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The man in the stern-sheets with the coxswain was Aleck Webster, the one who had promised to have an eye on Marcy and his mother while Jack was at sea, and those who composed his party were men whom Marcy met at the post-office almost as often as he went there. If they were coming off to enlist, as Marcy thought they were, wouldn't that break up the band who held meetings in the swamp?
As they came near they caught sight of a solitary figure down towards where the archway submerged had lain, and Aleck made put that it was a big, well-built man-o'-war's man. "Is that one of your fellows, sailor?" said Aleck, with the appellation he had used when they were prisoners together. "Yes, he came over with me from Rockabie. Capital fellow he is too. Don't you know him again?"
"With an opening to the sea?" said Aleck, eagerly, for his curiosity was beginning to overcome the tension caused by the shock his nerves had suffered. The smuggler laughed. "Well, you're asking a good deal, youngster," he said, "but it's of no use for me to play at hide-and-seek with you now. Yes; there's a way open to the sea just for 'bout an hour at some tides.
"No friends of yours neither?" "Certainly not," cried Aleck. "Ho! Then, perhaps you will be good enough to explain how it is that the gardener here is the smugglers' chief assistant in signalling, spying, and warning them?" "He isn't," said Aleck, sharply. "He is," said the officer.
"And what 's more," continued Creel, "if you 'll keep anybody else from doing it, I 'll vote for you next time for Sheriff." "I promise you that, too," said Aleck, "and if anybody says you were there, let me know, and I 'll come up there and and tell her you were n't. I can't do any more than that, can I?"
Aleck did not say what, but hurried along the shelf again, startled by the sound of falling stones, and the next minute he caught sight of the smuggler's descending feet, and then the fierce-looking fellow dropped lightly before him and caught him by the arm. "They saw me," he panted, breathlessly, "and have been hot on my track I couldn't dodge them anyhow quite surrounded.
"I shan't," ground out the boy through his set teeth, and a grim smile crossed the man's dark face, making it look for the moment open and manly a smile caused by something akin to admiration. "Well, you're a nice-tempered sort of a young fellow," growled the man. "Let go of my wrist." "Will yer promise not to hit?" Aleck nodded. "Nor yet kick?" The boy nodded again.
It would be worse than useless to save the mutilated remains for Aleck; there was nothing for it now but to get the reproachful remnant out of the way. He was so busily occupied with this praiseworthy proceeding that he failed to notice Aleck enter the room, flushed with his race, eager and once more empty. Arriving at his seat, he came upon Jimmie engaged in devouring the pie left in his charge.
Marcy said nothing more, for he did not believe that either of them could tell a story that would save them from the trouble that Captain Beardsley would surely try to bring upon himself and his mother. He would take Jack's advice and lose no time in seeking an interview with Aleck Webster.
This was the brief dialogue in the domain of sarcasm: "I s'pose you just lit round in a friendly sort of way, hopin' that I'd kenoodle with you later." "Exactly." There was an unpleasant click to the word. The old man's hands got colder. He had nothing more to say. Before leaving, the Sergeant said something quietly and quickly to Young Aleck. Pierre observed, but could not hear.
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