ation. He
knew the boat, if he could not at first identify those who manned
it. It was an old lifeboat that had been stored in a shed below
John-Ed Williams' place, and these men attempting their rescue were
some of the neighbors from Wreckers' Head.

They came on steadily, the steersman standing at his post and
handling the long oar as though it was a feather's weight. His huge
figure soon identified him. It was Captain John Dunn, who, like Ira
Ball, had left the sea, and he had left his right forearm, too,
because of some accident somewhere on the other side of the globe.
But with the steel hook screwed to its stump and the good hand
remaining to him, Captain Dunn handled that steering oar with more
skill than most other men with two good hands could have done.

How the four at the oars pulled the heavy boat! Tunis sought to
identify them as well. He saw John-Ed Williams--in a place at last
where he was forced to keep up his end, though he was notably a lazy
man. Ben Brewster had the oar directly behind John-Ed.

The third figure Tunis could not identify--not at once. The man at
the bow oar was Marvin Pike, who pulled a splendid stroke. So did
that unknown oarsman. They were all bravely tugging at the heavy
oars. Tunis had faith in them.

Zebedee suddenly plunged across the pitching deck and reached the
rail where Tunis stood. Discipline--at least seagoing etiquette--had
been somewhat in abeyance aboard the _Seamew_ during the last few
hours. Zeb caught the skipper by the arm.

"See her?" he bawled into the ear of the surprised Tunis.

"What's that?"

"See her hair? It's a girl! As I'm a living sinner, it's a girl!
Pulling number three oar, Captain Latham! Did you ever?"

Clinging to a stay, the captain of the _Seamew_ flung himself far
over the rail as the schooner chanced to roll. He could look down
into the approaching lifeboat. He saw the loosened, dark locks of
the girl who was pulling at number three oar. On the very heels of
Zeb's words the captain was confident of the girl's identity.

"Sheila!"

His voice could not have reached her ear because of the rush and
roar of the wind and sea, but, as though in answer to his shout, the
girl glanced back and up, over her shoulder. For a moment Tunis got
a flash of the face he so dearly loved.

What a woman she was! She lacked no more in courage than she did in
beauty and sweetness of disposition. What other girl along all this
coast--even one born of the