"There's nothing to do but plump the Mary Rebecca
ashore and run for it," was the verdict of the first cheerful
sailor.
"And leaf der Mary Rebecca?" Ole demanded, with unspeakable horror
in his voice.
"Not unless you want to," was the response. "But I don't want to
be within a thousand miles of her when those fellers come aboard"--
indicating the bedlam of excited Greeks towing behind.
We were right in at Collinsville then, and went foaming by within
biscuit-toss of the wharf.
"I only hope the wind holds out," Charley said, stealing a glance
at our prisoners.
"What of der wind?" Ole demanded disconsolately. "Der river will
not hold out, and then . . . and then . . ."
"It's head for tall timber, and the Greeks take the hindermost,"
adjudged the cheerful sailor, while Ole was stuttering over what
would happen when we came to the end of the river.
We had now reached a dividing of the ways. To the left was the
mouth of the Sacramento River, to the right the mouth of the San
Joaquin.
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