"What does this mean?" demanded Charley, in deepest discouragement.
"I dunno, Massa Chas," replied the grieved little negro, "but I s'pect hit's some ob dat white trash's doings. Late last night I hears a boat acoming. First off I thought hit was you-alls, but pretty soon I 'lowed it wasn't 'cause de engine didn't sound like yourn. Hit stopped at de dock an' I gets to a crack an' peeps out. Pretty soon hyar comes four fellows astealing up de path. I up an' hails 'em an' dey stops short. I guess dey had reckoned dat dar was no one hyar 'cause ob de launch being gone. I shoots off de rifle an' dey took to der heels. Pretty soon I hears a breaking noise down by de dock an' den de put-put ob der boat, as dey puts off. An' dis mornin' I finds de skiff jes' disaway."
"And that ain't all," broke in Captain Westfield, pointing over to where their extra net lay on its rack of poles.
The boys gave a gasp of dismay. The new unused net was a mass of hanging strips. It had been literally cut and hacked to pieces.
"This sort of thing has got to stop," declared Charley, white with rage. "Our catch last night came to a hundred and fifty dollars but it will cost forty-five dollars to replace that skiff, fifty dollars to replace that net, and at least twenty dollars to repair the launch, and all that damage has been done in a few hours. Goodness knows what they will do to us next. Things cannot go on this way any longer."
His companions looked at him questioningly but he shook his head disparagingly. "I haven't a ghost of an idea what to do," he admitted, gloomily. "Maybe a little sleep will clear my head and bring some plan. I'm going up and turn in."
He staggered drunkenly as he made his way up to the cabin. He was utterly exhausted, nerve and body. Once inside, he flung himself upon his couch and was instantly asleep.
Chris tried to arouse him for dinner but it was like trying to awaken one, dead. Nature was claiming her due.