"
Ralph, now rested, sprang forward.
"Take the tiller, Ben," said he. "I'm good for a sharp pull."
But the old sailor, whose muscles were like whipcord, shook his head
and fairly made the yawl spring beneath his redoubled strokes.
For the next three or four minutes Duff kept his eye upon the advancing
line, behind which a sea of steely ripples danced in the sunlight.
The cruiser, slowly heeling to leeward, veered her bow round to her
course, and Duff could see the dash of water about her cutwater as she
forged ahead. Still the Wanderer lay motionless, like a beautiful
picture, every sail that would draw set to catch the first whiff of the
breeze that was bringing the corvette slowly within range.
Less than three miles separated the vessels, while the yawl, scarcely
four hundred yards from the schooner, was lessening the distance
rapidly. But the breeze traveled faster.
Ralph could see Gary in the rigging watching the cruiser through a
glass. No attention seemed to be paid to the boat.
Three hundred yards--then two hundred--one hundred; and as the distance
lessened their spirits rose. They were, however, half a cable length
away, when a sullen boom was heard, and a solid shot came skipping
along the surface of the sea to the left of the schooner.
"That is an order to 'stay where you are'," remarked Duff. "Ah! here
comes our wind," he added, as a cool, refreshing whiff fanned their
brows. "Any other time and I would welcome it; but--come down on her,
Ben!"
Ralph, fancying that he saw the Wanderer's sails beginning to fill,
sprang forward, seized an extra oar and pulled with all his might.
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