CHAPTER XVII—­[Continued.]

The Witch was not long in overhauling the Swan.  Arno, seeing that escape was out of the question, surrendered without a word.

“It’s no use trying to get away,” he said to Jason, “and we may as well yield without a struggle.  There is nothing can outsail that schooner.  I’ve a great mind to throw that money overboard.”

“It wouldn’t be of any use,” replied Jason.  “Perhaps they are following us just to see who we are.”

Arno shook his head at this.

“I think you’ll find that Buxton is on board that vessel,” he said, looking steadily at the approaching craft.  “Yes, there he is,” he continued, “though he doesn’t know anything about the money.”

Immediately after the capture of the Swan, Judith, Sandy McDougall and Shaky took possession of her, the latter having paid Buxton for the trouble he had been to.  Then the Witch bore away to the northward.

Judith seemed overjoyed at seeing Arno again, all her resentment apparently being swallowed up in the gratification she felt in once more meeting with him.  She clasped her great, strong arms about him, and held him as though she feared losing him again.

As for Sandy and Shaky, they paid no heed whatever to the two boys.  As soon as the Witch had left the sloop, they ran the latter in among the islands and dropped anchor.

Here they remained during the afternoon and night, the cabin of the little vessel being given up to Judith, the men and boys sleeping in the compartment in the bow.

When morning came, they put to sea again and sailed down the coast.  Arno and Jason had little opportunity for conversation, so close was the vigilance of Judith.

It was considerably past noon when Sandy announced that the Petrel was in sight, and then the little hatch in the deck forward of the mast was raised, and Arno and Jason ordered to descend.

Realizing how helpless they were, the two boys offered no resistance, and they soon found themselves in complete darkness, save for a faint glimmer of light that came through a little port-hole opened for ventilation.

“What’s going to happen next?” asked Jason, throwing himself down upon the blankets that had formed their bed the preceding night.

“It’s hard telling,” replied Arno, creeping forward and peering through the little opening.  “I can see the Petrel, and Captain Dilke is at the bow.”

At the mention of this name, Jason trembled, and shortly after Arno announced that the schooner was close alongside.

Then they heard the sail flapping, and knew that the sloop had been brought up to the wind, and presently there was a shock, as though some heavy body had bumped against the Swan.

“It’s all up with us,” said Arno, leaving the little port-hole and casting himself down beside his companion.

The trampling of heavy feet sounded upon the deck, the sides of the vessels grated together as they rose and fell with the motion of the water, and down in the little hold of the sloop the two boys lay and waited tremblingly.