As we passed out of the creek a noisy discussion arose，which I knew related to me. Yellow Handkerchief wasvehement， but the other four as vehemently opposed him.
It was very evident that he advocated doing away withme and that they were afraid of the consequences. I wasfamiliar enough with the Chinese character to know thatfear alone restrained them. But what plan they offered inplace of Yellow Handkerchief ’s murderous one， I couldnot make out.
My feelings， as my fate hung in the balance， may beguessed. The discussion developed into a quarrel， in themidst of which Yellow Handkerchief unshipped the heavytiller and sprang toward me. But his four companionsthrew themselves between， and a clumsy struggle tookplace for possession of the tiller. In the end YellowHandkerchief was overcome， and sullenly returned to thesteering， while they soundly berated him for his rashness.
Not long after， the sail was run down and the junk slowlyurged forward by means of the sweeps. I felt it groundgently on the soft mud. Three of the Chinese—they allwore long sea-boots—got over the side， and the other twopassed me across the rail. With Yellow Handkerchief at mylegs and his two companions at my shoulders， they beganto flounder along through the mud. After some time theirfeet struck firmer footing， and I knew they were carryingme up some beach. The location of this beach was notdoubtful in my mind. It could be none other than one ofthe Marin Islands， a group of rocky islets which lay off theMarin County shore.
When they reached the firm sand that marked high tide，I was dropped， and none too gently. Yellow Handkerchiefkicked me spitefully in the ribs， and then the triofloundered back through the mud to the junk. A momentlater I heard the sail go up and slat in the wind as theydrew in the sheet. Then silence fell， and I was left to myown devices for getting free.
I remembered having seen tricksters writhe and squirmout of ropes with which they were bound， but thoughI writhed and squirmed like a good fellow， the knotsremained as hard as ever， and there was no appreciableslack. In the course of my squirming， however， I rolledover upon a heap of clam-shells—the remains， evidently，of some yachting party’s clam-bake. This gave me an idea.
My hands were tied behind my back； and， clutching a shellin them， I rolled over and over， up the beach， till I cameto the rocks I knew to be there.
Rolling around and searching， I finally discovered anarrow crevice， into which I shoved the shell. The edge ofit was sharp， and across the sharp edge I proceeded to sawthe rope that bound my wrists. The edge of the shell wasalso brittle， and I broke it by bearing too heavily upon it.
Then I rolled back to the heap and returned with as manyshells as I could carry in both hands. I broke many shells，cut my hands a number of times， and got cramps in mylegs from my strained position and my exertions.
While I was suffering from the cramps， and resting，I heard a familiar halloo drift across the water. It wasCharley， searching for me. The gag in my mouth preventedme from replying， and I could only lie there， helplesslyfuming， while he rowed past the island and his voice slowlylost itself in the distance.
I returned to the sawing process， and at the end of halfan hour succeeded in severing the rope. The rest was easy.
My hands once free， it was a matter of minutes to loosenmy legs and to take the gag out of my mouth. I ran aroundthe island to make sure it was an island and not by anychance a portion of the mainland. An island it certainlywas， one of the Marin group， fringed with a sandy beachand surrounded by a sea of mud. Nothing remained but towait till daylight and to keep warm； for it was a cold， rawnight for California， with just enough wind to pierce theskin and cause one to shiver.
To keep up the circulation， I ran around the islanda dozen times or so， and clambered across its rockybackbone as many times more-all of which was of greaterservice to me， as I afterward discovered， than merely towarm me up. In the midst of this exercise I wondered ifI had lost anything out of my pockets while rolling overand over in the sand. A search showed the absence of myrevolver and pocket-knife. The first Yellow Handkerchiefhad taken； but the knife had been lost in the sand.
I was hunting for it when the sound of rowlocks cameto my ears. At first， of course， I thought of Charley； but onsecond thought I knew Charley would be calling out as herowed along. A sudden premonition of danger seized me.
The Marin Islands are lonely places； chance visitors in thedead of night are hardly to be expected. What if it wereYellow Handkerchief？ The sound made by the rowlocksgrew more distinct. I crouched in the sand and listenedintently. The boat， which I judged a small skiff from thequick stroke of the oars， was landing in the mud about fiftyyards up the beach. I heard a raspy， hacking cough， and myheart stood still. It was Yellow Handkerchief. Not to berobbed of his revenge by his more cautious companions， hehad stolen away from the village and come back alone.
I did some swift thinking. I was unarmed and helplesson a tiny islet， and a yellow barbarian， whom I had reasonto fear， was coming after me. Any place was safer than theisland， and I turned instinctively to the water， or ratherto the mud. As he began to flounder ashore through themud， I started to flounder out into it， going over the samecourse which the Chinese had taken in landing me and inreturning to the junk.
Yellow Handkerchief， believing me to be lying tightlybound， exercised no care， but came ashore noisily. Thishelped me， for， under the shield of his noise and makingno more myself than necessary， I managed to cover fiftyfeet by the time he had made the beach. Here I lay downin the mud. It was cold and clammy， and made me shiver，but I did not care to stand up and run the risk of beingdiscovered by his sharp eyes.
