There remained nothing for Jack and Ray to do but climb aboard. With the determined old fisherman standing there in the stern of the Betsy Anne, looking coldly along the barrel of the old “barker,” as he called his pistol, the two lads felt that he had them at a disadvantage. From the age and condition of the revolver it did not look as if it could do very much damage. But nevertheless the two boys were not of a mind to experiment with its shooting qualities by making themselves the target. Therefore they made haste to obey the old salt’s command, especially when he emphasized it by waving the “barker” very close to them. Also they moved forward into the bow of the boat at his direction. Then, as he tied the painter of Captain Eli’s dory to a stern cleat and grasped the tiller of his own boat, he muttered:

[128]

“Now, blime me, wi’ all things shipshape, an’ two o’ th’ bloominest lobster pirates as ever was a-stowed awi in t’ bow, were hoff for Haustin’s Pool, Miss Betsy Hanne.” He let out the sheet and shoved over the tiller, and as if in answer to his suggestion the little boat filled her main sail and presently was scudding merrily through the water.

All three occupants of the boat were silent for some time after that, but the doughty captain kept his eyes fastened on the two boys in the bow and the “barker” within convenient reach.

After a time, however, the little old one-legged fisherman could stand the silence no longer, and began to muse once more, apparently addressing the Betsy Anne as before.

“Me bein’ a jest man as ’ow I are an’ me bein’ a right-minded person as ’ow I ’opes I are, ’ow can I g’ back on me bloomin’ senses? ’Ere I been a-findin’ o’ my traps robbed, these weeks past, an’ ’ere I comes along hin me hole Betsy Hanne an’ finds these ’ere two a-robbin’ of ’em and then I says t’ one o’ ’em, says I, ‘Whose ’nitials is J. S.?’ an’ ’e says, says ’e, ‘My ’nitials is J. S.,’ an’ I says, then,’ ’Ere’s[129] your watch as I found hin my lobster traps,’ says I, an’ then ’e ups an’ denies hit and says, says ’e, ‘Hit ain’t my watch, ’ere’s my watch,’ an’ goes fer t’ find ’is watch, an’ then seems surprised like ’cause it ain’t hin ’e’s pocket which o’ course hit ain’t ’cause hit’s in my ’and all t’ time, an’ then ’e says, says ’e, ‘Oh I left hit ’ome wi’ Cap’n Eli,’ says ’e, an’ I ax ye, me bein’ a jest man as ever was an’ a right-thinkin’ hole sea-dog as is, I ax ye, what for are I t’ think?”

“I tell you, we are not lobster thieves. We are from the construction camp over on Hood Island. We’re friends of Captain Eli’s—Captain Eli Whittaker, the keeper of Hood Island light,” asserted Jack, who had become very indignant listening to the old man’s recital.

“O-ho-ho, ’ear ’im now. Blime me hif ’e don’t talk back as is just what all crooked lobster piruts does. Look ’ere, sonny, ’ow’s hit you was a-raisin’ o’ my lobster pots then?” asked the lobsterman.

“Why, I hauled it because Jack here never saw a lobster pot before and he was just curious. I wanted to show him. We didn’t take a single fish and we didn’t intend to. I know[130] it was wrong for us to even haul it but then we aren’t thieves. And we don’t know who’s been taking your lobsters either,” said Ray, who had also become irritated by the old salt.

“Keel ’aul me, listen at ’im. ’E says as ’ow ’e’s friend ’ere ain’t nuvver seen a lobster pot. O-ho-ho, a likely story, young feller, O-ho-ho.”

“It’s true, though,” insisted Jack. “We are friends of Captain Eli. Why, that’s his dory we have been using.”

“Listen at ’im now, listen. ’E says as ’ow that’s Cap’n Eli’s dory when Cap’n Eli’s dory is brown painted,” mused the old tar.

“Pooh, you don’t use your eyes,” exploded Ray in disgust. “Can’t you see that that dory has just been repainted green.”

“As fer my a-usin’ my heyes, mebby I does an’ then agin’ mebby I don’t. Me not bein’ a man give for to arger enny, I won’t say ‘Ay’ ner ‘Nay.’ But I say, say I, hif that air his Cap’n Eli’s dory painted green, why t’ on’y way as two o’ the bloomines’ lobster piruts as ever was come by hit is they come by hit crooked, same has they comes by ever’thing else. Cap’n Eli ain’t goin’ for t’ lend his dory as is painted brown to two o’ t’ crookedest lobster stealers[131] as was ever fit for to walk t’ plank, blime me. Go for t’ conterdick that will ’e,” answered the fisherman with finality.

“Oh, pshaw, what’s the use of arguing with him,” said Jack in disgust.

“Right an’ so, right an’ so. Hit ain’t no use for t’ argey wi’ me. Save hit all for t’ bloomin’ warden. ’Es paid for t’ argey, ’e is, an’ argey ’e will, that’s sartin’.”

“I hope he’s easier to convince than our friend with the peg leg here. But I guess he will. I’ve been to Austin’s Pool before with Uncle Vance and they all seem civilized there at least,” said Ray to Jack, under his breath.

Again the three lapsed into silence while the Betsy Anne slipped away on a long port reach. Hood Island dropped behind rapidly, and off the starboard bow Jack and Ray could see a thin gray speck on the horizon which they concluded must be the mainland.

“How long does it take this craft of yours to make Austin’s Pool or wherever it is you are taking us?” demanded Jack of the skipper a little later when the Betsy Anne had come about and started on a starboard tack.

“Has soon’s any craft o’ ’er size kin make[132] hit,” was the lobsterman’s ambiguous reply.

“Huh, that’s definite,” muttered the lad from Vermont.

“Well, then I shud say as ’ow she’d make hit soon enough for Warden Williams to lock two capital lobster piruts hup before supper,” added the fisherman.

“Jiminy,” said Jack, quite disturbed. “That means we won’t get back to Hood Island until long after dark, Ray, even if we can convince this warden fellow, whoever he is, that we are not lobster thieves.”

“’Ood Hisland,” exclaimed the lobsterman. “Ye ain’t expectin’ ever for t’ git back there again, are ’e? Why, that warden jest goes daft on lobster piruts like you. ’E’ll keep ’e in ’is lockup for a year or two, mebby three,” assured the lobsterman.

The thoughts of such a possibility really began to worry Jack. He knew perfectly well that he and Ray could convince any fair-minded person that they were not lobster pirates. In truth, if worse came to worse, they could send for Mr. Warner and some of their friends in the construction camp and in that way prove their innocence. But at best that[133] would take a whole day and perhaps longer, and he had visions of spending time in some vile-smelling country jail until assistance arrived.

Such disturbing thoughts occupied them both for most of the afternoon. They conversed in undertones occasionally, but for the most part they were silent, thinking of their strange predicament and wondering what their friends back on Hood Island would think when they did not turn up at the sound of Bongo’s supper call that evening.

As the sun dropped lower in the western sky a stiffer breeze sprung up and the Betsy Anne redoubled her speed. Already she had approached so close to the mainland that Jack and Ray could hear the grumble of the surf that rolled in upon the rock-strewn beach, and it was not long after that when the little boat was headed into a big crescent-shaped bay about four miles across where the beach was broad and of the whitest sand. At one horn of the crescent was a little hamlet and innumerable docks, while far across on the other side was a long low sandy point which stretched out into the water and was capped with what appeared[134] at a distance to be a number of dilapidated sheds. Jack learned later that this sandy cape was called Frenchman’s Point, and that the shanties he saw were the dwellings of a horde of French Canadians, half-breed Indians and other riffraff that lived on what they could find or steal along the beach.

The Betsy Anne headed in for the docks at the Pool. The long low piers were fairly crowded with craft of all kinds, ranging from tiny motor boats and fishing sloops to long low-bank schooners and trim-looking trawlers. This was Austin’s Pool, one of the best-known fishing villages in that section of Maine, and the point from which fish and lobsters were sent to Portland, Boston, and New York.

Fishermen swarmed over the dock. Some were loading their little vessels with tubs of bait and butts of water, others were unloading their day’s catch, while still others were just sitting around on the string pieces or tie posts, smoking and gossiping and waiting for the time to put out for a night’s work on near-by fishing grounds.

Old Mitchell took particular care to bring the Betsy Anne alongside of the most popular[135] dock of all and as he came about and dropped the main sail of his sloop he was greeted by a chorus from the pier.

“How’s luck over Hood Island way, Mitch?”

“How many markers this time, English?”

“What’s the haul?”

To this last the lobsterman answered by waving his “barker” and pointing to the two lads in the bow.

“What’s t’ ’aul, say you? Why, ’ere’s t’ ’aul. Two o’ t’ bloominest lobster piruts as ever was. Found ’em a robbin’ o’ my traps right afore my heyes,” he said with a grin.

Instantly Jack and Ray became the center of attention. Seamen gathered from all quarters, it seemed, and looked the lads over, as Old Mitchell forced them to climb the landing ladder.

Of course the two boys felt greatly humiliated at all this, especially since the lobsterman still insisted on flourishing his revolver.

“Aw, say, there’s no need of your parading that revolver, is there?” demanded Jack, who had become quite indignan............