"I feel ze tide, ze wind, ze speed," he explained. "Even do I feel ze land.
Dat I tell you for sure. How? I do not know. Only do I know dat I feel ze
land, just like my arm grow long, miles and miles long, and I put my hand
upon ze land and feel it, and know dat it is there."
Joe looked incredulously at 'Frisco Kid.
"That 's right," he affirmed. "After you 've been on the water a good
while you come to feel the land. And if your nose is any account, you
can usually smell it."
An hour or so later, Joe surmised from the Frenchman's actions that they
were approaching their destination. He seemed on the alert, and was
constantly peering into the darkness ahead as though he expected to see
something at any moment. Joe looked very hard, but saw only the darkness.
"Try ze stick, Kid," French Pete ordered. "I t'ink it is about ze time."
'Frisco Kid unlashed a long and slender pole from the top of the cabin,
and, standing on the narrow deck amidships, plunged one end of it into
the water and drove it straight down.
"About fifteen feet," he said.
"What ze bottom?"
"Mud," was the answer.
"Wait one while, den we try some more."
Five minutes afterward the pole was plunged overside again.
"Two fathoms," Joe answered--"shells."
French Pete rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "Vaire good, vaire well,"
he said.
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