e it hard for him. But Charley refused to be angered, though he told
me in confidence that he intended to capture Big Alec if it took all the
rest of his life to accomplish it.

"I don't know how I'll do it," he said, "but do it I will, as sure as I
am Charley Le Grant. The idea will come to me at the right and proper
time, never fear."

And at the right time it came, and most unexpectedly. Fully a month had
passed, and we were constantly up and down the river, and down and up
the bay, with no spare moments to devote to the particular fisherman
who ran a Chinese line in the bight of Turner's Shipyard. We had called
in at Selby's Smelter one afternoon, while on patrol work, when all
unknown to us our opportunity happened along. It appeared in the guise
of a helpless yacht loaded with seasick people, so we could hardly be
expected to recognize it as the opportunity. It was a large sloop-yacht,
and it was helpless inasmuch as the trade-wind was blowing half a gale
and there were no capable sailors aboard.

[Illustration: "He saw fit to laugh sneer at us, before all the
fishermen."]

From the wharf at Selby's we watched with careless interest the
lubberly manoeuvre performed of bringing the yacht to anchor, and the
equally lubberly manoeuvre of sending the small boat ashore. A very
miserable-looking man in draggled ducks, after nearly swamping the boat
in the heavy seas, passed us the painter and climbed out. He staggered
about as though the wharf were rolling, and told us his troubles, which
were the troubles of the yacht. The only rough-weather sailor aboard,
the man on whom they all depended, had been called back to San
Francisco by a telegram, and they had attempted to continue the cruise
alone. The high wind and big seas of San Pablo Bay had been too much
for them; all hands were sick, nobody knew anything or could do
anything; and so they had run in to the smelter either to desert the
yacht or to get somebody to bring it to Benicia. In short, did we know
of any sailors who would bring the yacht into Benicia?

Charley looked at me. The _Reindeer_ was lying in a snug place. We had
nothing on hand in the way of patrol work till midnight. With the wind
then blowing, we could sail the yacht into Benicia in a couple of
hours, have several more hours ashore, and come back to the smelter on
the evening train.

"All right, captain," Charley said to the disconsolate yachtsman, who
smiled in sickly fashion at the title.