“Speaking of the schooner,” said Nat as the native rowers propelled the long, narrow boat swiftly through the water, “you don’t anticipate any trouble from Lawless or Durkee?”
“No, I do not,” was the rejoinder; “in the first place, the schooner could not arrive here for many days, even if they had made up their minds to follow us. By that time we shall be, I hope, far advanced into the upper regions of Chile.”
As the professor spoke one of the boatmen gave a shout. Nat looked up and saw that a sailboat was bearing right down on them at tremendous speed. The outlines of two men could be seen, but it was too dark to distinguish their features.
“Good gracious, if that man doesn’t tack he’ll run us down!” cried the professor.
“He will indeed,” exclaimed Nat. “Hi there! Look out where you’re coming!” he yelled, adding his voice to the outcries of the boatmen.
But the occupants of the sailing craft paid no attention. At a terrific speed the larger craft bore straight down on the little boat.
The boatmen stood paralyzed with fear. They did nothing. Suddenly one of them dropped on his knees, and began imploring the protection of the saints.
Nat sprang toward him, almost upsetting the frail boat as he did so. With a quick movement he seized one of the paddle-like oars, and by exerting all his strength as he thrust it into the water, he managed to send the boat spinning out of harm’s way.
The next instant the sailing craft flashed by, almost grazing the bow of the small craft.
“You’re a nice pair of irresponsible idiots,” yelled the indignant Nat. “Do you know you almost ran us down?”