the main-sheet a foot or two, took
a turn with it, and bracing my feet, put my back against the tiller.
This left me one hand for the sheet and one for the revolver. The dark
line drew nearer, and I could see them looking from me to it and back
again with an apprehension they could not successfully conceal. My
brain and will and endurance were pitted against theirs, and the
problem was which could stand the strain of imminent death the longer
and not give in.

Then the wind struck us. The mainsheet tautened with a brisk rattling
of the blocks, the boom uplifted, the sail bellied out, and the
_Reindeer_ heeled over--over, and over, till the lee-rail went under,
the deck went under, the cabin windows went under, and the bay began to
pour in over the cockpit rail. So violently had she heeled over, that
the men in the cabin had been thrown on top of one another into the lee
bunk, where they squirmed and twisted and were washed about, those
underneath being perilously near to drowning.

The wind freshened a bit, and the _Reindeer_ went over farther than
ever. For the moment I thought she was gone, and I knew that another
puff like that and she surely would go. While I pressed her under and
debated whether I should give up or not, the Chinese cried for mercy. I
think it was the sweetest sound I have ever heard. And then, and not
until then, did I luff up and ease out the main-sheet. The _Reindeer_
righted very slowly, and when she was on an even keel was so much awash
that I doubted if she could be saved.

But the Chinese scrambled madly into the cockpit and fell to bailing
with buckets, pots, pans, and everything they could lay hands on. It
was a beautiful sight to see that water flying over the side! And when
the _Reindeer_ was high and proud on the water once more, we dashed
away with the breeze on our quarter, and at the last possible moment
crossed the mud flats and entered the slough.

The spirit of the Chinese was broken, and so docile did they become
that ere we made San Rafael they were out with the tow-rope, Yellow
Handkerchief at the head of the line. As for George, it was his last
trip with the fish patrol. He did not care for that sort of thing, he
explained, and he thought a clerkship ashore was good enough for him.
And we thought so, too.

II

THE KING OF THE GREEKS

Big Alec had never been captured by the fish patrol. It was his boast
that no man could take him alive, and it was his history th