But in the end it was fortune that favored him. A chance blow upon his antagonist's head rendered the latter unconscious, and victory again perched upon the young American's banner. There was no time for exultation, even if he had felt that way. The work had been too serious, and necessity for action was too imperative. Satisfied that he had nothing to fear from his enemy, now lying helpless in the bottom of the Boat, Clif seized the oars and turned the boat toward shore. It was trying work for one man to row that boat even the short distance that lay between him and shore--especially after the ordeal through which he had passed. But excitement buoyed him up and he made good progress. His companions in the shade of the bushes where he had left them had witnessed his exciting duel and were wrought up to tense excitement. How they bemoaned the fact that they were not there to help him! It became evident that there were other spectators, too; for no sooner had Clif seized the oars and began to row for the shore than a volley of bullets rattled out across the water from the hill that had witnessed such thrilling scenes earlier in the night. The Spanish soldiers had discovered Clif! In the face of this, Clif redoubled his efforts to reach the beach and rescue his companions, who might any moment be attacked by the soldiers in their rear. But the enemy's attention was concentrated upon Clif and his boat, and he shot through the waters in a perfect hail of missiles. They spattered into the waters all around him, but wide of their mark. He reached the shore, and as he sprang upon the ground his faithful little band could not repress a cheer at his bravery and pluck. But he urged them on. Not a moment could now be lost. The enemy, shut off temporarily by the overhanging hill, might be down upon them any second. Clif gathered up his clothing and at a word they all sprang to their places and the boat leaped through the water with a bound, and was away. "To the flagship!" Clif cried, and then uttered an exclamation of alarm. "The dispatches!" he cried, as he felt among his clothes. "They have been left behind!" At a word the boat was turned round and shot swiftly toward the beach. Yelling Spaniards could be heard racing down the hillside. They had discovered the landing-place, and bullets began again to rain about the water. It seemed sure death to return in the face of that fire, but the intrepid crew sped on. The dispatches must not fall into Spanish hands! The boat grated on the sands, and Clif sprang out. One instant brought him to the spot where his clothes had lain. Fortune favored him. As he felt along the ground, his hand touched a package of papers.