*Disclaimer: All things belonging to Robert Louis Stevenson are his.

** Claimer: All things not belonging to Robert Louis Stevenson are MINE. Steal them and I'll just have to publish first and make lots more money than you :D

*** Reviews welcome! Even if it looks like I have abandoned the story, if I get a review I will most likely find time to write more and hopefully finish it (seriously, even if you find I haven't updated in 5 or more years, but you like the story, let me know and I can 99% guarantee more will be written!).

The waves pounded at the cliffs of the shoreline. The rain fell in sheets. The wind howled as though the end of the world had come. Through it all a young child slept soundly in her bed.

The latch to one of the downstairs shutters came loose during a particularly stiff blast of wind. Within moments the shutter was banging back and forth creating a terrible holler. Rain drenched the floor and lightning lit up the room at irregular intervals.

But the wind and rain was not the only intruder in the home. Two men had waited until all of the lights were put out. Then, slowly, silently, they had unbolted the door and entered. When the shutter slammed open and shut they froze. Flashes of lightning showed not fear, but cunning and murder upon their faces. Should the sound of the shutter awaken anyone and they come to investigate, these two men would put them soundly back to sleep.

But come no one did, so one of the two villains quickly and quietly crept to the window and latched the shutter, leaving the room in total darkness once again. Stealthily the crept about until they were behind the counter. Bending down, one man lit a match, searching for something he supposed hidden beneath the countertop.

"Psst!" his comrade's hushed sound was just barely audible above the roar of the storm. The first man looked over and by the faint light of his match, saw the chest. The flame burned lower and with a muttered curse the man with the match put out the flame.

The man with the match shuffled over, careful to make as little noise as possible. Eyeing the large chest in the dark he whispered in a deep, gruff voice, "You git yer end. I'll git this 'un."

"Aye", came the muted response.

With inward groans the two men lifted the chest as much as they could and began to walk towards the door. All was going well, until the door burst open and a man just as large as the two villains ran inside. He shut the door and was lighting a gas lamp near the door, when he heard the click of a flintlock pistol behind him.

"Was wundrin' when you caowards would be comin'." The man turned to face to two men who had set down the chest and drawn their pistols.

"We wants our share Henry Roberts and you can'ts stops us."

The man who had walked in, Henry Roberts, dove to the floor and rolled to the side. One of the villains fired his pistol, cursed his luck that he missed and proceeded to reload. His comrade was smarter with his ammo, he had waited and was running around a table to get a better shot at Roberts. "I'll git yee ye lily-livered cur!" he spat.

Meanwhile Roberts had quickly regained his feet and was rushing headlong at the man with the loaded gun. He overtook the man before he could fire a shot. Roberts and the would be thief grappled for a few moments in the dark uninterrupted. Then, the sound that would be Roberts' undoing cut through the night. "Papa?"

Roberts' eyes opened wide, "Run girl!"

"Too late fer that!" the other man who had finally reloaded his pistol shouted. He raised his pistol when another scream tore through the night air, "NOOOOOOOO!"


"Lily? Alix?" Henry Roberts cried. There was no response but that of another pistol shot and the last exhaling of breath from Henry Roberts.

"Quick, grab yore side o' the chest!"

With much exertion, grunting, and groaning the two men hauled their ill-gotten chest outside, around the corner, and into their cart. Then they rode off into the stormy, foul night.