A little after that he was sent in to blow out the cabin lamp.  The Dazzler tacked about and began to work in toward the north shore.  Everybody kept silent, save for occasional whispered questions and answers which passed between Bill and the captain.  Finally the sloop was run into the wind, and the jib and mainsail lowered cautiously.

“Short hawse,” French Pete whispered to ’Frisco Kid, who went for’ard and dropped the anchor, paying out the slightest quantity of slack.

The Dazzler’s skiff was brought alongside, as was also the small boat in which the two strangers had come aboard.

“See that that cub don’t make a fuss,” Bill commanded in an undertone, as he joined his partner in his own boat.

“Can you row?” ’Frisco Kid asked as they got into the other boat.

Joe nodded his head.

“Then take these oars, and don’t make a racket.”

’Frisco Kid took the second pair, while French Pete steered.  Joe noticed that the oars were muffled with sennit, and that even the rowlock sockets were protected with leather.  It was impossible to make a noise except by a mis-stroke, and Joe had learned to row on Lake Merrit well enough to avoid that.  They followed in the wake of the first boat, and, glancing aside, he saw they were running along the length of a pier which jutted out from the land.  A couple of ships, with riding-lanterns burning brightly, were moored to it, but they kept just beyond the edge of the light.  He stopped rowing at the whispered command of ’Frisco Kid.  Then the boats grounded like ghosts on a tiny beach, and they clambered out.

Joe followed the men, who picked their way carefully up a twenty-foot bank.  At the top he found himself on a narrow railway track which ran between huge piles of rusty scrap-iron.  These piles, separated by tracks, extended in every direction he could not tell how far, though in the distance he could see the vague outlines of some great factory-like building.  The men began to carry loads of the iron down to the beach, and French Pete, gripping him by the arm and again warning him not to make any noise, told him to do likewise.  At the beach they turned their burdens over to ’Frisco Kid, who loaded them, first in the one skiff and then in the other.  As the boats settled under the weight, he kept pushing them farther and farther out, in order that they should keep clear of the bottom.

Joe worked away steadily, though he could not help marveling at the queerness of the whole business.  Why should there be such a mystery about it? and why such care taken to maintain silence?  He had just begun to ask himself these questions, and a horrible suspicion was forming itself in his mind, when he heard the hoot of an owl from the direction of the beach.  Wondering at an owl being in so unlikely a place, he stooped to gather a fresh load of iron.  But suddenly a man sprang out of the gloom, flashing a dark lantern full upon him.  Blinded by the