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"Two nights ago," said the other, beginning to fry salt pork.

"Nigh thirty-six hours you've laid here like a log." Code doubted

it, but did not argue. He was trying to puzzle out the situation.

If this was a fishing schooner the men ought to be over the side

fishing, and she would be at anchor. Instead, feeling the long,

steady heel to leeward and half-recover to windward, he knew she

was flying on a course.

Breakfast swallowed, he made his way on deck. As he came up the

companionway a man stood leaning against the rail. With a feeling

of violent revulsion, Code recognized Nat Burns. A glance at a

near-by dory showed the lettering Nettie B., and Schofield at

once recognized his position.

He was Nat Burns's prisoner.

"Mornin'," said Burns curtly. "Thought you were goin' to sleep

forever."

"It's a hanging offense putting any one to sleep that long,"

retorted Code cheerfully. "Luck was with you, and I woke up."