The men in the water swam directly toward the boat, and as if to pick them up at the earliest possible moment, the sailing master pulled toward them.
“That’s their game, to board us again, thinking we can’t start the engine,” Ned muttered to himself. “Manuel fancies he has released his chums, and that we are still in his power.”
Nervous as Ned was, it seemed as if the screw would never revolve.
The men had been pulled on board the boat and the sailing master was rowing toward the bow of the yacht with all speed, probably intending to board from there.
“Hold on or I shall shoot!” Ned cried, and the words had hardly been spoken before the little craft was so far ahead that he could no longer see her.
“Hurry up there unless you are willing we shall take those fellows aboard again!” Ned cried as he ran to the engine-room door, and then, tearing away the barricade he had erected, rushed on to the deck.
A bullet whistled past his head as he emerged, and on shrinking back he understood that the machinery was in motion.
“Give it to her for all she’s worth!” he shouted excitedly, running through the cabin to the main companion-way, and just as he was where he could look out, the boat swept past within half a dozen feet of the stern.
In the bow of the little craft was the darkey, who had been trying to gain a hold of the yacht as she moved swiftly ahead.
“We’ve done it by the skin of our teeth!” he cried sufficiently loud for Roy to hear as he ran forward once more, and shouted from the engine-room door, “take care of yourself, Vance! They are most likely ready to shoot.”