astern, and
a figure which clung desperately to the side of it. Before he had quite
realised what had happened, he saw the skipper haul himself on to the
stern of the boat and then roll heavily into it.

Panic-stricken at the sight, he drew his knife to cut the boat adrift,
but paused as he reflected that she and her freight would probably be
picked up by some passing vessel. As the thought struck him he saw the
dim form of the skipper come towards the bow of the boat and, seizing
the rope, begin to haul in towards the barge.

"Stop!" shouted the mate hoarsely; "stop! or I'll cut you loose."

The skipper let the rope go, and the boat pulled up with a jerk.

"I'm independent of you," the skipper shouted, picking up one of the
loose boards from the bottom of the boat and brandishing it. "If there's
any sea on I can keep her head to it with this. Cut away."

"If I let you come aboard," said the mate, "will you swear to let
bygones be bygones?"

"No!" thundered the other. "Whether I come aboard or not don't make much
difference. It'll be about twenty years for you, you murdering hound,
when I get ashore."

The mate made no reply, but sat silently steering, keeping, however,
a wary eye on the boat towing behind. He turned sick and faint as he
thought of the consequences of his action, and vainly cast about in his
mind for some means of escape.

"Are you going to let me come aboard?" presently demanded the skipper,
who was shivering in his wet clothes.

"You can come aboard on my terms," repeated the mate doggedly.

"I'll make no terms with you," cried the other. "I hand you over to the
police directly I get ashore, you mutinous dog. I've got a good witness
in my head."

After this there was silence--silence unbroken through the long hours
of the night as they slowly passed. Then the dawn came. The sidelights
showed fainter and fainter in the water; the light on the mast shed no
rays on the deck, but twinkled uselessly behind its glass. Then the mate
turned his gaze from the wet, cheerless deck and heaving seas to the
figure in the boat dragging behind. The skipper, who returned his gaze
with a fierce scowl, was holding his wet handkerchief to his temple.
He removed it as the mate looked, and showed a ghastly wound. Still,
neither of them spoke. The mate averted his gaze, and sickened with fear
as he thought of his position; and in that instant the skipper clutched
the painter, and, with a mighty heave, sent the