“Tell those coolies to get up that sail,” Charley finally called to me.  “We don’t want to hang up on the mud flats for the rest of the night.”

I repeated the order to Yellow Handkerchief, who mumbled it huskily to his men.  He was suffering from a bad cold, which doubled him up in convulsive coughing spells and made his eyes heavy and bloodshot.  This made him more evil-looking than ever, and when he glared viciously at me I remembered with a shiver the close shave I had had with him at the time of his previous arrest.

His crew sullenly tailed on to the halyards, and the strange, outlandish sail, lateen in rig and dyed a warm brown, rose in the air.  We were sailing on the wind, and when Yellow Handkerchief flattened down the sheet the junk forged ahead and the tow-line went slack.  Fast as the Reindeer could sail, the junk outsailed her; and to avoid running her down I hauled a little closer on the wind.  But the junk likewise outpointed, and in a couple of minutes I was abreast of the Reindeer and to windward.  The tow-line had now tautened, at right angles to the two boats, and the predicament was laughable.

“Cast off!” I shouted.

Charley hesitated.

“It’s all right,” I added.  “Nothing can happen.  We’ll make the creek on this tack, and you’ll be right behind me all the way up to San Rafael.”

At this Charley cast off, and Yellow Handkerchief sent one of his men forward to haul in the line.  In the gathering darkness I could just make out the mouth of San Rafael Creek, and by the time we entered it I could barely see its banks.  The Reindeer was fully five minutes astern, and we continued to leave her astern as we beat up the narrow, winding channel.  With Charley behind us, it seemed I had little to fear from my five prisoners; but the darkness prevented my keeping a sharp eye on them, so I transferred my revolver from my trousers pocket to the side pocket of my coat, where I could more quickly put my hand on it.

Yellow Handkerchief was the one I feared, and that he knew it and made use of it, subsequent events will show.  He was sitting a few feet away from me, on what then happened to be the weather side of the junk.  I could scarcely see the outlines of his form, but I soon became convinced that he was slowly, very slowly, edging closer to me.  I watched him carefully.  Steering with my left hand, I slipped my right into my pocket and got hold of the revolver.

I saw him shift along for a couple of inches, and I was just about to order him back—­the words were trembling on the tip of my tongue—­when I was struck with great force by a heavy figure that had leaped through the air upon me from the lee side.  It was one of the crew.  He pinioned my right arm so that I could not withdraw my hand from my pocket, and at the same time clapped his other hand over my mouth.  Of course, I could have struggled away from him and freed my hand or gotten my mouth clear so that I might cry an alarm, but in a trice Yellow Handkerchief was on top of me.