We lay on deck in the warm sun, the fresh breeze on our cheeks, the flood-tide rippling and swirling past. It was impossible to start back to Oakland till afternoon, when the ebb would begin to run. But we figured that the constable would have an eye out on the Carquinez Straits when the ebb started, and that nothing remained for us but to wait for the following ebb, at two o'clock next morning, when we could slip by Cerberus in the darkness.
So we lay on deck, smoked cigarettes, and were glad that we were alive. I spat over the side and gauged the speed of the current.
"With this wind, we could run this flood clear to Rio Vista," I said.