"Did the Petrel sink right away?" Dickie interrupted.
Another man crowded forward and answered the question.
"She didn't sink at all, miss. She wasn't far from the shore and she drifted in with the tide that was settin' in strong. Then she piled up on the rocks. She's layin' there now, high and dry on the beach."
"Didn't the boat that smashed them, lay to?" volleyed the girl.
Again the Mexican began to speak excitedly:
"Sangre de Christo, no," he chattered, "The boat, she was very big, Señorita, and she did not stop."
"Nonsense, Manuel. You were crazy with fright. Don't talk like a fool. Go home and go to bed. When you've had a good sleep, I'll talk with you again."
Stung into action by Jones's statement that the hull of the Petrel was still on the beach, she turned suddenly to the wharf.
"Tom Howard," she called sharply. When a voice answered, she ordered: "Fill up the Pelican with oil and stock her with grub. You can get it from Swanson. Throw in a couple of deep-sea hooks and a lot of good hauser. Mind it's new. Be ready to pull out in an hour." She turned again to the men before her. "Jones, I want you to get the Curlew ready. We may need two boats to pull her off. You know where they went ashore. Take Johnson and Rasmussen with you. We've got to move lively. A boat won't hang together long out there."
"Rasmussen's sick. How about Pete Carlin? He was with me coming over."