y can't move her against this wind!"

"Will they go to sea?" Bivens asked, with some anxiety.

"No, they'll bring up somewhere on a mud flat or marsh in the bay on
this low water, but God help them if they can't fight their way back
before flood tide."

"Why?" Bivens asked, incredulously.

"They'd freeze to death in an open boat to-night."

"Norwegian sailors? Bosh! Not on your life! They were born on
icebergs."

Stuart rose and looked anxiously at the receding tide. He determined to
try to reach the yacht at once. He put the guns into their cases,
snapped the lids of the ammunition boxes, stowed the ducks he had
killed under the stern of the boat, and stepped out into the shallow,
swiftly moving water. He decided to ignore Bivens and regard him as so
much junk. He pulled the boat out of the blind, shoved it among the
decoys, and took them up quickly while the little financier sat
muttering peevish, foolish complaints.

"Now if you will lie down on the stern deck, I'll see if I can shove
her."

"Why can't I sit up?" Bivens growled.

"You can, of course, but I can't move this boat against the wind if you
do."

"All right, but it's a rotten position to be in and I'm getting cold."

Stuart made no reply, but began to shove the little boat as rapidly as
possible across the shallow water.

The snow had ceased to fall and the cold was increasing every moment.
He scanned the horizon anxiously, but could see no sign of the disabled
tender.

He had gone perhaps two hundred yards when the boat grounded on the
flats. He saw at once that it was impossible to make the yacht until
flood tide. The safest thing to do was to get out and push to the
island marsh, two or three hundred yards away. There they could take
exercise enough to keep warm until the tide came in again. It would be
a wait of two hours in bitter cold and pitch darkness, but there was no
help for it.

Bivens sat up and growled:

"What the devil's the matter? Can't you hurry up, I'm freezing to
death!"

"We can't make it on this tide. We'll have to go to the marsh."

"Can't we walk over the flats and let the boat go?"

"I could walk it, but you couldn't."

"Why not?" Bivens asked, angrily.

"Because you haven't the strength. This mud is six inches deep and
tough as tar. You'd give out before you'd gone two hundred yards."

"Nothing of the sort!" Bivens protested, viciously. "I'll show you!"

He stepped out of the boat and started wading th