"Ever been in these waters?" Ned asked of the American sailor.
"Sure," was the reply. "That is why they shanghaied me in San
Francisco."
"How far can I go up?"
"Clear to the mouth of the river."
Proceeding leisurely, the Sea Lion passed up the inlet. It was early morning when she came to the mouth of the river. They had passed many vessels on the way, some native, some foreign, but had not been molested, though many curious eyes were turned toward the tow and the odd-shaped craft doing the pulling.
When anchor was cast in a little bay at the mouth—a quiet little stretch of water sheltered by old warehouses which had been erected years before by native traders—Jack came running up the stairs to meet Ned.
"Captain Moore," he said, "is weeping himself to death for lack of your sweet society. He's all running out under the door!"
"Jack," Ned laughed, "if your imagination wasn't too strong, you'd do well writing fiction. As it is it is so strong that anything you might put on paper would not be believable. Anyway, I'll go and see what the Captain has on his mind."
Captain Moore had fear on his mind. Ned saw that the second the door was open. His face was white as paper and his eyes roved about like those of a madman. "You are going on to Canton?" the Captain asked, in a trembling tone of voice.
"I was thinking of it," Ned answered.