Obadiah hunched his shoulders.

“Enough to warrant a bullet through your head, Nat.  Cheerful, isn’t it?  But we’ll fool them, Nat, we’ll fool them!  You shall board your ship and hurry away with the package, and then you shall make love to Strang’s wife—­for she will go with you!”

He stopped to enjoy the amazement that was written in every lineament of the other’s face.  The red blood surged into Nathaniel’s neck and deepened on his bronze cheeks.  Slowly the reaction came.  When he spoke there was an uneasy gleam in his eyes and his voice was as hard as steel.

“She will go with me, Councilor!  And why?”

Obadiah had laughed softly as he watched the change.  Suddenly he jerked himself erect.

“Sh-h-h!” he whispered.  “Keep cool, Nat!  Don’t show any excitement or fear.  Here comes the man who is to kill you!”

He made no move save with his eyes.

“He is coming to speak with me and to get a good look at you,” he added in excited haste.  “Appear friendly.  Agree with what I say.  He is the chief of sheriffs, the king’s murderer—­Arbor Croche!”

He turned as if he had just seen the approaching figure.  And he whispered softly, “Winnsome’s father!”

Arbor Croche!  Nathaniel gave an involuntary shudder as he turned with Obadiah.  Croche, chief of sheriffs, scourge of the mainland—­the Attila of the Mormon kingdom, whose very name caused the women of the shores to turn white and on whose head the men had secretly set a price in gold!  Without knowing it his hand went under his coat.  Obadiah saw the movement and as he advanced to meet the officer of the king he jerked the arm back fiercely.  Half a dozen paces away the chief of sheriffs paused and bowed low.  But the councilor stood erect, as he had stood before the king, smiling and nodding his head.

“Ah, Croche,” he greeted, “good morning!”

“Good morning, Councilor!”

“Sheriff, I would have you meet Captain Nathaniel Plum, master of the sloop Typhoon.  Captain Plum this is His Majesty’s officer, Arbor Croche!”

The two men advanced and shook hands.  Nathaniel stood half a head above the sheriff, who, like his master, the king, was short and of massive build, though a much younger man.  He was a dark lowering hulk of a creature, with black eyes, black hair, and a hand-clasp that showed him possessed of great strength.

“You are a stranger, Captain Plum?”

The councilor replied quickly.

“He has never been at St. James before, sheriff.  I have invited him to stay over to see the whipping.  By the way—­” he shot a suggestive look at the Officer.  “By the way, Croche, I want you to see him safely aboard his sloop to-night.  His ship is at the lower end of the island, and if you will detail a couple of men just before dusk—­an escort, you know—­”

Nathaniel felt a curious thrill creep up his spine at the satisfaction which betrayed itself in the officer’s black face.