There was a suspicion of snow in the veiled sky, and the wind stabbed like a knife.  Twice the tug cut through a field of ice making out on an offshore current, and the thumping the little row-boat received seemed likely to rend her into drift-wood.  But that was only one of the chances; and the two men went on into the icy blast with jaws so tightly clenched that their cheek muscles stood out in great knots.

The silence, the danger, the vagueness hung heavily.  As Dan cast his eyes gloomily into the wake of the tug, he saw a dark object shoot out of the foam and dart down upon them like a torpedo; in fact a torpedo could not have worked more serious effect upon the boat than did that heavy, water-soaked log.

“Starboard your oar!” shouted Dan, at the same time digging his own oar deep down on the port side and pulling upon it with all the magnificent strength of his arms until it bent like a reed.  There was just time to avert the direct impact, not to escape altogether.

It was a glancing blow just above the water line; it punched a great, jagged hole and gouged out the paint clear to the stern.  Dan drew a long breath and murmured in a half-sick voice, “They might as well kill a man as scare him to death,” while Captain Barney’s face made a gray streak in the darkness.

The Quinn was now past the point of Sandy Hook and was skirting the shore.  The muffled beat of the breakers could be heard through the gloom, which was riven every second by the great, swinging search-light in the Navesink.  Not a mile ahead was the bar; and the masthead light of the Kentigern could be seen, twinkling like a planet.

In twenty minutes the dark hull of the Kentigern came looming out of the night.  A hail shot from the Quinn, and a faint reply came back.  Dark figures could now be seen, outlined by the cabin lights in the forward section of the tramp.

“Hello, what tug is that?” sounded from the bridge.  “Is that you, Captain Barney?”

“No, it’s the Quinn, Cap’n Jim Skelly.  Hodge is laid up to-night; I’ll take you into dock.”

“All right; come aboard,” and after a minute’s scurrying of figures on the deck a flimsy companion-ladder rattled down over the side of the freighter.

Dan heard it and ground his teeth in disappointment.

“Gripes!” he exclaimed.  “They’ve that ladder down an hour before I thought they would.  Now we’re up against it, sure.”

With a growl Captain Barney whipped out his knife and made a pass at the tow-line.  He missed it and dropped back in the stern as Dan struck at him with his oar.

“Wait!” hissed the young boatman.  “We’d have no chance at all.  We’ve got to get nearer.  The tug ’d beat us a mile.  Sit tight, you old fool!”

Captain Barney recognized the wisdom of the words with a groan.  He was far past the arguing point.  The tide was boiling past the side of the vessel, swashing like a mill-race.  All they could do under present conditions was to cast off when the tug was very near the freighter, cut in across, and get under the ladder before the tug could properly warp alongside.