Still Tom did not answer, and the other stared at him with growing suspicion. “Where’s the dinghy?” he demanded suddenly. “And where’s that girl?” Tom raised his heavy eyes. “Gone,” he responded briefly. “She took the boat and vamosed some time last night.” “Gone! Gone!” Bill’s voice rose to a scream. “Gone where? After the cops? I always knowed it. I always told you she’d do us. The little hell cat. D---- her----” A pair of sinewy hands closed round his throat, choking the words, and he felt himself shaken to and fro like a rat. “That’ll do, Bill Wilkins,” grated a voice that he hardly recognized as his brother’s. “That’ll do. Don’t you orthogrify a word agin her. She’s playin’ for her own hand, same’s we are. You keep your tongue off her.” With the last word the plainsman hurled the other across the cabin. Bill picked himself up slowly. He fingered his throat, swallowed once or twice, and then came back to where Tom stood glowering. “All right,” he mumbled. “I won’t say nothing against her. She’s an angel of light if you say so. But I reckon she’s sold us out, and I guess the peelers are coming for us right now. We’d better get a move on--unless you’d sooner stay here and get pulled so’s not to spoil her game.” Tom quivered, but said nothing. Lifelong self-control was again in the ascendency. He knew the other was right, and he already repented his fury of a moment before. “All right, Bill!” he said, almost calmly. “You’re right. Only don’t say nothing against her to me. I’m too plumb sore to stand it just now. We’ll go as soon as you say.” “I say now. The _Haakon_--she’s the steamer I’ve chartered--won’t be along till about dawn, but we’ve got to get out in the bay and wait for her. That little h---- --that is, them policeoffskis may be down on us any bloomin’ minute. The water’s quiet, and I guess we won’t swamp. Wait! Let’s look.” The man broke off and ran up the ladder that led to the deck and poked his head above the combings. In a moment he turned, and Tom could see that his face was pale under its tan. “---- ---- ----!” he raged. “They’re coming now. A dozen boats are starting out. Quick! We ain’t got a minute to lose.” He vaulted up on the deck, followed by the plainsman. “Here!” he yelled. “Get that anchor up. Quick! Then help me with the mainsail.” He darted forward and grasped the jib halliards. The weight was almost too much for one man, but necessity lent strength, and by the time the anchor was on board the jib was up. Then the two men tailed on to the mainsail halliards and the big sail rose slowly to the peak. “Make fast! Hurry! Them boats are getting near.” Leaving the halliards to his brother, Bill sprang to the sheet, and drew aft the flapping sail, holding it with one hand against the bits, and grasping the helm with the other.