"Why didn't you come back to Lanesport?"
"Why did you try to run away from us?"
"Who are those fellows in the dory?"
The last question struck me as the one to be answered. But we had to keep an eye on the weather,—the worst of the squall was passing off to the north-east, and going out to sea, but it was still breezy, and rather ticklish work for two boats so close together. We dropped our sail, while the "White Rabbit" took in everything but the jib.
When we were near enough to talk comfortably, I pointed to the dory, which was only a stone's throw distant.
"Those are the men—the Gold Company people—from Rogers's Island.
They've been shooting at us with a rifle!"
"Shooting? What for?"
"Is there a feller named Caleb Snider there?" asked the Captain, reaching again for his shot-gun.
"Yes, he—"
But Mr. Snider arose in the dory to speak for himself. He had on his black "swallow-tail" still, and his "Bless you!" manner. His rifle did not appear.