Yet graceful, handsome as she appeared, my entire attention
centered on the group of men at her rail. They were watching us
intently, Henley with a glass at his eyes. Twice I saw him turn, and
wave his hand to Broussard on the bridge, slightly altering the
vessel's course, and once the sound of his voice echoed faintly across
the intervening water.
It was quite evident that as yet he perceived nothing to arouse
suspicion, for, with a swing like a hawk, the _Sea Gull_ bore down upon
us, the engines slowing, and then reversed. We were staring up into
the faces that looked curiously down at us. Henley gripped a stay and
swung himself to the rail; farther aft the negro steward hung over, his
mouth wide open, grinning at the spectacle.
"Hard down!" yelled the Captain, motioning with one arm. "Plug her,
man. Now you damned army hound," he called to me, "catch that rope,
and make fast."
One of the hands flung the coil so that it fell at my feet, and I did
as directed, as otherwise we would have been crushed under the vessel.
As it drew taut, the boat swung in gently against the side of the _Sea
Gull_. Above us Henley hung, leaning far enough out so he could look
down.
"Now, you damn thief," he screamed, "it's my turn to play jailer.
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