When the Cock Crows   By: Waldron Baily (1871-)

By WALDRON BAILY

Author of "Heart of the Blue Ridge," "The Homeward Trail," etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY G. W. GAGE

NEW YORK BEDFORD PUBLISHING CO. 1918

Copyright 1918, by BEDFORD PUBLISHING CO.

PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOK MANUFACTURERS BROOKLYN, N. Y.

TO Hon. Josephus Daniels As a token of the author's admiration and respect, for one who in the greatest crisis in history has demonstrated to the public those qualities of courage, determination and achievement that his friends have always known him to possess.

[Illustration: He bore her with what haste he could to the landing and gently placed her within the blankets.]

CONTENTS

I. ICHABOD'S ISLAND

II. AMONG THE BREAKERS

III. A NEW CALAMITY

IV. UNDER THE AFTER AWNING

V. A PRISONER OF MORPHIA

VI. HUNTING A CLUE

VII. STORMBOUND

VIII. THE EFFICIENCY OF CLAM BROTH

IX. ONCE IN A LIFETIME

X. EYES FROM THE DEEP

XI. THE AWAKENING OF ICHABOD

XII. TOWARD THE UNKNOWN

XIII. AMONG THE FISHERFOLK

XIV. GARNET THE HERO

XV. ADRIFT WITH A MADMAN

XVI. THE COMING OUT PARTY

XVII. STRANGERS AT ICHABOD'S ISLAND

XVIII. THE CALL OF THE DARK

XIX. BOTTLED UP

XX. THE TRUTH UNALLOYED

XXI. SEALED ORDERS

XXII. THE PARTING CROW

XXIII. THE SEARCH UP THE SHORE

XXIV. A GENTLEMAN'S PROMISE

XXV. DOING HIS BIT

List of Illustrations

He bore her with what haste he could to the landing and gently placed her within the blankets.

She sat down and stared eagerly.

Van Dusen unpinned the note, opened it, and read aloud.

WHEN THE COCK CROWS

CHAPTER I

ICHABOD'S ISLAND

The tide was at ebb. The noisily rushing spume spotted waters of the sea were pounding the hard sand shore of the easterly side of a beautiful island, nestling as a jewel in its setting just within the Capes, which form the shores on either side of Beaufort Inlet, but so exposed that when the winds blow from the sea the full force of the breakers is felt at this point. As this small bit of land is low lying, more than once when a southeaster has raged, the tiny isle has become entirely submerged.

Man has placed but one habitation upon this toy of the great waters, and that a fisherman's shack, surrounded with the usual net drying racks and other crude tools of the fisherfolk. One would rightly guess that the occupant of an abode built upon such a tiny bit of old mother earth must be a hardy customer, who understood the ways of the winds and sea and who dared combat them.

It is sunrise. The door of the hut swings on its heavy hinges. A sturdy looking old fellow with grizzled beard and flowing locks steps out of the shack, and, as has been his wont for years, he scans the horizon for a sail or perchance for other more modern craft of the sea.

In his arms, he is tenderly carrying a large Dominick rooster, which, judging from his length of spurs, and scaly legs, has lingered many summers. Satisfying himself that there is no boat in sight, to break the monotony of the view, Captain Ichabod places his only living companion as he expresses it, his poultry alarm clock upon the ground, and from a pocket produces a handful of corn, which the old cock greedily devours.