“I won’t,” replied the other. “And what’s more I’m going to run back to Morris Heights. There is something about this thing that don’t look right to me.” “We will be responsible for any sort of damage,” Webster told him, encouragingly. “I don’t care what you do,” returned Phylen, whose mind seemed to be made up. “Slow her down, Ned,” to the man at the engine, “we are going back.” He was about to change the course of the boat when Kenyon’s powerful grip fell upon him, and he was dragged away from the wheel. At the same moment the long frame of Big Slim slid from the top of the cabin into the little companionway, blocking the entrance of the engineman. “An engine was once my job,” he told Kenyon, coolly. “Say the word, pal, and I’m here to stay.” “Take charge of these two men,” directed Kenyon. And Gypsy Brady and his followers had the skipper and engineer in their midst, forward, in a moment. Then, with Kenyon at the wheel and Slim at the engine, the _Vixen_ headed toward the flying _Wizard_. But the _Vixen_ was a swift boat, and easily closed the gap between herself and the yacht; before long they were in the wash alongside and the spray was drenching them. The leap from the _Vixen’s_ cabin top to the _Wizard’s_ rail would be no great feat, if they could get near enough, for the yacht had a rather low freeboard. “Take the wheel, Garry,” said Kenyon, at last. “I’m going to make the try.” Webster looked aghast. “I could no more steer this craft than I could build a bridge across the Sound,” confessed he. Kenyon felt a firm hand laid upon the spokes, and shifting his gaze from Webster found Dallas at his side. “I will take the wheel,” said she quietly. Then, noting his surprise, she added, “You need feel no fear. If the vessel will answer, I’ll bring her up.” “Good girl!” exclaimed Webster. But Kenyon said nothing. He leaped upon the cabin, and stood gathering himself for the spring. With the ease of an expert the girl drove the _Vixen_ close under the starboard rail of the _Wizard_, and held her there for a moment. “Now,” she cried, clearly. And Kenyon leaped. A sea struck the bow at the same moment and destroyed his calculations; notwithstanding this, however, he grasped the yacht’s rail with one hand and drew himself quickly upon her deck. Then the Vixen fell off; but still he could hear her engine pulsing and see her lights glimmering through the mist. Then he turned his attention to the vessel upon whose deck he stood. All her deck lanterns were lighted. In her waist a man, breathing heavily, lay stretched near the bulwarks; another stood at the wheel, a revolver in his hand, while a third was at the port rail, also armed with a like weapon. There came a snapping of firearms, apparently from the, to Kenyon, invisible _Piedmont_. The man at the rail swore furiously and began firing downward; the other man left the wheel and joined him in the fusillade.