But he realized the hopelessness of that; it was hopeless too, to run, with no place to run to. But the sailors were already dashing away through the woods. And the cadet soon caught up with them and urged them on. The Spaniards broke into a run the moment they heard Ignacio's cry; a minute later they fired a volley into the bushes, probably in order to alarm the country. It would have been hard for those five fugitives to go any faster than they did during the first few moments of that chase. They heard their enemies banging away and yelling in their rear, and they fairly flew over the ground. "Keep together," panted Clif. "We may find some place to make a stand." The ground over which they were traveling was ill adapted for speed, for it was rough and the bushes were thick. But it was as fair for one as the other, and the Americans tore their way through and sped on. The Spaniards in the rear apparently knew of other troops in the neighborhood from the way they kept yelling; Clif groaned as he realized the hopelessness of their flight. For even if they succeeded in shaking off their pursuers the whole country was alarmed and hunting for them. And they had no food and no one to guide them. But the present evil was great enough, for the furious Spaniards were hot on the trail. "Surrender! Surrender!" Clif heard the officer shouting a short way back. The chase would have ended in no time had it not been for the woods, which kept the fugitives out of sight so that they could not be shot. But that was a protection that would not last forever. Clif gave a sudden gasp as he saw a clearing ahead of them. But it was only a small one, and the Americans sped across it at the very top of their speed. They hoped to reach the woods before their foes sighted them. And they did. Then suddenly a new idea flashed over Clif. "Stop a minute!" he cried. "Ready!" The sailors saw him draw his revolver, and they knew what it meant. They crouched in the bushes, waiting. "We'll show them it isn't all play," Clif whispered. And, a second later, half a dozen Spaniards dashed out of the woods. "Fire!" roared Clif. There was a quick volley, and then instantly the fugitives sprang up again and sped on. They left several of their enemies lying on the ground. That unexpected move had evidently disconcerted the pursuers, who hadn't looked for a reception of that kind. They were not heard on the trail again for fully a minute, while the Americans made the best possible use of their time. But the pursuers did not mean to give up as easily as that, and they soon set out once more, firing away as if a whole army were in sight. Their little success raised the spirits of the gallant tars considerably; they seemed to forget they were in the enemy's country. And they chuckled gleefully to themselves as they raced on through the woods; they were a pretty small army of invasion, but they had lots of courage.