A feeling of chilliness, followed by a grateful sensation of drawing closer under some warm covering, a stinging taste in his mouth of fiery liquor and the aromatic steam of hot coffee, were his first returning sensations. His head and neck were swathed in coarse bandages, and his skin stiffened and smarting with soap. He was lying in a rude berth under a half-deck from which he could see the sky and the bellying sail, and presently a bearded face filled with rough and practical concern that peered down upon him. “Hulloo! comin' round, eh? Hold on!” The next moment the stranger had leaped down beside Elijah. He seemed to be an odd mingling of the sailor and ranchero with the shrewdness of a seaport trader. “Hulloo, boss! What was it? A free fight, or a wash-out?” “A wash-out!”* Elijah grasped the idea as an inspiration. Yes, his cabin had been inundated, he had taken to a raft, had been knocked off twice or thrice, and had lost everything--even his revolver! * A mining term for the temporary inundation of a claim by flood; also used for the sterilizing effect of flood on fertile soil. The man looked relieved. “Then it ain't a free fight, nor havin' your crust busted and bein' robbed by beach combers, eh?” “No,” said Elijah, with his first faint smile. “Glad o' that,” said the man bluntly. “Then thar ain't no police business to tie up to in 'Frisco? We were stuck thar a week once, just because we chanced to pick up a feller who'd been found gagged and then thrown overboard by wharf thieves. Had to dance attendance at court thar and lost our trip.” He stopped and looked half-pathetically at the prostrate Elijah. “Look yer! ye ain't just dyin' to go ashore NOW and see yer friends and send messages, are ye?” Elijah shuddered inwardly, but outwardly smiled faintly as he replied, “No!” “And the tide and wind jest servin' us now, ye wouldn't mind keepin' straight on with us this trip?” “Where to?” asked Elijah. “Santy Barbara.” “No,” said Elijah, after a moment's pause. “I'll go with you.” The man leaped to his feet, lifted his head above the upper deck, shouted “Let her go free, Jerry!” and then turned gratefully to his passenger. “Look yer! A wash-out is a wash-out, I reckon, put it any way you like; it don't put anything back into the land, or anything back into your pocket afterwards, eh? No! And yer well out of it, pardner! Now there's a right smart chance for locatin' jest back of Santy Barbara, where thar ain't no God-forsaken tules to overflow; and ez far ez the land and licker lies ye 'needn't take any water in yours' ef ye don't want it. You kin start fresh thar, pardner, and brail up. What's the matter with you, old man, is only fever 'n' agur ketched in them tules! I kin see it in your eyes. Now you hold on whar you be till I go forrard and see everything taut, and then I'll come back and we'll have a talk.”