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Show 1111 ffHN p 1111 "By Arthur "D. Hctoden Smith Copyright, 1928 ARTHUR D. HOWDEN SMITH WN'U Service hate him, mars'r. Yo' seel Cuffee kill him plenty quick." "Not save I bid you," Fellowes cau tloned sternly, descending to the deck. A dangerous force, this hatred, he reflected. A disease which seeped from one heart to another. But a smoldering glow burned In his blue eyes, und his Jaw squared aggressive ly. No moment for sentiment. This was the day of his vengeance, the day he had awaited for months. Ah. but why should the savor of it be bitter ! his mouth? Me remembered Joshua's parting advice, lintel Hate enough, and all would be simple. Hate every one of your enemies, aye, every one linked with them. Unte 'em root and branch. And a mighty wnve of re sentment swamped his spirit. Resentment Resent-ment agninst Joshua, against Ben. ngiiinst Chafer, a'gainst against He clawed open his neckcloth so feverishly fever-ishly that his officers, busy though they were, regarded him perplexedly Aye, against her I Above all, against her I She, who consorted with the nation's na-tion's enemies, who Intrigued with Wellington and God alone knew what other British statesmen, who enter- sir," Fellowes answered shortly. "Captain "Cap-tain Chater, I'm coining aboard to ex amine your papers." "Purty uigb piracy, I'd say," whinnied whin-nied Chater. "A letter-of-marque daon't give ye the right to s'urcb American vessels." Nimrod Sopher oudged Fellowes elbow. " 'Tis as he says," murmured the lawyer-marine. "Look to your com mission, my friend. The private ship o'-war Is distinguished from the regu lur naval vessel by a limitation of her legal exercise of hostility and supervision." super-vision." "I didn't ask your advice," snapped Fellowes. "It comes late in the day. Air. Spencer, you'll take the ship. Tom, call away the longboat's crew; you'll go as coxswain. Yes, CulTee, you, too." In the bustle ot mustering the boarding board-ing party, no one od the Centurion noticed the disappearance of the lngle-pins lngle-pins and Chater from the True Bounty's Boun-ty's (loop. Indeed, when the longboat pulled under her lee the only members mem-bers ot the merchantman's crew In sight were young Rorke and the helmsman, helms-man, but a rope ladder had been lowered low-ered from the waist, and Fellowes climbed its jerking rungs without a thought of danger, bidding his men follow him one at a time. He reached the bulwarks' level, and vaulted carelessly care-lessly to the deck to be pounced upon by a dozen seamen, whose hairy, brown pnws effectually sealed his lips. In the background Chafer hovered, whinnying whin-nying orders: "That's right, men I Grnb the durned pirate. I calc'lnte he'll do for a hostage. Here, one o' ye cut loose that ladder." But the last word was still wet on nis tongue when a roar resounded from the bulwarks. Fellowes glimpsed a gigantic black shape sailing through the air and crashed down on the deck with the rest of the dozen as Cuffee bounced Into their midst- R!r.ht and left, the negro kicked nnd struck, legs and arms hitting with ferocious accuracy. ac-curacy. Half-blinded, dazed, battered sore, Fellowes staggered to bis feet, thinking think-ing to support Cuffee's charge. But a pistol cracked behind bin), and he spun around in time to see Chater drawing a second weapon. And instinctively, without conscious effort, the Long Tslnnder snatched for his osd pistol, and' pressed the trigger. Cfiaters- green eyes wldeaei) be-wilcferedly be-wilcferedly ; the pistol slipped f?m his hand, his fingers clawing nt his rhest. "Well, nnow," he snarled. "'TBnr-dered "'TBnr-dered me, ain't ye?" And he flopped on the deck, a touseled heap of garments, leakfwg rustily. "Will yen have my surgeon?" FeP-lowes FeP-lowes offered' perfunctorily. "No use. Bur ye won't find whar ' ye want. She's ag'in ye. Workin' for British. But ye'lf never knaow i not for sartaim" The grotesque chin dropped, and Fellowes understood1 the man was dead was surprised too that he should experience oelttwr satisfaction nor compunction. But here was no time for reflection. The longboat's party, pouring over the tee bulwarks, were driving the True Bounty's crew tor'ard Into the fo'c's'le; no difficult enterprise, for the spirit had1 gone out of the ship's defenders, snrl they flinched under the flats of cutlasses and Tom Grogan's hearty abuse. Nimrod Nim-rod Sopher, tailing the bo-ardors, of course, was wringing his hands, aghast at the sight of Chafer's body. "My dear Lion 1 What a misfortune I And a delicate question 5n admiralty law. Manslaughter in (act, It may be murder on the high seas " "Captain Fellowes killed Captain Chater in self-defense, sir." Cam In-glepin's In-glepin's voice was low-pitched and steady, and there was color in her sun-warmed sun-warmed cheeks as she stepper) from the cabin companionway. lien Ingle-pin, Ingle-pin, who followed her, was much less master of himself. His hands shook, and bis mouth wobbled nervously. The duenna, billowing after them, funereal In black, her fat hands clicking click-ing a rosary, her beady eyes roving and probing, was as phlegmatic as ever she had been in Perenba. "You saw it with me, Father?" Cara appealed ap-pealed to Ben. "Captain Chater fired first. A dastardly shot!" "A most lamentable Incident," quavered quav-ered Ben. (TO BE CONTINUED) CHAPTER X Continued 17 In the midst of everything the Cen turion stood ruthlessly through the heart of the convoy, looslnn her broadside batteries at Intervals to heighten the existing consternation The frigates, responding to frenzied slgnnls from the flagship, finally gave chnse, but by the time tbey had discovered dis-covered the whereabouts of the prl vatenr the fog blanketed her, and Fel lowea changed tils course to due south. He saw no more of the con voy, although in the morning he picked up one of Its trailers, a little Scotch brlgantine, which was so crank a sailor that he burned her The following week, cruising backward back-ward and forward In wide loops across the track he expected Chafer to take, he spoke a Charleston priva teer schooner, driven Into these latitudes lati-tudes by a storm the Centurion had avoided. Her master had tracked the brig's course, but had seen noth Ing of the True Bounty, so Fellowes turned northward again Into a region of frequent fogs, where the cold was biting nnd Ice froze on the ratlines, until the men could scarcely find a footing when they went aloft. Headwinds drove him back, and In more moderate latitudes a pair ot fast thirty-eight gun frigates, evidently evident-ly one of the patrols on the watch for the bard-hitting Yankee meu-o'-war of the same class, chased the Centurion two days' sail to the southward. south-ward. Having dodged his pursuers, Fellowes caught a smart Plymouth snow, the Sprightly Jean, loaded with Jamaica rum, a cargo which Joshua couid sell at a ready profit in the state of the New York market. He depleted his crew to man out the prize, and again pointed the brig's bow north. Certain of the crew grumbled at this departure from the trade-routes. But Fellowes held on his course to the Fifties, held on until he was convinced con-vinced Chater had not ventured so harsh a latitude. Driving southeast, they struck the outbound track of the West Indian convoys, and snatched a sonsy, six-hnndred-ton ship, the Mary Carroll, of London, from under the guns of a razee and a thirty-two-gun frigate. Conflicting airs permitted the Cen turion to make off with the prize. Cuffee's snap-shooting with the Long Tom diminishing the frigate's ardor for the chase. A sweet prize, the Mary Carroll ; her strong-box held ten thousand pounds in gold, nnd her holds were full of fancy goods and kickshaws for the spoiled wives of planters. Fellowes put ten men and a prize-master aboard her, and dis patched her for New York, after shifting the coin to the Centurion. There was no more grumbling, now that the brig steered east by south for the trade-routes to southern Eu rope and the Mediterranean. The rigid blockade of American ports seemed to have released British mer chantmen from their enrlier dread ot the Ynnkee privnteers, and these southerly seas almost swarmed with shipping. The Centurion captured a small Canton trader, the Pembroke. Of Bristol, and the very next day ran down the Jessie brig, of Falmouth, bound for the Gold coast with trade goods. Simply as a privateering enterprise the cruise bnd been successful up to this point, but Fellowes was per turhed by the failure of his mnin ob jective. He had come to sea. first ot all, to catch the True Bounty, and the True Bounty had disappeared as completely as the Flying Dutchman sailors said wns forever trying to round the Cape of Good Hope and forever disappointed by headwinds blown against him by an outraged Divinity. "The course Is southeast by east." he announced to Breed, who relieved him. "We'll follow it until we strike one of the Gibraltar patrol. I'll cruise 'twixt here and the latitude of Cadiz." And tbey zigzagged westward, now nor'west, now west by nor', now west, now west by south, now so'west. The third day, an hour past sunrise, a thin hail drifted down from the maintop main-top : "Sail hoi Fower p'lnts to sta'b'd." Spencer, olllcer of the deck, summoned sum-moned Fellowes, who tumbled out of his bunk, half-dressed. One look through bis glass, and he sped a man for'ard to rouse CulTee. "Take the glass," Fellowes directed "Can you make out that sail? Is she the True Bounty?" "Cuffee don' wan' no glass, Mars'r Fellowe'. Dat him Chater' ship." The Jagged white teeth glistened Id the cold sunlight, "Oh, my aunt! Now we shoot him Long Tom, mars'r. Now we shoot him plenty hard." Fellowes' Hps tightened. He strove to reconcile the rising floods of exultation exul-tation nnd sorrow, of triumph and foreboding, that choked him emotion ally. "But shoot carefully," he warned "We may require to cripple a mast but I'll have no killing If It can be avoided." "Yah, mars'r. Cuffee know. We don' hunt him pltty lil MIssee. But blm Chater" The Immense black hands, free of the swaying ratlines, opened and closed, crooked and slashed. "But why should you hate Chater?" Fellowes questioned. Cuffee hate blm Chater fo dut fo' "Well, Naow," He Snarled, "Murdered Me, Ain't Ye7" tained Collishawe's snif, who had not lifted a hnger to save him from being be-ing flogged! Why shouldn't he hate her? She merited nothing from him. She, whose lover was the man who had whipped him! She, who hart accepted ac-cepted a visit from this man after their lips had met that last night od the True Bounty I Something swelled up In his throat, hot, suffocating. Hate? Aye, hate! "Run out that Long Tom," he ordered or-dered hoarsely. "A shot betwixt his masts, Cuffee." Chater had the weather gauge, and maneuvered expertly to make use of the advantage; hut the Centurion could sail two knots to the True County's one, and a couple of round shot between his masts seemed to convince him of the hopelessness of his plight. He lay to while the brig overhauled him and rounded his stern in position to rake, Fellowes dominating dom-inating her crowded decks, his slight figure taut with repressed energy. Above, on the lofty poop of the True Hounty, Chater glowered sullen ly, beside him Ben Inglepin, an expression ex-pression of weU-uourished resentment clouding the merchant's chubby countenance. coun-tenance. Cara, muffled In n great coat of fur, clung to her father's arm There was curiosity in her glance, but no fear; and as often before, Fellowes Fel-lowes was constrained to admit a grudging measure of respect for her. The Centurion came back, with a din of flapping canvas, nnd not waiting wait-ing to be hailed, tnglepln bawled angrily: "What is this that you do. Captain Cap-tain Fellowes? You have reason to know tills vessel. D'you not see the colors she flies?" "I'm cot assured you have a Justin able claim to that flag's protection, |