"I hit ze ground every time. You can't fool-a ze old man; I tell
you dat for sure."
'Frisco Kid continued operating the pole and announcing the results, to the
mystification of Joe, who could not comprehend their intimate knowledge of
the bottom of the bay.
"Ten feet--shells," 'Frisco Kid went on in a monotonous voice. "'Leven
feet--shells. Fourteen feet--soft. Sixteen feet--mud. No bottom."
"Ah, ze channel," said French Pete at this.
For a few minutes it was "No bottom"; and then, suddenly, came 'Frisco
Kid's cry: "Eight feet--hard!"
"Dat 'll do," French Pete commanded. "Run for'ard, you Sho, an' let go ze
jib. You, Kid, get all ready ze hook."
Joe found the jib-halyard and cast it off the pin, and, as the canvas
fluttered down, came in hand over hand on the downhaul.
"Let 'er go!" came the command, and the anchor dropped into the water,
carrying but little chain after it.
'Frisco Kid threw over plenty of slack and made fast. Then they furled
the sails, made things tidy, and went below and to bed.
It was six o'clock when Joe awoke and went out into the cockpit to look
about. Wind and sea had sprung up, and the _Dazzler_ was rolling and
tossing and now and again fetching up on her anchor-chain with a savage
jerk. He was forced to hold on to the boom overhead to steady himself.
It was a gray and leaden day, with no signs of the rising sun, while the
sky was obscured by great masses of flying clouds.
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