"Ah! the youth is willing to face the dangers. A woman laughs at them. Yet the most skilled boatman of Yerba Buena is afraid! A pretty story to be told around the net mending on the beach. A pretty story! No?" The man grunted. "Five hundred other gold pesos, if you reach the ships. Why not be rich, enjoy life, and leave fishing to others?" The Mexican grunted again, "No." "Turn about. I warn you," resolution burning her words. "No, I shall not. Death awaits if I do." Her hand rose suddenly. The man looked into the barrel of a pistol which the señora pointed steadily at him. "Death awaits, if you do not!" "Huh!" growled the father, "your powder's wet and your pistol good for nothing. You can't fool me." She fired the pistol into the air; drew a second weapon from beneath her cloak and pointed it in level aim. "The next shot will not go wild. Turn back, I say; else I crook my finger, ever so slightly, and you die, a coward! Your name a byword among fishermen!" The man said nothing. Pride, and desire of gain spoke urgently; but, he knew the temper of an angry sea. On the other hand--that pistol barrel glinting so unpleasantly; and the eye of the señora--darkening--threatening. What a will that white woman has! Her hand was tightening--her finger beginning to press the trigger. "Out to sea, boys!" he cried, suddenly, gripping the oars. "Get to work with your paddles. All together! Now!" Once more they made the bar. The wind had veered from west to north. A tiny sail, close-reefed, was raised. The boat flew southward along the coast, just outside the whitening edge of breakers. The fleet lay to the right, but their only hope of reaching the flagship was not in direct course, but in wide sweep out to sea, then to circle back toward the west. The afternoon wore away. The sun dipped below the water's edge. Leagues out of sight of either land or warships had they come. The sail was reefed yet closer. Father and sons tugged on the tiller rope. The rudder, square across the course, brought the boat head to wind which was again blowing westward. The little craft cavorted like a bucking broncho; then wheeled, and dashed homeward again. A sudden gust tore her canvas from its cordage. The men sprang to the oars, and mightily fought the sea until the boat was once more in the teeth of the gale. They were in their element now. Many a night had these fishermen lain out on the sea when unforeseen storm made entering the harbor perilous. Crossing the bar against an ocean's fury was one thing; to toss, boat to windward, safe from treacherous rocks, for a night or longer, was quite another matter. "Señora," spoke the father, "with our sail we could have reached your ships by time of dark. We cannot with the oars. There's nothing to do but lie here. When morning comes we'll row you to where you wish to go."