nd beyond the rail; but the fifth
struck the rail, and fell back to the deck. He advanced and threw it
over.

"Carry the other one," said Denman, and Sampson lifted it up. It was a
low, skeleton rail, and, as the big man hobbled toward it,
somehow--neither he nor Denman ever knew how--his foot slipped, and he
and the box went overboard together. The box floated, but when Sampson
came to the surface it was out of his reach.

"Help!" he gurgled. "I can't swim."

Without a thought, Denman laid his pistol on the deck, shed his coat,
and dove overboard, reaching the struggling man in three strokes.

"Keep still," he commanded, as he got behind and secured a light but
secure grip on Sampson's hair. "Tread water if you can, but don't
struggle. I'll tow you back to the boat."

But, though Sampson grew quiet and Denman succeeded in reaching the
dark, steel side, there was nothing to catch hold of--not a trailing
rope, nor eyebolt, nor even the open deadlights, for they were high out
of reach. The crew were locked in the forecastle, and there was only
Florrie. There was no wind, and only the long, heaving ground swell,
which rolled the boat slightly, but not enough to bring those
tantalizing deadlights within reach; and at last, at the sound of dishes
rattling in the galley, Denman called out.

"Florrie!" he shouted. "Florrie, come on deck. Throw a rope over.
Florrie--oh, Florrie!"

CHAPTER XV

She came hurriedly, and peered over the rail with a startled, frightened
expression. Then she screamed.

"Can you see any ropes lying on deck, Florrie?" called Denman. "If you
can, throw one over."

She disappeared for a moment, then came back, and cried out frantically:
"No, there is nothing--no ropes. What shall I do?"

"Go down and get the tablecloth," said Denman, as calmly as he could,
with his nose just out of water and a big, heavy, frightened man bearing
him down.

Florrie vanished, and soon reappeared with the tablecloth of the
morning's breakfast. It was a cloth of generous size, and she lowered it
over.

"Tie one corner to the rail, Florrie," said Denman, while he held the
irresponsible Sampson away from the still frail support. She obeyed him,
tying the knot that all women tie but which no sailor can name, and then
Denman led his man up to it.

Sampson clutched it with both hands, drew it taut, and supported his
weight on it. Fortunately the knot did not slip. Denman also held
himself up by it until he had