But they had not taken more than a few steps toward the shore when Clif suddenly stopped as if remembering something.
"Hold on just a minute!" he exclaimed. "That shell! I have special reasons for wanting to carry that along. It will take but a minute to find it."
As he started toward the ridge of earth beyond which he had thrown it, they were all startled to hear the sounds of musketry apparently near at hand. One volley was quickly followed by another.
Clif sprang upon the embankment for which he had started, and looked off beyond the clump of trees in the direction from which the sounds came.
He was in that position but a moment or two. A half-dozen reports in quick succession greeted his appearance—one bullet passing through his cap.
He dropped on his feet to the ground beside his companions.
"The Spaniards!" he exclaimed, hurriedly. "At least a hundred of them. From what I saw they were hurrying in this direction and not far away."
They were on the alert on the instant. The sounds that reached their ears told them unmistakably that the force of the enemy far outnumbered their own, and were rapidly approaching.
Should they await an attack or run for the boat?