What other hope remained? None that Bill Wilkins could see. The eastward course, while it probably deluded the pursuers and gave the sloop a little longer lease on freedom, led to no safety. Every mile took the fugitives nearer to a Russian prison. Yet any course but an eastern one was but to throw themselves into the arms of the pursuers or to plunge inevitably to the bottom the moment the stronger waves of the Baltic were encountered. To Bill, it seemed that they were rats in a trap, waiting till the captors came to take them out. If he had been alone, he would long ago have surrendered, hoping to win pardon by giving up the gold. But he soon found that it was useless to talk of terms to his brother. A mere hint in that direction aroused in the plainsman a cold fury before which the weaker man shrank. “I didn’t mean nothing, Tom,” he hastened to declare. The plainsman’s eyes flashed. “I hope you didn’t,” he roared. “I hope there ain’t no cowards or quitters in our family. I’ve staked on this here play, and I’m going to see it through. If I can’t get away with this gold, nobody shall. Understand that, Bill Wilkins.” “I understand, Tom.” “Besides, I ain’t certain sure we’re done for yet. We’ve missed the _Haakon_, but she ain’t the only boat on the sea. If we can find a ship--any old ship--before dawn, we’ve got a chance.” “How so?” “How so? Great Lord! Ain’t you got no receptions at all, Bill Wilkins? Ain’t we got money enough to buy anything if we can once get a chance to show it? You think any captain breathin’ would refuse a million dollars in gold to take us aboard. And once aboard, who’d catch us? Russia can’t search every ship going out of the Baltic.” A spark of hope sprang up in Bill’s bosom--but only a spark. “I don’t know where all the ships are,” he muttered. “There’d ought to be plenty all about. This here gulf is usually just crawling with ships. But there ain’t none passing to-night--and the dawn’s breaking.” * * * * * Captain Wilson stood on the bridge of the yacht, peering into the darkness. All night he had kept watch, unwilling to leave his post on deck as long as Russian waters lapped around the vessel committed to his care. When, with eight bells in the morning watch, there came a lightening of the sky, he turned to the first officer. “The dawn’s breaking, Jackson,” he said, “and I think I’ll turn in. We’ve got through the night safe and that’s more’n I expected.” “What did you think was due to happen, sir?” “Oh, I don’t know. I felt something brooding. My mother was Scotch and had second sight, and I can generally tell when something’s due to come off. But I guess I missed it this time. There comes the sun, and nothing’s doing.” “Sail O!” The forward lookout had hailed. “Where away?” “Dead ahead, sir.” Captain Wilson lifted his glasses and stared forward across the brightening water. After a moment he turned to his companion.