Part 23 (1/2)
They were sure that the first wave that came along would wrench the oar out of his hand. Great was their surprise when they saw him buckle to the oar, rising and pulling at the right time to meet the toppling, rustling seas.
”That little shrimp will last about ten minutes,” said one of them to his mate.
”Sure, Bill,” replied the other.
Juarez choked back a hot reply, for he knew that it would not be good for him to say anything to them. They were in the majority and would get him if he did, besides making it bad for Tom. The ten minutes pa.s.sed and Juarez was just beginning to warm to his work. This took the wind out of their sails completely.
The powerful hand of the Skipper at the steering oar was a great help, for now all that the two men at the oars had to do was to pull and not to worry about keeping her headed right. Juarez kept steadily at it for an hour and then darkness began to fall over the channel but not until the island that they were approaching had begun to loom up, dead ahead.
They were now getting in the lee of the strange island and the sea was moderating perceptibly. At this juncture the two sailors who had become thoroughly rested took the oars from Juarez and his co-worker and pulled steadily through the gathering gloom. In a short time the bulk of the island loomed above them in the darkness.
Not a word was said, only the swish of the sea was heard and the groaning of the oars in the locks. Tom and Juarez were deeply depressed and gloomy. They felt exactly as though they were being taken to prison and could sympathize with sailors who had been marooned on lonely and desolate islands.
”Easy now, lads,” called the Captain, as he brought the boat's head squarely around towards the sh.o.r.e.
”Two strokes,” he yelled, ”and let her run.”
With great force they pulled the oars in succession, then they s.h.i.+pped them in a hurry. Juarez could see the das.h.i.+ng of foam on either side of the boat where the waves smote the rocks. There was a roar in his ears as the boat rushed toward seeming sure destruction. It was going with great speed from the impetus of the sailors' strokes.
The Captain was standing taut at the steering oars, his eyes piercing the darkness ahead, then the foam of the breakers dashed in their faces, there was a quick sliding past of dark rocks and before they could draw breath again the boat was in quiet water, under some black cliffs. At last they had reached the mysterious goal of their mysterious journey.
CHAPTER XXV
IN PERIL
We must now go back in our narrative to where we left Jim Darlington and the Spaniard, Senor Sebastian, in a position of extreme peril, between the cliffs and the deep sea, with the white-fanged tide coming in like a devouring monster eager for its prey.
”Is there a chance, Senor?” cried Jim as soon as his horse gained his footing.
”It is the fatal day, I fear,” replied the Spaniard with resigned hopelessness. ”The sea is hungry.”
”As for that, so am I,” declared Jim coolly. ”So let us try to get around the headland and after that, supper.”
”As you please,” acquiesced the Spaniard quietly.
Then Jim turned Caliente's head and with a quick touch of the spur sent him full stride along the curving beach, followed closely by the Spaniard. Already the heavy waves were licking far up the slant of the sand. Even the veteran Caliente seemed nervous at its approach, while Don Fernando would jump and shy as the hissing water crept around his feet.
In about two minutes the two hors.e.m.e.n reached the base of the rocky headland that barred their way. It was a desperate moment, there was but one thing to do and that was to take the chance.
”Better be drowned quick, Caliente, old boy,” cried Jim, ”than slowly, but we'll beat you yet,” and he shook his clenched fist at the ocean, and whirled his horse to meet a wave that struck Caliente breast high.
So for a moment, the two, boy and horse, stood facing their powerful enemy, The Sea, that came with the recurring charge, its evenly separated files robed in blue with white crests. Thus they stood getting a full free breath before they leaped into the ranks of the foe.
Jim's strained, keen gaze took in every detail of the situation, noting the position of the rocks that a receding wave left bare, so that he might find a clear path or trail in his dash for life. Nor did his gaze flinch as he saw the advancing wave break against the front of the cliff.
”Now, Caliente,” yelled Jim, with a sense of fierce determination and exultation that communicated itself to his horse, and lifting his feet free from the stirrups so that he would not be entangled, if Caliente should fall, he headed him seaward, galloping fast down the beach upon the heels of the withdrawing wave.
Meeting a smaller inrush of water and das.h.i.+ng through its foaming crest, his gallant horse swam until he got a foothold upon the rocks at the base of the cliff. Now was the crucial moment. With absolute recklessness, Jim urged his powerful horse over the foam-covered rocks, striving to get around the prow of the headland before the charge of the next wave. Not one look did Jim give seaward, all his energies were bent upon using every precious second, and Caliente was filled with his rider's indomitable spirit.