s in a pretty hobble if a boat put off from the
ship just now," Jerry said in a low tone, and I was angry with him for
having offered such a suggestion. There was enough in the venture to
make a fellow nervous, without conjuring up all the possibilities at a
time when one needed to have his wits about him.

"We won't think of anything except trying to pick the poor man up," I
said sharply. "This isn't the kind of work that suits me, and I'm not
so cold-blooded that I can picture out all the trouble which may come
upon us."

"A fellow can't help thinkin'," Jerry replied grumpily, and I said yet
more curtly:

"He needn't talk about it to mix others up." Then, angered with myself
for having spoken so petulantly, I added, "To tell the truth, Jerry, I
am as frightened as a lad well can be, and don't dare to talk overly
much lest I should show the white feather in a way to make you ashamed
of me."

"You can't be any worse off than I am," my partner replied, and then
we both laughed softly. An acknowledgment of our timorousness seemed
to hearten us, and we worked the paddles in a more whole-souled
fashion.

As I have said, we decided to pull back and forth on a line about a
quarter of a mile long, and all the while kept a sharp watch in the
direction of the vessel, for a swimmer's head on the water is not a
very large object to see in the night.

We did not dare indulge in much conversation, and during an hour we
had not spoken once; but then I said, thinking to spare ourselves
useless labor:

"If he slipped off at eight o'clock, he should have been here by this
time. We may as well lay still till midnight."

I had hardly ceased speaking when we heard a sound as of some one
whistling softly, and nothing more was needed to tell us that Bill
Jepson had succeeded in slipping away from the ship.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DESERTER.

Even after knowing that the deserter was near at hand, we had
considerable difficulty in locating him, and not until after making a
complete circle around the swimmer could I see his head.

As we came alongside he grasped the gunwale to rest himself, and
asked:

"Are you from the oysterman?"

"Ay, shan't we take you aboard now? The pungy is on the other side of
the island."

"The canoe would be overturned if I attempted to come over the rail.
Paddle into shoaler water, an' I'll try it."

"Tired out?" I asked as we worked the craft toward the shore, he still
holding by the gunwa