They had seen his success from the beach, and Jim Lewarne, with plenty of line yet to spare, waited for the next move.

Zeb worked along till he could touch the man's thigh.
"Keep your knee stiddy," he called out; "I'm goin' to grip hold o't." For answer, the stranger only kicked out with his foot, as a pettish child might, and almost thrust him from his hold.
"Look'ee here: no doubt you'm 'mazed, but that's a curst foolish trick, all the same.

Be that tangle fast, you'm holding by ?" The man made no sign of comprehension.
"Best not trust to't, I reckon," muttered Zeb: "must get past en an' make fast round a rib.

Ah! would 'ee, ye varment ?" For, once more, the stranger had tried to thrust him off; and a struggle followed, which ended in Zeb's getting by and gripping the mast again between him and the wreck.
"Now list to me," he shouted, pulling himself up and flinging a leg over the mast: "ingratitood's worse than witchcraft.

Sit ye there an' inwardly digest that sayin', while I saves your life." He untied the line about his waist, then, watching his chance, snatched the rope out of the other's hand, threw his weight upon it, and swung in towards the vessel's ribs till he touched one, caught, and passed the line around it, high up, with a quick double half-hitch.