“Vale,” said Hans, “I feld someding like dot meinself: but I peen petter now. All der same, I pelief I strained me der roots my toenails of, und I vas lame all ofer.”
When the breeze rose, after breakfast, Frank set their course due east. At noon they ran into Monterey Bay and anchored off Santa Cruz.
By that time Diamond had recovered from his sickness and was beginning to take some satisfaction in the life on board the yacht.
Frank felt sure the Fox would run into Santa Cruz, and so he kept watch for her appearance.
It was mid-afternoon when a bark came in from the south and reported seeing at sun rise a small yacht that was in a battered condition, evidently having been in the blow of the previous night. She had lost her mainsail, but seemed to have been prepared for such a misfortune by having an old sail on board, and this her men were setting.
The bark had spoken the yacht and asked if she needed aid, but she declined assistance. The name of the yacht was the Fox.
Barney, who had gone ashore, heard this statement, and he made all haste to get on board the Greyhound and report to Frank.
Merriwell was astonished.
“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “Lord Stanford did not lay to in Half-moon Bay, and the Fox was out in the storm last night. She was used worse than the Greyhound, but, instead of being ahead of her, we are still behind! That is an interesting discovery, I must confess! All the same, the loss of her sail has delayed her so she will not have such a great start on us. It’s lucky she did not lose all her canvas, or she might be high and dry on shore now.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Hodge.