"Don't say that," rejoined the Scoutmaster, laughing. "Let me have a look at the lines. Ah! they're properly hooked. Sayers, I see an old tin can under the bow thwart. Give it a rub on the leather of your oar and pass it to me." The Tenderfoot did as Mr Buckley suggested. With a pair of pocket scissors the Scoutmaster cut three spoon-shaped pieces from the now glittering tin, curved them with his fingers and attached the metal to the line just in front of the three-barbed hooks. "Well I never!" ejaculated Sayers. "To think that fish make a meal out of a chunk of tin." The lines were paid out, the metal discs jumping erratically under the resistance of the water. Three minutes later, Sayers felt a sharp tug on his line. "A fish!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Haul it slowly and carefully or you'll lose it," cautioned Mr Buckley. "Yes, Sayers, you've hooked a beauty." Wildly struggling, a fair-sized mackerel was landed into the boat, its gills impaled by two barbed hooks. After that the sport was fast and furious, and before the boats were abreast of Beware Head eleven fish were lying on the bottom boards of the "Otters'" boat, and nine fell to the lot of the "Wolves." "There's a cutter close inshore," observed Phillips, as the boats rounded North Head. "She's too close in for safety," added Mayne. "She can't be very far from the reef where the tramp steamer struck." "She's anchored," declared Atherton. "I can see the cable. She's a good distance this side of the reef, nearly opposite the Tea Caves, I should imagine." "We'll pull close to her and see if anything's wrong. Perhaps they've missed the tide, and have anchored close inshore till slack water," said Mr Buckley. "Give way 'Wolves'; we'll race you." The "Wolves" did give way with a will, and being in a lighter and fairly narrow-beamed boat they outstripped their friendly rivals. "That will do," ordered the Scoutmaster. "Take it easy now." The cutter was a yacht of about ten tons. Since she had no name on her counter, Mr Buckley came to the conclusion that she belonged to a recognised yacht club in spite of the fact that she flew no burgee. She was moored with two anchors and cables--an unnecessary business unless she was to stay over one tide. A dinghy was made fast astern, and this was the only intimation the Scouts had that there was some one on board the yacht, for her deck was deserted. "Yacht ahoy!" hailed the Scoutmaster. Two disreputable-looking men clad in blue jerseys and dirty canvas trousers emerged hurriedly from the cabin. "Wot d'ye want, Capting?" asked the taller of the two, with an insolent ring in his voice. "We thought you were brought up too close inshore," said the Scoutmaster. "Perhaps you're strangers to this part of the coast?" "I'll chaunce me arm over that, old mate," was the reply. "We're bloomin' well all right, cocky. When the tide serves we'll sweep the blinkin' boat rahnd to Padstow if there's no bloomin' wind."