"Cast off! That 's right. Now lend a hand on the
main-sheet!"
Together, hand over hand, they came in on the reefed mainsail. Joe began
to warm up with the work. The _Dazzler_ turned on her heel like a
race-horse, and swept into the wind, her canvas snarling and her sheets
slatting like hail.
"Draw down the jib-sheet!"
Joe obeyed, and, the head-sail filling, forced her off on the other tack.
This manoeuver had turned French Pete's bunk from the lee to the weather
side, and rolled him out on the cabin floor, where he lay in a drunken
stupor.
'Frisco Kid, with his back against the tiller and holding the sloop off
that it might cover their previous course, looked at him with an expression
of disgust, and muttered: "The dog! We could well go to the bottom, for
all he 'd care or do!"
Twice they tacked, trying to go over the same ground; and then Joe
discovered the skiff bobbing to windward in the star-lit darkness.
"Plenty of time," 'Frisco Kid cautioned, shooting the _Dazzler_ into the
wind toward it and gradually losing headway. "Now!"
Joe leaned over the side, grasped the trailing painter, and made it fast
to the bitt. Then they tacked ship again and started on their way. Joe
still felt ashamed for the trouble he had caused; but 'Frisco Kid quickly
put him at ease.
"Oh, that 's nothing," he said.
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