"Dropping behind!"
And then suddenly he sprang out to the deck.
"Take the wheel a moment," he cried to the sailor.
And he himself bounded down the deck toward the stern.
He stared out over the railing, clinging to it tightly to prevent himself from being flung off his feet.
He found that what the sailor had said was literally true. The Spaniard was now firing only an occasional shot, and she was at least a hundred yards behind.
What that could mean Clif had not the faintest idea. Could it be that her engines had met with an accident? Or that she fancied the merchantman was sinking?
The cadet gazed down into the surging water below him; he could see the white track of the big steamer and knew that she was fairly flying along.
He took one more glance in the direction of the now invisible Spaniard. The firing had ceased altogether.
And like a flash the thought occurred to Clif that whatever the reason for the strange act might be, now was the time to save the merchantman.