“Yes, but behind her and abeam. Don’t you see——”
“By the Lord! One, two, three, four steamers, all heading for her. What’s it mean?”
“It means—the something that was due to happen. Send for Mr. Caruth at once. Unless I miss my guess that boat carries Wilkins and his gold!”
As the sun came, Wilkins notched the sloop’s bowsprit into it. “There’s the sun,” he remarked grimly.
Tom stood up, releasing the handle of the pump, and peered forward under his hand.
“And there comes a steamer,” he exulted.
Bill had been staring around the horizon. “Yes, —— ——her!” he cried. “There she comes—too late. Look yonder.”
Tom looked, and counted just as the yacht’s officer had done. “One! Two! Three! Four! By God! They’re right after us! All right”—grimly. “We’ll give ’em a run for their money.”
But Bill groaned. “Wot’s the use,” he whined. “It’ll only make things worse. We ain’t got a chance.” He rose, his nerveless hand dropped away from the tiller, and the sloop yawed sharply to port.