"Not a hair; she is losing, and the tinkers are running away from our boats. They ought to when our fellows are short-handed." "I guess you are right, Mad," added the skipper, as he looked about him, as if in search of something. "The wind comes stronger and stronger, and I think I shall want my long tiller. It is in the cuddy forward; Will you hand it to me, Jeff Monroe?" Jeff produced the spare tiller, and passed it astern to the skipper. It was about three feet long, and was made of the toughest oak. Bissell took it, and placed it at his side, between himself and the prisoner. Though Paul knew that his arms were free, he had not removed them from the position in which the cord had kept them, and no one but the skipper suspected that he was not still in bonds. All that the owner had said about rough seas had been uttered to blind the six ruffians. It was rough, but not nearly so bad as it had been in the forenoon farther from the land. Bissell had become more interested that day in sailing a boat than he had ever been before. He had obtained a good many new ideas on the subject, and was really desirous of reducing them to practice. Without saying anything about his intention, he had gradually let off the sheet, and put up the helm until the Silver Moon was now a full mile from the shore, and was exposed to the entire force of the moderate gale. The Beech Hill barges followed the sloop, but the Chesterfields were inclined to keep near the shore. The latter were short-handed, and this was doubtless their excuse. The sailboat was now at least half a mile from the Gildrock. Bissell was glowing with his new ideas, and he was disposed to profit by the instructions of the skipper of the Goldwing while they were fresh in his mind. Suddenly he hauled in the sheet, and threw the sloop up into the wind and then let her off on the starboard tack. Laying a course which would take him back to the mouth of the creek, he trimmed the sail and let her drive. "What under the canopy are you doing, Mr. Bissell?" demanded Mad Twinker angrily. "I am afraid the Dasher will not catch us if I run off any farther," replied Bissell. "No matter whether she catches you or not. All you have to do is to land us at Sandy Point, on the bay side," added the leader of the ruffians. "I guess we had better run back a piece," said Bissell, unmoved by the wrath of his passengers. "We don't wish to go back," protested Jeff Monroe. "Do you want the tinkers to board us and take our prisoner out of the sloop?" "I don't know that I care if they do." "Don't you? Well, we do! We won't stand this sort of thing. We hire the boat, and she must go where we say," replied Jeff, rising from his seat, boiling over with wrath. "We won't stand it!" "What are you going to do about it?" inquired Bissell in the mildest of tones. "I order you to come about and take us to Sandy Point, as you agreed to do."