"For sure," that mariner replied. "Put up ze side-lights."
'Frisco Kid took the red and green lanterns into the cabin to light them,
and then went forward with Joe to hang them in the rigging.
"They 're not goin' to tackle it," 'Frisco Kid said in an undertone.
"What?" Joe asked.
"That big thing I was tellin' you was down here somewhere. It 's so big,
I guess, that French Pete 's 'most afraid to go in for it. Red Nelson 'd
go in quicker 'n a wink, but he don't know enough about it. Can't go in,
you see, till Pete gives the word."
"Where are we going now?" Joe questioned.
"Don't know; oyster-beds most likely, from the way we 're heading."
It was an uneventful trip. A breeze sprang up out of the night behind them,
and held steady for an hour or more. Then it dropped and became aimless and
erratic, puffing gently first from one quarter and then another. French
Pete remained at the tiller, while occasionally Joe or 'Frisco Kid took
in or slacked off a sheet.
Joe sat and marveled that the Frenchman should know where he was going.
To Joe it seemed that they were lost in the impenetrable darkness which
shrouded them. A high fog had rolled in from the Pacific, and though they
were beneath, it came between them and the stars, depriving them of the
little light from that source.
But French Pete seemed to know instinctively the direction he should go,
and once, in reply to a query from Joe, bragged of his ability to go by
the "feel" of things.
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