Attempts were made to signal as the _Good Intent_ glided along the coast, but all remained obstinately dark. Dark lay Glenanmays at the head of the wide Mays Water. The cliffs of the Wild sent back no answering flashes, and it was not till the _Good Intent_ was well-nigh abreast of the Partan Craig that a faint light glimmered out, low down by the edge of the water.... _Flash--flash--flash_--(it went, and then darkness). _Flash--flash--flash_--each double the duration of the first. Then came the blackness of darkness again, and anon half-a-dozen swift needle-points of light chasing one another as quickly as the eye could register them. "_There is danger ... to the north--keep farther away!_" Captain Penman read off the coded message. "That's one of our folk. At any rate they are not all hanged!" When they reached the next bay to the south the whale-boat was manned, and Miss Aline first, and then Patsy, were carefully handed down. After them came Kennedy McClure, cursing his own weight and the rope which had scorched his hands, last of all old huntsman Wolf scrambled down, bags of ammunition and all, as alert as a monkey, his rifle slung over his shoulder and his jaeger's feather stuck rakishly in his green Tyrolean hat. The men hardly dipped their oars into the water. The mate, Rob Blair from Garlieston, a dark, hook-nosed springald as strong as a horse, sat in the stern and steered, directing the men in whispers. Presently they entered into a purple gloom, and the stars were shut out over a full half of the heavens. On shore and quite near, the lantern flickered six times as swiftly as before. "Still further to the south!" it said. "Hang the fellow, he will bring us up among the Port Patrick fishing-boats! Ah, there!" Out of the loom of the land as the current swept them under the cliffs, came one long, steady flare--then a pause, which was followed by a second. "Head in, men," said Rob Blair, laying his weight on the tiller, "the fellow on shore says that all is safe, which may be and again it may not! There is that devil of a nephew of yours, Spy McClure from Stonykirk. They say he is still at large. If he has sold us to the land-sharks, it is the last Judas-money he will touch. I know ten men in Garlieston who will see to that!" "Attend to your own business, mate," growled Kennedy McClure. "I will be answerable for my nephew." "That's more than I should care to undertake," said the black-browed, free-tongued Garliestonian. "'Tis no sort of a hearty welcome ye will get at the Last Day when ye face the Throne, if ye have such a wastrel's sins to answer for." "Silence!" said Kennedy. "We are close in and we shall see in a minute. You, foreigner, if I tell you to shoot--_shoot_--but not before!" Patsy could just see the jaeger's teeth bared in a permanent grin. "Steady there, men! Back-water! Now, you with the lantern, let us have your name." "Francis Airie," a voice called out of the darkness.