"Ah, you see! you see!" French Pete pointed astern.
The sloop-yacht had been afraid to venture it, and was skirting back
and forth on the inner edge of the bar. The chase was over. A pilot-boat,
running for shelter from the coming storm, flew by them like a frightened
bird, passing the steamer as though the latter were standing still.
Half an hour later the _Dazzler_ sped beyond the last smoking sea and was
sliding up and down on the long Pacific swell. The wind had increased its
velocity and necessitated a reefing down of jib and mainsail. Then they
laid off again, full and free on the starboard tack, for the Farralones,
thirty miles away. By the time breakfast was cooked and eaten they picked
up the _Reindeer_, which was hove to and working offshore to the south and
west. The wheel was lashed down, and there was not a soul on deck.
French Pete complained bitterly against such recklessness. "Dat is ze one
fault of Red Nelson. He no care. He is afraid of not'ing. Some day he will
die, oh, so vaire queeck! I know he will."
Three times they circled about the _Reindeer_, running under her weather
quarter and shouting in chorus, before they brought anybody on deck. Sail
was then made at once, and together the two cockle-shells plunged away
into the vastness of the Pacific. This was necessary, as 'Frisco Kid
informed Joe, in order to have an offing before the whole fury of the
storm broke upon them.
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