught in a 'blister,' a brown, soft, toadstool thing, that had grown over the cup. He's got it on his parlor mantel now." "I'll keep this foot as a souvenir," said Percy. They finished the hake shortly after four. Percy shed his oil-clothes, went into the camp, and reappeared with his sweater. Going down to the ledges, he pulled off a big armful of rockweed. This he stuffed into the sweater, and tied it together, making a close bundle. The others watched him curiously. "What are you going to do with that?" inquired Lane. Percy smiled, but there was a glitter of determination in his eyes. "I'll tell you some time," was all the reply he vouchsafed.