I felt it ground gently on the
soft mud. Three of the Chinese--they all wore long sea-boots--got
over the side, and the other two passed me across the rail. With
Yellow Handkerchief at my legs and his two companions at my
shoulders, they began to flounder along through the mud. After
some time their feet struck firmer footing, and I knew they were
carrying me up some beach. The location of this beach was not
doubtful in my mind. It could be none other than one of the Marin
Islands, a group of rocky islets which lay off the Marin County
shore.
When they reached the firm sand that marked high tide, I was
dropped, and none too gently. Yellow Handkerchief kicked me
spitefully in the ribs, and then the trio floundered back through
the mud to the junk. A moment later I heard the sail go up and
slat in the wind as they drew in the sheet. Then silence fell, and
I was left to my own devices for getting free.
I remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirm out of ropes
with which they were bound, but though I writhed and squirmed like
a good fellow, the knots remained as hard as ever, and there was no
appreciable slack.
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