"The deuce you are," and there was the most profound amazement in the other voice. "This is the steamer Kenilworth of London. A crosscurrent set me on here but I can work off with my own engines, thank you."
"You'll never work her off," yelled Captain Jim. "Your vessel will break her back if it blows much harder. It's high-water two hours after daylight. It's now or never to pull her clear."
There was no reply. It was evident that Captain Malcolm Bruce was shocked and bewildered by the unlooked for presence of the Resolute and was sparring for time until he could hail the other craft which by this time was feeling her way nearer.
Captain Wetherly was in no temper for parleying. He moved the Resolute up abreast of the Kenilworth's bridge and shouted sternly:
"I know your voice, Captain Bruce. My name is Jim Wetherly. This is the only tow-boat within five hundred miles that's got the power to drag you clear. And I must take hold on this next tide, before you begin to pound and settle. We'll arrange terms afterward."
"I'll wait till daylight before taking any lines aboard," was the curt response from Captain Bruce who had moved aft to hail the other tug which had now dropped astern of the Resolute.
"This is the Henry Foster, in command of Jeremiah Pringle," came back to him. "We answered your rockets. Shall we stand by?"
"I will let you know when daylight comes," answered the master of the Kenilworth.
Captain Jim Wetherly stamped his foot and snarled at his puzzled mate: