Part 36 (1/2)

”Which way was she headed when you last had information?” asked Walter.

”Southeast,” was the reply, ”and she isn't far ahead of us now. By crowding on speed we can overtake her by morning.”

”Hear that, Joe?” cried Jack. ”Do your best now!”

”Aye, aye, sir!” was the reply.

”Have you gasoline for a long run?” asked the lieutenant.

”Yes,” Jack answered. ”We filled the tanks at St. Kitts. But won't you come below, and we'll arrange for your comfort.”

”And do let me make you a cup of tea!” begged Cora. ”I know you Englishmen are so fond of it--”

”Well, we get rather out of the habitat sea,” was the reply, ”but I should be glad of some--if it isn't too much trouble.”

Through the gathering dusk, the advent of which was hastened by the coming storm, the Tartar heaved her way over the tumbling waters.

Night came, and still the storm did not break. The lieutenant proved a good seaman, and, under his direction the motor boat kept on through the hours of darkness. The motor girls did not rest much, nor did Walter or Jack.

As morning came, the storm broke in all its fury--being little short, in violence, of a West Indian hurricane. On through the mist, through the smother of foam, over the big greenish-blue waves scudded the Tartar, the lieutenant, in oilskins, standing in the bows, peering ahead for a sight of the steamer.

And, at noon, following a fierce burst of wind, he give a cry.

”What is it?” asked Jack, struggling toward.

”s.h.i.+p ahead! I think it is the Ramona!” was the answer.

CHAPTER XXVII

SENOR RAMO

Clinging to the life-lines that had been stretched along the deck, Jack made his way to a partly-sheltered spot near which the lieutenant stood.

”Where is she?” asked Jack, fairly shouting the words into the officer's ear, for the noise of the storm was such as to make this necessary.

”Right ahead!” was the answer. ”Look when we go up on the next crest.”

One moment the Tartar was down in the hollow of the waves, and the next on the top of the swell, and it was only on the latter occasion that a glimpse ahead could be had.

”Now's your chance!” cried Lieutenant Walling to Jack. ”Look!”

Eagerly Cora's brother peered through the mist, wiping the salty spray from his eyes. Just ahead, wallowing in the trough of the sea, as though she were only partly under control, was a steamer.

”I see her!” Jack shouted, and then the Tartar, went down in the hollow between two waves again, and he could glimpse only the seething water as it hissed past under the force of the wind.

”I think it's the Ramona--I'm not sure,” was the lieutenant's next remark.

”What are you going to do about it?” Jack wanted to know.

”Hang on as long as I can,” was the grim reply. ”She doesn't look as though she were good for much more, and we are.”