"All hollow," I agreed. "We've got 'em this trip!" "We have unless they carry a ten-pounder--in which case we'll take a bath. Freeze close, buddie!" Nearer and nearer we drew, but no bally hell came from her. She showed absolutely no sign of anyone, not even a pile of canvas or a box that might hide a sharp-shooter. That, then, was the old counterfeiter's ruse: to tempt us into taking the initiative when, more than likely, he was ready with the probable ten-pounder to sink us. Still, it felt rather snug to be lying there elbow to elbow with Tommy. Gates had steered so close by this time that any skipper on the other yacht, not endowed with stupendous nerve, would certainly have gone about; for we had maneuvered to get the right of way, and a collision would have been entirely the _Orchid's_ fault. But no one ran out, nor did her course change, and at the very last minute Gates called an order that brought us off a few points. We were now sailing parallel, not more than ten fathoms apart, and could have thrown a biscuit on her deck. I glanced out the corner of my eye at Tommy. His cheek rested snugly against the stock of his rifle and his finger stroked the trigger, I thought affectionately. Had either of us been more conversant with nautical matters we would have noticed something that Gates now came crawling up to tell us. He did this without being much exposed, by creeping along until abreast of us and then projecting himself, headfirst or any other way, into our midst. It was an active accomplishment for one of Gates's years. "D'you see what they've done?" he excitedly asked. "That wheel, there, is lashed over; they've paid out the mains'l enough to starboard, and set the jib properly to port. That's why the fores'l isn't up!" "What of it?" "Why, sir, she'll sail that way all day in a wind like this, and nobody have to touch her! They knew we'd be popping at their helmsman, and they fixed it so we carn't! Now it's our turn to start something!" "Then start it," Tommy said. "Run alongside and we'll climb over!" "Mr. Thomas," he demurred, "that's rank piracy, unless we're the law. I wouldn't say no, understand, if there warn't some other way. But if we try it they'll have every right to shoot us down--which they can easy do, being hid and ready!" "You forget, Gates, they haven't a right on earth. They don't want to face the law with the best justification ever known--they'd be mortally afraid to!" "Then they wouldn't be any less particular about shooting us," the old skipper replied. There was no denying that Tommy had impaled himself upon his own point; not that he cared a hang whether they began shooting or not, but the anxiety of Gates caused him to temporize, and he said: "Bluff it! Sing across that we're the U. S. A. ordering 'em to stop. Say it strong enough to make us believe it, too, Gates--so we'll feel self-righteous when the scrap comes!" Gates grinned and, cupping his hands, shouted: