“Have they broken down?” asked Mr. Anderson anxiously.
“Looks that way. They wouldn’t slow up after having given us such a clean pair of heels,” said Nat, his voice aquiver with suppressed excitement, “but she’s an awful long way off yet, and may get under way again long before we catch up with her.”
Joe looked sober again. The chase was pursued in almost total silence. As they neared her it could be seen that the black craft was moving, but slowly.
Nat fairly held his breath as he watched her. What had happened on board? Through the glasses Joe could see the four men on her gesticulating excitedly and working over the engine. Presently clouds of blue smoke and sharp reports like those of a rapid-fire gun burst from the crippled craft.
“Just keep on that way fifteen minutes longer and we’ve got you, my hearties,” exclaimed the sailor.
“What’s up, do you think?” asked Joe.
“Carburetor troubles. Too rich a mixture. Look at that smoke; it’s coming out as black as ink now.”
Nat said nothing, but his flushed cheeks and trembling hands spoke for him. It looked for once as if the tortoise had caught up with the hare in real life.
“What are your plans if we do catch up with her?” asked Joe in a subdued tone as they bore down on the black craft.
“Call on them to give up their passenger. If they don’t, we’ll have to board her.”