house-load of booze in over the Canadian border. No use monkeying with the
custom men, if we can help it."
"There's sense in that," declared Major. "You know I don't like to take
foolish chances. There are enough big ones. It was a great load off my mind
when we spotted that plane off the Florida coast. The crew figured we sent in
our full liquor supply then."
"They've been educated to it," observed Deacon.
"The important thing now," resumed Major, "is to split up after we land.
Handshakes at the dock. The best of luck - for the future!"
"And no tears from you, Deacon," said Butcher. "I thought you were going
to bust out crying when we made that overboard heave down in the Caribbean -"
"Forget it, Butcher," growled Major; "forget it! Deacon has forgotten it.
That reminds me, Ferret - you're the one that has some forgetting to do."
"Major is right, Ferret," seconded Deacon.
"That letter writing" - Major shook his head in disapproval - "it wasn't
right, Ferret!"
"But Hawk was a pal of mine," protested Ferret, looking around the group.
"He wouldn't squawk. Anyway, I only told him -"
"We talked that over before," said Major. "We'll drop it now. I'm thinking
of tomorrow. I'll get you a time-table, Ferret, as soon as we reach New York.
The first train out of the big town will be the best. We want you to drop in on
Judge ahead of the rest of us."
"All right," returned Ferret, in an annoyed tone. "Leave it to me, Major."
"I'll leave it to you!" Major spoke emphatically. "But remember, you're
one in five. The interests of the gang come first. You may have some idea of
your own. Get it out of your head - until afterward. There'll be plenty of
time, later on. We're all going to be independent, after a while."
"Remember it," echoed Deacon, staring solemnly at Ferret.
Butcher chimed in with a warning growl.
That ended the discussion. Butcher, chewing the end of a Havana cigar,
called for the steward, and another bottle was brought to the table. Afterward
came dinner; then an ocean evening that ended with the men tottering singly to
their cabins.
FACES were weary and solemn when the men gathered in the morning, as the
Vesta nosed her way through the outer harbor. Standing by the rail, the four
watched the outgoing liners, and stared toward the Staten Island shore.
Butcher seemed half groggy and less jocular than usual. Deacon was quiet
and silent; but that was not unusual. Major said very little, but bore himself
with the poise of a veteran. Ferret was the quietest of all. Yet his glance was
furtive, and his manner restless.
With various delays in order, it was late in the afternoon when the Vesta
had finally docked, and the four men had passed the customs officials. Ashore,
the departing passengers shook hands with the stern-faced captain of the yacht.
The Vesta was due to clear for another port within a few days.
Deacon entered a taxicab alone. Butcher drove off in another. Major and
Ferret remained, the latter grinning as he looked along the avenue that
bordered the water front. Major left him for a moment, to return with a
time-table.
