The last question struck me as the one to be answered. But we had to keep an eye on the weather,--the worst of the squall was passing off to the north-east, and going out to sea, but it was still breezy, and rather ticklish work for two boats so close together. We dropped our sail, while the "White Rabbit" took in everything but the jib. When we were near enough to talk comfortably, I pointed to the dory, which was only a stone's throw distant. "Those are the men--the Gold Company people--from Rogers's Island. They've been shooting at us with a rifle!" "Shooting? What for?" "Is there a feller named Caleb Snider there?" asked the Captain, reaching again for his shot-gun. "Yes, he--" But Mr. Snider arose in the dory to speak for himself. He had on his black "swallow-tail" still, and his "Bless you!" manner. His rifle did not appear. "James!" he called to me, "James! You have treated us badly. Theft, James, theft--" But Captain Bannister cut in with a scream. "Theft! you old sarpent, you! THEFT! I like to hear YOU talk about it! You don't know me, but I know you! Where's that three hundred dollars I put into your Monte Cristo mine in '78? You old buzzard! I heard tell there was a feller of your name runnin' some gold- brick scheme at Rogerses', an' I cal'lated I'd come over an' see you. Why,--" The Professor evidently thought that they would do well to leave these troubled waters. He jammed the tiller down, and tried to sheer away. It was the most unfortunate moment possible. "Look out!" shouted Sprague; "look out! You're going--" A gust of wind caught their sail, the boom jibed, nearly knocking Mr. Snider overboard, the little mast snapped like a match, and the sail went into the water, leaving their boat helpless. The same gust so nearly brought our boat into collision with the "White Rabbit" that we were getting out oars, to try to fend off, while those on board the yacht hastily took in their last sail. A few drops of rain fell at the same moment, but we hardly noticed them. In the midst of the confusion another voice arose on the other side of the yacht. "Yer're all under arrest,--all on ye!" It was Eb and his merry men, who had come up in the second small boat. He still had the pitchfork, which had made such an impression on Spook. But his voice merely aroused Captain Bannister the more. He was as full of rage as a turkey-cock,--his face purple, and his short figure shaking with anger. He stood on a seat in the yacht, and dominated the whole fleet. He turned on the constable of Bailey's Harbor as if he had expected his arrival. "You go plumb to blazes, Eb Flanders! Go on! Git outer here! You a kunsterble! You aint fit to ketch muck-worms! Arrestin' boys for burglary, when the worst land-shark in the country is runnin' a bunco-game right under yer face an' eyes! Go over an' arrest them fellers,--arrest that there Snider!" The voice of Snider was now heard, imploring aid.