His search had been indeed a careless one, for he had but glanced over the gunwale of the “Swallow.”  A second look would have shown him the form of the tramp, half covered by a loose flap of the sail, deeply and heavily sleeping at the bottom of the boat.  It was every bit as comfortable a bed as he had been used to, and there he was still lying, long after the sun looked in upon him, next morning.

But other eyes were to look in upon Burgin’s face before he awakened from that untimely and imprudent nap.

It was not so very early when Ham Morris and Dabney Kinzer were stirring again; but they had both arisen with a strong desire for a “talk,” and Ham made an opportunity for one by saying: 

“Come on, Dab; let’s go down and have a look at the ‘Swallow.’”

Ham had meant to talk about school and kindred matters; but Dabney’s first words about the tramp cut off all other subjects.

“You ought to have told me,” he said.  “I’d have had him tied up in a minute.”

Dabney explained as well as he could, but, before he had finished, Ham suddenly exclaimed: 

“There’s Dick Lee on board the ‘Swallow.’  What’s he there for?”

“Dick!” shouted Dabney.

“Cap’n Dab, did yo’ set dis yer boat to trap somebody?”

“No.  Why?”

“Well den, you’s gone an’ cotched um.  Jes you come an’ see.”

The sound of Dick Lee’s voice, so near them, reached the dull ears of the slumbering tramp and, as Ham and Dabney sprang into a yawl and pushed alongside the yacht, his unpleasant face was slowly and sleepily lifted above the rail.

“It’s the very man!” excitedly shouted Dabney.

“The tramp?”

“Yes, the tramp.”

No one would have suspected Ham Morris of so much agility, although his broad and well-knit frame promised abundant strength, but he was on board the “Swallow” like a flash and Burgin was “pinned” by his iron grasp before he could guess what was coming.

It was too late, then, for any such thing as resistance, and he settled at once into a dogged, sullen silence, after the ordinary custom of his kind when they find themselves cornered.  It is a species of brute, animal instinct, more than even cunning, seemingly, but not a word did Ham and Dabney obtain from their prisoner until they delivered him to the safe keeping of the village authorities.  That done, they went home to breakfast, feeling as if they had made a good morning’s work, but wondering what the end of it all would be.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The other boys were very much interested in the story of the tramp, and so was Mr. Foster when he came home, but poor Annie was a good deal more troubled than pleased.

“Oh, mother,” she exclaimed, “do you suppose I’ll have to appear in court as a witness against him?”

“I hope not, dear.  Perhaps your father can manage to prevent it.”