with his head in the hollow of her arm. Everything was
quiet. The beach-combers were gone.

"Hello, what--what--what is it?" he asked, springing to his feet, his
head swimming and smarting. "We had a row, didn't we? Did they hurt you?
Oh, I remember; I got a cut over the head--one of their hatchet men. Did
they hurt you?"

"They got the loot," she growled. "Filthy vermin! And just to make
everything pleasant, the schooner's sinking."

VIII. A RUN FOR LAND

"SINKING!" exclaimed Wilbur.

Moran was already on her feet. "We'll have to beach her," she cried,
"and we're six miles out. Up y'r jib, mate!" The two set the jib,
flying-jib, and staysails.

The fore and main sails were already drawing, and under all the spread
of her canvas the "Bertha" raced back toward the shore.

But by the time she was within the head of the bay her stern had settled
to such an extent that the forefoot was clear of the water, the bowsprit
pointing high into the heavens. Moran was at the wheel, her scowl
thicker than ever, her eyes measuring the stretch of water that lay
between the schooner and the shore.

"She'll never make it in God's world," she muttered as she listened to
the wash of the water in the cabin under her feet. In the hold, empty
barrels were afloat, knocking hollowly against each other. "We're in a
bad way, mate."

"If it comes to that," returned Wilbur, surprised to see her thus easily
downcast, who was usually so indomitable--"if it comes to that, we can
swim for it--a couple of planks--"

"Swim?" she echoed; "I'm not thinking of that; of course we could swim."

"What then?"

"The sharks!"

Wilbur's teeth clicked sharply together. He could think of nothing to
say.

As the water gained between decks the schooner's speed dwindled, and
at the same time as she approached the shore the wind, shut off by the
land, fell away. By this time the ocean was not four inches below the
stern-rail. Two miles away was the nearest sand-spit. Wilbur broke out
a distress signal on the foremast, in the hope that Charlie and the
deserters might send off the dory to their assistance. But the deserters
were nowhere in sight.

"What became of the junk?" he demanded suddenly of Moran. She motioned
to the westward with her head. "Still lying out-side."

Twenty minutes passed. Once only Moran spoke.

"When she begins to go," she said, "she'll go with a rush. Jump pretty
wide, or you'll get caught in the suction."

The two