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He recalled that the rest of his paraphernalia had gone to the

bottom with the May Schofield. It was true that he had not

overhauled his equipment for some time, and that it had been in a

drawer in the May's cabin, but that drawer had not been opened.

He pursued the train of thought no farther. His brain was tired

and his head ached with the strain of the last five days. His

last hope of escape had only resulted in his finding a forgotten

mirror, and his despair shut out any other consideration. He had

not even the fire to resent the fact that it was in Burns's

possession, and concealed.

It was his, he knew, and, without further thought of it, he

thrust it into his pocket just as he heard the men outside his

little prison talking together excitedly.

"By George, she looks like a gunboat," said one. "I wonder what

she wants?"

"Yes, there's her colors. You can see the sun shinin' on her

brass guns forward."

"There, she's signalin'. I wonder what she wants?"