ls. 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.

Joe sought for the land. A mile and a half away it lay--a long, low
stretch of sandy beach with a heavy surf thundering upon it. Behind
appeared desolate marshlands, while far beyond towered the Contra
Costa Hills.

Changing the direction of his gaze, Joe was startled by the sight of a
small sloop rolling and plunging at her anchor not a hundred yards away.
She was nearly to windward, and as she swung off slightly he read her name
on the stern, the _Flying Dutchman_, one of the boats he had seen lying at
the city wharf in Oakland. A little to the left of her he discovered the
_Ghost_, and beyond were half a dozen other sloops at anchor.

"What I tell you?"

Joe looked quickly over his shoulder. French Pete had come out of the
cabin and was triumphantly regarding the spectacle.

"What I tell you? Can't fool-a ze old man, dat 's what. I hit it in ze
dark just so well as in ze sunshine. I know--I know."

"Is she goin' to howl?" 'Frisco Kid asked from the cabin, where he was
starting the fire.

The Frenchman gravely studied sea and sky for a couple of minutes.

"Mebbe blow over--mebbe blow up," was his doubtful verdict. "Get breakfast
queeck, and we try ze dredging."

Smoke was rising from the cabins of the different sloops, denoting that
they were all bent on getting the first meal of the day. So far as the
_Dazzler_ was concerned, it