For some time after this no one spoke. The engine, under Steve's skillful handling, was doing its utmost, with never a skip or protest of any sort. The man who was running the larger boat was also crowding his engines, urged thereto by his domineering master. The sea was ideal for the race and favored both boats alike.
They continued the dodging tactics some time longer, the smaller boat being forced to the outside and unable to cut in ahead.
"Confound it!" cried Steve, much chagrined, "here's the island, and they've got the inside track."
"Yes; but something's wrong with them," remarked Mr. Cumberford. "They're slowing down."
"By Jove, that's a fact!" cried Chesty, elated.
Steve stood up and shaded his eyes with his hand.
"Their engines have stopped," he said. "That's a streak of luck I hadn't banked on. Head in, Orissa. We're all right now, if they don't start again promptly."
There was evident excitement on board the larger motor boat. Ramon kicked the new engineer away and himself took his place. The engine revolved, made a brief spurt—and stopped dead. Ramon made another attempt, while his boat bobbed placidly up and down on the waves.
Meantime the launch, still keeping to its wide circle, rounded the point of rock and headed into the bay, where the Salvador lay with her trim white sides glistening in the sunshine.