and outward. “I shall go with you,” she said. “You must not. There’s no telling what may have happened. Please!” With a swift, deft movement she parted the heavy handle of her net-stock, disclosing an ingeniously set revolver, which she pressed into his hand. “I’m going with you,” she repeated, with the most alluring obstinacy. “Come, then,” said Colton, and her pulses stirred to the tone. He caught her by the hand, and they ran, reaching the cliff-top breathless. Barely discernible, on the sand, a quarter of a mile east of Graveyard Point where the wreck had struck, was a dark body. They hurried down into the ravine and out of it, Colton in advance. Suddenly he burst into a laugh of nervous relief. “It’s a dead sheep,” he said. “I thought it was a man.” He bent over it and his jaw dropped. “Look at that!” he cried. Across the back of the animal’s neck, half-sever-ing it from the head, was a great gash, still bleeding slightly. They peered out into the dusk. As far as the eye could see, nothing moved along the sand. CHAPTER SIX HELGA GALLOPING easily, an early riser may come from Montauk Light over to Third House in time for breakfast. Helga was an early riser and a skilled horsewoman. Flushed like the dawn, she came bursting into the living-room upon Dick Colton who, his mind being absent on another engagement, had forgotten to wind his watch when he went to bed the evening previous, and consequently had risen, on suspicion, one hour too early. G “I haven’t had a chance to speak to you since the wreck,” she said, giving him her firm young hand. “Are you any the worse for the rough usage our ocean gave you? And how can I half thank you for your courage?” “Don’t try,” said Dick uncomfortably. “And don’t talk to me about courage,” he added. “I wish I could tell you how I choked all up with three cheers when you went in after that fellow.” “Oh,” said the girl quietly, “we Montauk folk are bred to that sort of thing. Besides, I only paid a debt.” “A debt? To that Portuguese?”
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