He had heard other sentences, too; a portion of the conclusion of Nicholas Crafer's narrative, but they would not piece together into one explicit whole. He was, indeed, at bay. He knew the treasure had been moved somewhere, and he knew that, in the possession of this fellow who was now in that gimcrack yacht in the river, was a description of where the treasure was, as well as a map showing the spot; but he knew no more. And as he thought it all over, sitting upon a crag, he ground his large white teeth and beat the rock beneath him with the butt of Barbara's gun in his rage. But, at last, it seemed that he had made up his mind, had resolved upon his plan; for with a smothered oath--the use of which expletives he was very frequent in--he sprang to his feet, while he muttered to himself-- "One half! One half! Ho! Ho! No! Not one half, not one shilling, not one red cent." As he rose, there came across the little grassy plateau behind the crag his sister, Barbara. For a moment she paused and glanced at him, and, perhaps because she knew him so well and had studied all his evil moods from infancy, she observed something in his face more evil, more threatening than usual. Then she said-- "I want my gun." "What for?" "There are some large parrots come across from Anegada. You said you wanted some for your supper when next a flock came. See, there are two in the gros-gros down there. Give me the gun," and taking it from his hand, she cocked it and aimed at the two birds in the palm-tree half-way down the cliff. "What is the use?" he said roughly. "They will fall into the sea below and we can never get them, it is too deep." But ere he could say more she fired, missing her mark, if, indeed, she had aimed at it. Then she uttered an exclamation and dropped the gun, letting it fall a hundred and fifty feet below into the deep sea. "You fool!" he said, "you infernal fool!" And he looked as though he were going to strike her for her carelessness. "You fool! it was the only firearm we had in the island, and now you have let it go where we can never get it back. Barbara, a beating would do you good. I have a mind to give you one or fling you over the cliff after it." "It kicked," she said, "and hurt me. And, after all, it doesn't matter much. It was old and scarcely ever shot straight. I could do nothing with it." "I could, though," he replied, still scowling at her. "It would shoot what I wanted. That was good enough for me." And Barbara, as she looked him straight in the eyes, said inwardly to herself-- "I know it would shoot what _you_ wanted. That is why it will never shoot again." He changed the subject after grumbling at and abusing her for some time longer, and said-- "Where's that fellow now, that admirer of yours? I haven't seen him to-day."