m, and
the best man is one who has an intuition. This, Muldoon had. Besides,
the old puzzle-maker had taught him how to allow for the drop of the
line and how to estimate the force of the wind.

He fussed around for a minute or two, saw that the line was free on the
pins and that the case was free, and waited for the gusts of wind to die
down to a steadier gait. Then he fired. The red flare of the short
cannon showed clear against the ice and the line went sailing out
gracefully.

"Too far for'ard," said Eric disappointedly, as he saw it start. Muldoon
only shook his head.

"'Tis not far off," he said.

Sure enough, as the missile was about half-way out to the wreck, the
wind took the line and drove it sideways till it fell right abaft the
funnel. A flare from the steamer showed that the line had been
received.

"Nice shooting, Muldoon," the keeper said. "We'll have to give the
credit to that well-fittin' coat you've got on." The lighthouse-keeper
was at least twice the Irishman's size.

Muldoon looked particularly proud, because he had wanted to distinguish
himself before the girl. It was of vital urgency, moreover, for if
Muldoon had not been able to land the line, it would have meant a trip
back to the Coast Guard station to get out the surf-boat, with very
little likelihood of being able to force her up against the gale.

The men on the steamer started to haul in and the life-savers bent on a
larger rope with a block and tackle. Again the steamer burned a flare to
show that the block had been hauled on board and securely fastened, and
then the coastguardsmen began to haul on the line, pulling out to the
ship a heavy hawser on which ran the carriage for the breeches-buoy.
Everything worked without a hitch, the hawser was got on board and the
breeches-buoy hauled out.

Then the trouble began. The steamer lay partly submerged. She was a
small boat and her only mast had gone by the board. The bridge was a
tangle of wreckage. The breeches-buoy, therefore, could only be made
fast to the stump of the mast a few feet above the deck. Ashore, the
same difficulty prevailed. There was no high land, the tripod being down
almost on water-line. As soon as the hawser got wet and heavy with snow
and the ice from the blowing spray, it began to sag so that it nearly
touched the water.

With the weight of a man on it, the breeches-buoy line sank below the
surface of the water, or rather the mush-ice. It was bad enough for t