In the west the rain was falling heavily and the sea was torn up by it, a well-defined line of white water denoting the edge of the squall. Loyola, with the first instinct of a sailor, took a keen look to windward as she rose from her recumbent position. "We're going to have a blow," she announced quietly, turning to the rolling-stone, who was slowly filling his pipe with a clumsiness caused by his blindness. "Are we?" he muttered indifferently. "You're right, ma'm," broke in Bill. "The wind broke off soon arter you turned in, an' 'as been very unsteady ever since." "Coming out of the nor-west," went on the woman calmly; "a nasty quarter in these seas." "Can you locate us at all, Jack?" inquired Broncho. "What's your dead reckoning for the last four hours?" asked the rover. "We've been headin' a point off north most o' the time," returned Bill Benson, "and ain't averaged more'n two knots an hour." "St. Jean Baptiste can't be far below the horizon in the nor-west," said Jack, after making a rapid mental calculation. "Pass me over the sextant and I'll get a noon sight," observed Loyola quietly. Bill stared in astonishment, and ejaculated half under his breath, "Blawst me, but she's a sailor's daughter an' no mistake." "She was four years old when Big Harry brought her out to the South Seas in the old _Moonbeam_. When he lost his money he turned the yacht into a trader, and kept his daughter with him, as she had no mother, and she's been at sea most of the time ever since," explained Jack in a low voice, as this sea-maiden ogled the sun. Silently they watched her. This taking of the sun to the uninitiated always seems a most mysterious and wonderful operation, and Broncho, Jim, and the bluejacket stared with eyes full of awe and admiration. The sun was now close to the meridian, and presently the woman called out, "Make eight bells!" Jack laughingly beat the notes of the bell with a spoon on the barrel of his six-shooter. "Throw me over the almanac and tables, Jim," cried Loyola coolly, and a minute later she announced their latitude. "Think we're in for some dirt, Lolie?" inquired the rolling-stone casually. "Sure of it! What you say, Tari?" "Missee qui' right, big blow by-an'-by." "I hope not," said the boy anxiously. "In an open boat there ain't no joke in it." "I'm with you, Jim," declared the cowboy. "I'd rayther be lost in a blizzard a whole lot with a good hoss under me, than be upheaved an' junked about on this here onrestful sea." Presently the wind died away completely, and the boat lay rolling helplessly on the swell, her sails flapping. The afternoon passed slowly. Bill, in the bottom of the boat, lay face downwards, apparently dozing. Jim, next him, was listening with open eyes to one of Broncho's cattle-yarns. Tari, in the bows, slept placidly; and in the stern sat Jack and Loyola, conversing in low tones.