e right under the lee o' Point San Pedro;
when I whistle we ought to catch the echo thrown back by the
cliff. Listen for it."

Promptly at eight o'clock, Mr. McGuffey was horrified to see his
steam gauge drop half a pound as the _Maggie's_ siren sounded.
Mr. Gibney stuck his ingenious head out of the pilot house and
listened, but no answering echo reached his ears. "Hear
anything?" he bawled.

"Heard the _Maggie's_ siren," Captain Scraggs retorted
venomously.

Mr. Gibney leaped out on deck, selected a small head of cabbage
from a broken crate and hurled it forward. Then he sprang back
into the pilot house and straightened the _Maggie_ on her course
again. He leaned over the binnacle, with the cuff of his watch
coat wiping away the moisture on the glass, and studied the
instrument carefully. "I don't trust the danged thing," he
muttered. "Guess I'll haul her off a coupler points an' try the
whistle again."

He did. Still no echo. He was inclined to believe that Captain
Scraggs had not read the taffrail log correctly, and when at
eight-thirty he tried the whistle again he was still without
results in the way of an echo from the cliff, albeit the engine
room howler brought him several of a profuse character from the
perspiring McGuffey.

"We've passed Pedro," Mr. Gibney decided. He ground his cud and
muttered ugly things to himself, for his dead reckoning had gone
astray and he was worried. The fog, if anything, was thicker than
ever. He could not even make out the phosphorescent water that
curled out from the _Maggie's_ forefoot.

Time passed. Suddenly Mr. Gibney thrilled electrically to a
shrill yip from Captain Scraggs.

"What's that?" Mr. Gibney bawled.

"I dunno. Sounds like the surf, Gib."

"Ain't you been on this run long enough to know that the surf
don't sound like nothin' else in life but breakers?" Gibney
retorted wrathfully.

"I ain't certain, Gib."

Instantly Gibney signalled McGuffey for half speed ahead.

"Breakers on the starboard bow," yelled Captain Scraggs.

"Port bow," The Squarehead corrected him.

"Oh, my great patience!" Mr. Gibney groaned. "They're on both
bows an' we're headed straight for the beach. Here's where we all
go to hell together," and he yanked wildly at the signal wire
that led to the engine room, with the intention of giving
McGuffey four bells--the signal aboard the _Maggie_ for full
speed astern. At the second jerk the wire broke, but not until
two bells had so