“The Saline, sir, is alongside, and hailing us.  The boatswain sent me, sir.”

We followed the two on deck, and, after one glance about, I led her around the bulge of the cabin to the narrow deck space astern.  The boat in which we had escaped had been hoisted into its davits, and we halted in its shadow.  The sea was gently rolling in great crested waves, with no land visible except Cosmos Island.  The most of our crew must have been busy forward, as only three or four hung over the port rail in idle curiosity.  The two vessels moved side by side, separated by a narrow stretch of green water, a thin vapor of smoke visible.  I could perceive the whiteness of the Saline’s deck, and the group of officers on the bridge.  The Captain, facing us, hollowed his hands.

“What have you to report, Mr. Hutton?”

“The vessel is in our possession, sir, and the crew under guard below.”

“Any injuries?”

“None serious, sir.”

“And the Captain—­the half-breed Henley; did you get him?”

“He ’s with the others.”

“Better put the fellow in irons, Hutton.  There are some serious charges against him, you know.  Have you men enough?”

“I could use a half dozen more.”

“Very well; I ’ll send them over with Mr. Steele.”

“What is to be our course, sir?”

“Pensacola.  Don’t wait for us.”

“Aye, aye, sir.  Shall I hold Craig and the lady?”

“Not on this case; we have all the evidence needed.  If you take their addresses that will be all that is necessary.  Pleasant voyage!”

He waved his hand, and then, perceiving us as he turned away from the rail, lifted his cap in salute.  A moment later a boat heavily manned shot out from the cutter’s black side, and headed toward us.  We stood there alone in the shadow, watching its approach.

“It is all over now, dear,” I whispered.

“Yes, but—­but I do not feel as though I could ever touch that money.”

“You will have no choice.  The courts will decide that.”

She glanced aside at me shyly, and one hand rested on the rail of the boat.

“I know what I would like to do with some of it.”

“What?”

“Buy this—­this boat.”

“In memory?”

“Of course—­you loved me then.”

“And now, and always.  Do you know what is the first thing I shall do when we make Pensacola?”

“No.”

I clasped the straying hand and drew her to me, looking down into her eyes.

“Telegraph my father I am coming home.”

“Is that all?”

“And that I shall bring a wife with me.  Right here I end my career as a soldier of fortune.”

Under the protecting shadow of the boat our lips met.