Soon the stretches of docks and the shadowy ships began to be broken by dim sweeps of marshland, and Joe knew that they were heading out for San Francisco Bay.
The wind was blowing from the north in mild squalls, and the _Dazzler_ cut noiselessly through the landlocked water.
"Where are we going ?" Joe asked the Cockney, in an endeavor to be friendly and at the same time satisfy his curiosity.
"Oh, my pardner 'ere, Bill, we 're goin' to take a cargo from 'is factory," that worthy airily replied.
Joe thought he was rather a funny-looking individual to own a factory; but, conscious that even stranger things might be found in this new world he was entering, he said nothing.

He had already exposed himself to 'Frisco Kid in the matter of his pronunciation of "fo'c'sle," and he had no desire further to advertise his ignorance.
A little after that he was sent in to blow out the cabin lamp.

The _Dazzler_ tacked about and began to work in toward the north shore.
Everybody kept silent, save for occasional whispered questions and answers which passed between Bill and the captain.

Finally the sloop was run into the wind, and the jib and mainsail lowered cautiously.
"Short hawse," French Pete whispered to 'Frisco Kid, who went for'ard and dropped the anchor, paying out the slightest quantity of slack.
The _Dazzler's_ skiff was brought alongside, as was also the small boat in which the two strangers had come aboard.
"See that that cub don't make a fuss," Bill commanded in an undertone, as he joined his partner in his own boat.
"Can you row ?" 'Frisco Kid asked as they got into the other boat.
Joe nodded his head.
"Then take these oars, and don't make a racket." 'Frisco Kid took the second pair, while French Pete steered.

Joe noticed that the oars were muffled with sennit, and that even the rowlock sockets were protected with leather.