over toward the Contra Costa shore."

A fine huge breath of wind passed over the schooner. She heeled
it on the instant, the water roaring along her quarter, but she
kept her course. Wilbur fell thoughtful again, never more keenly
observant.

"She must come about soon," he muttered uneasily, "if she's going
to stand up toward Vallejo." His heart sank with a sudden
apprehension. A nervousness he could not overcome seized upon
him. The "Bertha Millner" held tenaciously to the tack. Within
fifty yards of the Presidio came the command again:

"Stand by for stays."

Once more, her bows dancing, her cordage rattling, her sails
flapping noisily, the schooner came about. Anxiously Wilbur
observed the bowsprit as it circled like a hand on a dial,
watching where now it would point. It wavered, fluctuated, rose,
fell, then settled easily, pointing toward Lime Point. Wilbur
felt a sudden coldness at his heart.

"This isn't going to be so much fun," he muttered between his
teeth. The schooner was not bound up the bay for Alviso nor to
Vallejo for grain. The track toward Lime Point could mean but one
thing. The wind was freshening from the nor'west, the ebb tide
rushing out to meet the ocean like a mill-race, at every moment
the Golden Gate opened out wider, and within two minutes after the
time of the last tack the "Bertha Millner" heeled to a great gust
that had come booming in between the heads, straight from the open