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 excitedly about and
demanding an explanation, but by that time Big Alec's partner had
crawled aft from the bowsprit and was peering 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 supply them.

The wrecked skiff was rolling sluggishly a short distance to
windward, and I trimmed the sheets while Charley took the wheel and
steered for it.

"These two men are old offenders," he explained to the angry owner;
"and they are most persistent violators of the fish and game laws.
You have seen them caught in the act, and you may expect to be
subpoenaed as witness for the state when the trial comes off."

As he spoke he rounded alongside the skiff. It had been torn from