yellow-bearded man, “you know too much. We need an assistant cook and I think you are just the man for the job.”

“Do you mean to say that, against my will, and against the law——” began Raynor, but Terror Carson checked him.

“You forget we know no law,” he said.

“Well, then, against my will you mean to enroll me as one of this lawless crew.”

“That’s about the idea,” drawled Carson amiably.

“But if we are caught by some British cruiser, I shall be imprisoned as one of you!” burst out Raynor frantically.

“That’s something you will have to take your chances of. You shouldn’t have fallen overboard from the Cambodian and then this wouldn’t have happened. You see I know some of your story and have guessed the rest.

“While you were asleep I took the liberty of reading your papers. Here they are,” and with all the grace in the world, Terror Carson handed the bewildered young engineer a package and a wallet which had been abstracted from his inner pocket.

“Now we will go on deck,” said Terror Carson, “and I’ll show you the scene of your future labors. You will berth and have your meals in the cabin and not with the men.”

Raynor felt grateful for this at least, for he judged the crew of a craft like the Polly Ann could be little better than a lot of desperadoes. But he was not prepared for the array of villainous, hard-bitten countenances he saw when they reached the deck. The schooner was under full sail and racing northward like a swift sea bird.

Except for the man at the helm, and a short, stocky man who was standing by him and gazing up at the rigging, the men were all lounging about, some squatting under the weather bulwarks. The short, stocky man proved to be the mate, Mr. Wiggins, a real “down-east bucko,” Terror Carson described him as being. The midship decks were piled with lashed down dories and from the stern davits hung a smart whale boat.

Aft of the foremast was a squat, white house with an iron pipe projecting from it. Terror Carson led the way there with Raynor at his heels. The men’s eyes followed them, some with scowls and some with curiosity.

From the door of the galley, or ship’s kitchen, for that is what the white 

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