"Turn and fight them!" shouted Clif.
Like wild animals at bay the sailors faced about and jerked out their revolvers again. They were on the point of opening fire, when suddenly, as if they were not in trouble enough, there came a new development.
There was a yell behind them, and a crashing sound. Out upon the broad savanna galloped a whole troop of Spanish cavalry, their carbines in their hands.
And at their head rode a brightly uniformed captain waving his sword and galloping down upon the fugitives.
"Surrender!" he yelled. "Lay down your arms."
And that was the last straw; the sailors looked at Clif, and Clif looked at the sailors. The troopers were not a hundred yards away, and there were fifty of them.
"I guess we may as well give up," said Clif, grimly. "We've done our best, I think."
And he turned toward the galloping men, dropped his sword and revolver, and then folded his arms.
"We surrender," he called. "Come on."
And a minute later the gallant five were surrounded by the cavalrymen, who stared at them eagerly.