Half hidden in the bushes which fringed the shore was the little dinghy of the lugger.
To seize the boat and rush it down to the water was but the work of a moment.
“But we haven’t any oars!” cried Tom.
“Here is one. Yes, a pair!” exclaimed Jo, who had been rummaging in the bushes.
“Let me go with you,” pleaded the Senor.
“I am sorry,” replied Jim, “but the boat will only hold three, and some will have to stay on shore. There is serious work ahead of us. We don’t know how many there may be on board the lugger.”
“Then let me be of the party, I implore you! I am an expert marksman, and can hit the eye of the bull at a hundred yards.”
“Good!” cried Jim. “Juarez, you are the best long distance runner amongst us. Will you give the Senor your rifle and run as fast as you can back to the ship and tell the professor to come to our aid with the Storm King?”
Without a word, Juarez handed his rifle to the Senor and was off with a speed that carried him over the ground almost as fast as a horse could gallop.
Leaving Jo and Tom on shore to menace the escaping party with their rifles if there was opportunity, and with Berwick at the oars, the dinghy was headed for the lugger.