"The club _is_ goin' to do somethin' abaout it," said he, "and it's goin' to do it right naow and through me. I'm the game-warden, and I got my orders. You'll hev to come along o' me to the sup'ntendent, and that's all there is abaout it. Like's not he'll let ye off with a warnin' ... that's none o' my affair. So hand over that gun and come along, quiet and peaceable." "Look here," cried Hermione, fiercely, "do you think I'm going to be taken in like a thief?" "Wa'al ... ye _air_ a thief, ain't ye? Them birds belong to the club." Hermione stamped her foot. The man's ugly manner was beginning to get away with her temper, never any too docile under provocation. "Take your old birds!" said she, and tumbled them out upon the ground. "And let me tell you that when I go back and Captain Heldstrom learns how I've been treated, he'll come over here and wring your neck as if it belonged to one of those snipe! And if you think I'm going with you ... like this..." Anger stifled her speech at the mere idea. The game-keeper hunched his shoulders with a sneer. "If you can come ashore half naked to shoot the club's snipe and plover," said he, "it won't hurt ye none to go a mite further and see the sup'ntendent..." His voice took an impatient rasp. "Come, I've jawed here long enough ... will you come, 'r hev I got to drag ye tha'ar by main force?" He took a step toward her. Hermione, light on her feet as a Spartan girl, might have saved herself by flight. But the sneering brutality of the man had torn from her the last, lingering grip she had upon a temper which had many times been the cause of her undoing. With an inarticulate little cry she sprang back, and scarcely realising what she did, threw the gun to her shoulder. "You beast!" she cried, through her set teeth. "You try to lay hand on me and I'll blow your head off!" Now, the game-keeper, surly brute though he may have been, came of stern and rigid Puritan stock, and once having decided upon what was his duty, meant to carry it out at all costs. He saw that the superb young huntress in front of him was beside herself with fury, and he fully realised that he was taking a terrific chance of being terribly wounded if not killed in his tracks. In spite of this, though the colour faded under his mahogany tan, his lean jaw set squarely, lips tightened, and he began to walk steadily toward Hermione. He was within three paces when the girl heard a brushing noise in the pines, directly behind her. The game-keeper stopped short, and Hermione, who had raised her gun to cover his chest, saw his eyes travel past her to fill with amazement at something which he saw beyond. Half-fainting and with knees that tottered under her, the girl turned to look upon a splendid, Olympic figure standing against the dark background of the pines. "The Pilot-fish!" gasped Hermione, under her breath.