As 'Frisco Kid had said, the
backbone of the storm was broken, though the wind had veered to the west,
where it still blew stiffly.
"If she holds," 'Frisco Kid said, referring to the breeze, "we 'll drift
to the California coast sometime to-morrow. Nothing to do now but wait."
They said little, oppressed by the loss of their comrades and overcome
with exhaustion, preferring to huddle against each other for the sake
of warmth and companionship. It was a miserable night, and they shivered
constantly from the cold. Nothing dry was to be obtained aboard, food,
blankets, everything being soaked with the salt water. Sometimes they
dozed; but these intervals were short and harassing, for it seemed each
took turn in waking with such sudden starts as to rouse the other.
At last day broke, and they looked about. Wind and sea had dropped
considerably, and there was no question as to the safety of the
_Dazzler_. The coast was nearer than they had expected, its cliffs
showing dark and forbidding in the gray of dawn. But with the rising
of the sun they could see the yellow beaches, flanked by the white
surf, and beyond--it seemed too good to be true--the clustering houses
and smoking chimneys of a town.
"Santa Cruz!" 'Frisco Kid cried, "and no chance of being wrecked in
the surf!"
"Then the safe _is_ safe?" Joe queried.
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