hey could be worked, for
besides the brine from the fish gathering below, Code feared the
vessel had spewed some oakum and was taking a little water forward.
Now, too, the horrible stench of riled bilge-water floated over
all--compared to which an aged egg is a bouquet of roses.

At eight o'clock that morning they rounded Cape Sable at the tip of
Nova Scotia, and laid a course a trifle west of north for the final
beat home. There was a hundred miles to go, and Burns still held his
three-mile lead.

By herself and loaded only with ballast, the _Nettie_ was a better
sailor in a beating game, for she was older and heavier than the
_Charming Lass_. But now she had but a thousand quintal of fish
compared to the sixteen hundred of her rival. This difference gave the
_Lass_ much needed stability without which she could never have hoped
to win from the Burns schooner.

The two were, therefore, about equally matched, and it was evident
that the contest would resolve itself into one of sail-carrying,
seamanship, and nerve.

"That other feller's comin' up fast!" said Pete Ellinwood, and Code
looked back to see the strange schooner looming larger and larger in
his wake. He knew that no vessel in the Grande Mignon fleet could ever
have caught the _Lass_ the way he had been driving her, and yet she
was not near enough for him to get a good view of her.

"If she's a fisherman," said Code, "I'll pull the _Lass_ out of water
before she beats us in."

It was killing work, the last beat home.

"Hard a-lee!" would come the command, and some men would go down into
the smother of the lee rail and haul in or slack away sheets, while
others at the mastheads would shift top- and staysail tacks.

Her head would swing, there would be a minute of thrashing and roaring
of gear, and the gale would leap into her sails and bend her down on
her side again. Then away she would go.

The station of those on deck was a good two-handed grip on the
ringbolts under the weather-rail, where, so great was the slope of the
deck, they clung desperately for fear of sliding down and into the
swirling torrent.

Hour after hour the _Nettie_ and the _Lass_ fought it out, and hour
after hour the gale increased. Hurricane warnings had been issued all
along the coast, and not a vessel ventured out, but these stanch
fishing vessels cared not a whit.

It was evident, however, that something must give. Human ingenuity had
not constructed a vessel that could st