Darry at all.

He had been a sailor for some years and was accustomed to meeting all
kinds of bad weather.

Besides, his boat though old, was staunch, and could hold its own
against waves that would upset another craft less steady; and then again
he knew how to handle his oars with the skill that only long practice
can bring.

By degrees he lost sight of the sandy shore.

He was now surrounded by a heaving sheet of water, and it required all
his knowledge of things nautical to keep his bearings, for it was
impossible to see even the slightest object on any side.

The situation would have alarmed many a lad less accustomed to depending
on himself in emergencies.

Darry felt no fear.

He noted the direction of the waves, and unless the wind shifted
suddenly, which it was not apt to do, he felt positive he could bring up
somewhere along the shore near the village.

To his surprise he heard the sullen boom of a gun close by and wondered
what any sportsman could be doing out there in that dense atmosphere,
where it was impossible to see more than fifty feet away.

Certainly ducks could not be coming to stool under such conditions.

What could he be firing at then?

There it was again, one shot following another in rapid order, until he
had counted six.

That would indicate the possession of one of those new style repeating
shotguns, capable of holding half a dozen shells, and worked with a pump
action.

All of a sudden it struck Darry that possibly someone was in trouble and
was taking this means of summoning assistance; though the chances were
very slight that any bayman would be anywhere near with that gray
blanket covering things--they knew enough to stick to the shore at such
a time.

Our hero changed his course a little thinking it could do no harm to
look into matters and see what the bombarding meant.

Should it prove that some green sportsman from one of the clubs was lost
in the mist perhaps he would be glad of help, and might even promise to
pay liberally to be taken ashore in tow.

Just then Darry's mind was filled with an eager desire to make money,
for he knew of a good use to which he could put it.

Again as he approached, the rattle of a fusilade came to his ears,
followed by a series of shouts in a strained voice.

He was close on the spot apparently.

"Hello!" he shouted in return.

An answering whoop came back.

"This way, please! I'm in a peck of trouble here!" he heard someone