.

did not know where they were. And the task was to avoid them.

      He did it by creeping along very slowly, in absolute indifference to the galling fire from the shore guns. He knew that there must be a channel, for he and the Spaniard had come in by it.

      He had only a vague idea where it was. But the Uncas stopped and then crept slowly forward, heading north.

      And after five minutes of torment they knew that they were safe. They were far enough from shore to start up again and get away from those Spanish guns. The gallant tug was quite battered by that time, but nobody cared for that in the wild rejoicing that prevailed.

      The vessel swung around to port.

      "And now for that prize!" muttered the lieutenant.

      And he went for her, too, full speed ahead. He was mad now.

      The vessel had gotten a start of about two miles. She had apparently exhausted her resources in the neighborhood of Cuba, for she was heading north, out to sea again.

      "And so it's only a question of time," chuckled Clif. "We've got her!"

      And so they had. The Spaniards must have realized it, too.

      "Mr. Faraday," said the lieutenant, "try a shot from the starboard gun."

      The shot was fired; and it did the work.

      The merchantman had evidently had enough, and saw that there was no further hope.

      For in full view of the shore batteries she swung round and came slowly to a halt, a signal that she surrendered. It made the Americans give another cheer, and it must have made the Spaniards on shore fairly yell.

      For they began banging away, even at that distance, though they couldn't come anywhere near the tug.

      As for the Americans, they sighed with relief. They had worked hard for that victory. And they felt that they had earned it. The race was over then, and they were happy.

      Clif was so wearied by his heroic labor at that gun (he must have lifted and rammed some two hundred six-pounder cartridges) that he sat down on the wreck of the machine to wait until the two vessels drew near.

      And the lieutenant gave up the wheel to one of the men and came out to look his capture over at leisure.

      She was a fairly large vessel and seemed to have a big carrying capacity. What she was loaded with no one could guess, but at any rate she was a big prize for a small crew like that of the Uncas.

      "I think I'll retire from business after to-day," Clif heard the old boatswain remark.

      That personage had had one arm badly damaged in the struggle that had taken place in the morning with the Spanish gunboat; but he seemed to have forgotten his wounds in the general excitement.

      The little tug steamed up boldly toward her big prize, which lay idly tossing on the waves. One could see her officers and crew standing on deck watching the approach.

      "I'll bet they feel happy!" Clif muttered to himself.

      The lieutenant loaned him the glass. Then he could see the faces of the men.

      There was one of them he might have recognized had he been careful; but he did not recognize it, and so he failed to save himself some mighty unpleasant adventures indeed.

      They were all typical Spanish faces, dark and sullen; but there was one there even darker and more sullen than the rest.

      And the owner of that countenance had a glass in his hand and was staring at those on the tug. Though the cadet did not know it, that man was at that instant watching him.

      And there was an expression of furious hate on his face as he looked.

      Lieutenant Raymond expected no further trouble; but he took no chances. Men were stationed at the three remaining six-pounders, and the rest of the crew was armed.

      In silence the Uncas steamed up to within a hundred yards of her prize. And then came the signal to stop engines.

      It was the time for a boarding party. Clif, as junior officer, knew that that was his duty, and without a word he proceeded to get the small boat off.

      It was quite a task in that heavy sea, but the eager sailors worked with a will, and though nearly swamped twice, managed to get clear of the tug.

      And Clif was seated in the stern, heading for the big merchantman.

      "Keep your eyes open," he heard the lieutenant shout. "They may make trouble."

      And Clif nodded and the boat shot away. They wouldn't catch him napping on board that Spanish vessel—not much!

      But they come perilously near it all the same.

      It was a rough trip in that tossing rowboat. It seemed to sink and then fairly bound up on the next wave, its bow went down and its stern shot up. It did everything except turn over, while the spray fairly flew over it.

      But the sturdy sailors worked with a will, and the distance was not very great. In a short time the little craft shot round in the lee of the Spaniard.

      "A ladder there!" shouted Clif.

      And in a few moments the rope ladder came tumbling down. It seemed to come with bad grace though, as if it knew its owners didn't want to send it.

      The rowboat was backed near and Clif, with a sudden spring, caught the ladder and leaped clear of the waves.

      Before he went up he turned to the sailors.

      "Two of you follow me," he commanded.

      He climbed quickly up the ladder and stepped out on the deck, gazing about him eagerly.

      He saw about a dozen dark-faced Spaniards gathered together and glaring at him; one of them, wearing the uniform of the captain, stepped forward toward him.

      He was a surly, ill-looking man, with a heavy dark mustache. He bowed stiffly to the cadet.

      "The senor takes possession," he said, in a low voice.

      Clif was so busy watching this man that he did not look around the vessel. But we must do so.

      We must glance for one instant at the capstan, which was just behind where the jaunty young cadet was standing. There was an interesting person near the capstan.

      Clif did not see him; and neither did the sailors, nor even the Spaniards on the vessel. For he was crouching behind the capstan, out of sight.

      He was a small man, dark and swarthy. He was the same one we noticed glaring at Clif; he had recognized him, and realized in a flash that the issue between them was death—death for one or else death for the other.

      For Clif knew the man, and would secure him the instant he saw him; his crimes were many—treason and attempted assassination the worst.

      For the man was Ignacio!

      And his dark, beady eyes were glittering with hatred as he crouched in his momentary hiding-place. He was quivering all over with rage; the muscles of his sinewy arms were clinched and tense.

      And in his right hand he clutched a sharp, gleaming knife, half hidden under his coat.

      His glance was fixed on the figure just in front of him; the unsuspecting cadet was not twenty yards away, his back turned to his crouching enemy.

      And Ignacio bent forward to listen and wait his chance.

      The cadet, the object of his hatred, was talking to the captain.

      "The senor takes possession," the latter repeated again.

      "The senor does, with your permission," said Clif, quietly.

      "You gave us quite a run," he added, after a moment's thought.

      "A Spaniard would not surrender to Yankee pigs without a fight," snarled the other.

      "You