"We are pretty certain they have."

"And the girl?"

"Yes."

"And what is the reward for the girl, senor?"

"Well, I declare!" burst out Tom. "They are after a reward the first thing."

"No reward yet," answered d.i.c.k. "But there may be."

At this the South American scowled. "We cannot lose time on a hunt that is worth nothing," he said. "We must get to Brooklyn by tomorrow morning."

"You won't help us bring them to justice?"

"We cannot afford to lose the time."

Without further words the big steamer's engines were started up again and away she sped, leaving the _Searchlight_ to sink and rise on the rollers left in her wake.

"My, but that fellow is accommodating!" groaned d.i.c.k. "He isn't doing a single thing without pay."

"We might have bought some provisions from him," put in Martin Harris. "I reckon he'd sell some for a round price--being so near to the end of his voyage."

"I don't want his stuff," remarked Sam.

"I'm afraid it would choke me if I tried to eat it."

The stop had given the _Flyaway_ an advantage, and she was making the most of it. But before the gun went down those on the other yacht saw her head for the coast once more.

"I guess the note told the truth," said Harris.

"Is Sand Haven near here?" questioned Tom.

"It is not over half a mile further down the coast."

"And how far are we out?" was the police sergeant's question.

"Between five and six miles, as near as I can calculate."

"Will they be able to run in by dark?"

"I think so. You see, the wind is shifting, and it depends a good bit on how much it veers around," concluded the old sailor.

Slowly the sun sank in the west. It was growing cloudy and a mist was rising. The mist made Martin Harris shake his head; but, not wishing to alarm the others, he said nothing.

But soon d.i.c.k noticed the mist and so did the rest. "Gracious, supposing we get caught in a fog!" muttered Tom.

"I was just thinking of it," returned his elder brother. "There will be no fun in it--if we are out of sight of land."

A quarter of an hour went by, and still no land appeared. It was now so raw that the boys were glad enough to b.u.t.ton their coats tightly about them. Then, of a sudden, the fog came rolling over them like a huge cloud, and they were unable to see a dozen yards in any direction.

"This is the worst yet!" groaned Sam. "What's to do now?"

"Yes, what's to do now?" repeated Sergeant Brown. "Can you make the coast, skipper?"

"To be sure I can," replied Harris, as he looked at the compa.s.s.

"But I don't know about landing. You see we might stick our nose into a sandbank before we knowed it."

"Perhaps the fog will lift?" suggested Carter.

"A fog like this isn't lifting in a hurry," said d.i.c.k. "Like as not it won't move until the sun comes up tomorrow morning," and in this guess he was right.

A half-hour went by, and from a distance came the deep note of a fog-horn, sounding apparently from up the sh.o.r.e.

"We ought to have a horn," said Sam. "Some big boat may come along and run us down."

"There is a horn in the cabin pantry," replied Martin Harris.

"We might as well bring it out. If we are sunk one or more of us will most likely be drowned."

"Oh, don't say that!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Carter. "I'll get the horn,"

and, running below, he brought it up, and he and Sam took turns at blowing it with all the strength of their lungs.

"One thing is comforting; those rascals are no better off than we are," was Tom's comment.

"Yes; but if they founder, what will become of Dora?"

"I don't believe any one of them would put himself out to save her."

"I guess you're right there, d.i.c.k. I never thought of her, poor girl," replied the brother.

d.i.c.k and Sergeant Brown were well up in the bow, one watching to starboard and the other to port, for anything which might appear through the gloom. The horn was blowing constantly, and now from a distance came the sounds of both horns and bells.

"We are getting close to some other ships," said Martin Harris.

"I reckon we had best take a few reefs in the mainsail and stow away the jib," and these suggestions were carried out.

The minutes that followed were anxious ones, for all felt that a collision might occur at any moment. The fog was growing thicker each instant, and this, coupled with the coming of night, seemed to shut them in as with a pall.

"A boat is dead ahead!" came suddenly from d.i.c.k, and Sergeant Brown also gave a cry of warning. Then came a shock and a crash and a splintering of wood, followed by the cries of men and boys and the screams of a woman and a girl.

"We've struck the _Flyaway_!" called out Tom, and then he found himself in the water, with Sam alongside of him.

CHAPTER XXVIII

HOME AGAIN--CONCLUSION