In a minute a shuffling, tow-headed, bare-footed lad of ten years or so entered bashfully. He was a son of one of the fishermen living along the Sokennet shore.
“You wanter see me, son?” demanded the Westerner. “Bill Hicks, of Bullhide?”
“Dunno wot yer name is, Mister,” said the boy. “But air you lookin’ for a gal that was brought ashore from the wreck of that lumber schooner?”
“That’s me!” cried Mr. Hicks.
“Then I got suthin’ for ye,” said the boy, and thrust a soiled envelope toward him. “Jack Crab give it to me last night. He said I was to come over this morning an’ wait for you to come. Phin says you had come, w’en I got here. That’s all.”
“Hold on!” cried Tom Cameron, as the boy started to go out, and Mr. Hicks ripped open the envelope. “Say, where is this Crab man?”
“Dunno.”
“Where did he go after giving you the note?”
“Dunno.”
Just then Mr. Hicks uttered an exclamation that drew all attention to him and the fisherman’s boy slipped out.