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"Hey, you!" bawled Stetson as the Lass began to heel to the great

sweep of the wind. "There's two ahead of him, Bijonah Tanner an'

Jed Martin! Better hurry if you're going to catch the market!"

"Hurry, is it?" growled Code to himself. "I'll hurry so some

people won't know who it is."

It was the first time that Code had had occasion to drive the

Lass, for the Mignon fishermen heretofore had confined their

labor to the shoals near home or, at farthest, on the Nova Scotia

coast. The present occasion was different.

Between where he lay and the friendly sight of Swallowtail Light

was more than eight hundred and fifty miles of wallowing,

tumbling ocean. Treacherous shoals underran it, biting rocks

pierced up in saw-toothed reefs, the bitterest gales of all the

seas swept in leaden wastes.