Short Stories
the starboard bunks.
But we had no time for them. The yacht, completing the
manoeuvre, headed into the wind with slatting canvas, and
righted to an even keel. We were still plunging ahead, and di-
rectly in our path was the skiff. I saw Big Alec dive overboard
and his mate leap for our bowsprit. Then came the crash as we
struck the boat, and a series of grinding bumps as it passed
under our bottom.
"That fixes his rifle," I heard Charley mutter, as he sprang
upon the deck to look for Big Alec somewhere astern.
The wind and sea quickly stopped our forward movement,
and we began to drift backward over the spot where the skiff
had been. Big Alec's black head and swarthy face popped up
within arm's reach; and all unsuspecting and very angry with
what he took to be the clumsiness of amateur sailors, he was
hauled aboard. Also he was out of breath, for he had dived
deep and stayed down long to escape our keel.
The next instant, to the perplexity and consternation of the
owner, Charley was on top of Big Alec in the cockpit, and I was
helping bind him with gaskets. The owner was dancing excited-
ly about and demanding an explanation, but by that time Big
Alec's partner had crawled aft from the bowsprit and was peer-
ing apprehensively over the rail into the cockpit. Charley's arm
shot around his neck and the man landed on his back beside Big
Alec.
"More gaskets!" Charley shouted, and I made haste to sup-
ply them.
The wrecked skiff was rolling sluggishly a short distance to
windward, and I trimmed the sheets while Charley took the
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