Harry flung loose the mainsheet, but the boat did not quicken her speed immediately, and Frank found it desperately hard to drag up the canoe, though Mr. Oliver had seized the rope behind him. Haste was, however, necessary, if the rancher was to slip back to the depot unsuspected. At last the canoe ran alongside with a bang and Mr. Oliver dropped on board, while Frank nearly upset her as he followed him. Each of them seized a paddle and the boy had a momentary glimpse of the sloop rolling with her slackened mainsail thrashing to and fro, while Harry struggled to haul the jib to weather. After that he looked ahead and swung his paddle, and as the breeze was blowing on to the beach a few quick strokes drove them in through the splashing surf. She struck the stones violently, for they had no time to be careful, and Mr. Oliver jumped ashore, running into the water to thrust her out. Frank contrived to twist her around, though it taxed all his strength, after which he hazarded a single glance behind him. Mr. Oliver had disappeared among the several masses of fallen rock and clumps of small growth which were scattered about the slope. So far the plan had succeeded, but Frank had still to reach the sloop, which was a different matter from paddling ashore. There was a fresh breeze ahead of him and a little splashing sea heaved up the canoe's bows and checked her speed. In addition to this, it is a rather difficult thing to keep a canoe on a straight course with a single-ended paddle, which can only be dipped on the one side, and in order to do so one must give the blade a back twist, which retards the craft unless it is skillfully managed. Frank, who had hitherto practiced it only in smooth water, found that the bows would blow around in spite of him. He grew hot and breathless, and though he set his lips and strung up his muscles he made very little progress. "Paddle!" shouted Harry, who had been watching his maneuvers. "Shove her through it! Can't you get a move on? I can't run in any nearer without getting her ashore." Frank made another desperate attempt, but a splashing sea broke about the bows, driving the canoe off her course again, and while he savagely swung the paddle Harry surveyed him contemptuously. "Culcha!" he jeered. "Guess you loaded that up in Boston, but what you want is sand. Can't you get a bit of a hustle on? You're sure born played-out back East." Frank felt a little more blood surge into his hot face. This was more than he felt inclined to stand from any Westerner of his own weight, but it was clear that he could not rebuke his reviler fittingly until he reached the sloop and the veins swelled up on his forehead as he furiously plied the paddle. Once more a sea broke about the bows and this time part of it splashed in, while as he tried the back-feather stroke the canoe lurched and began to swing around in spite of his redoubled efforts. Harry spread out one hand resignedly.