“What is that on the bow there?” Phil asked anxiously, pointing to a dark shadow on the dimly lighted water. There was not a doubt but that it was the prize scudding along. Great volumes of smoke poured from her stack. The smoke had betrayed her presence. She was too distant for her hull to be visible. “Hold your course,” cried Phil joyously. “We can head her off on this line.” Sydney took from his pockets his Colt revolvers and laid them beside the big navy Colts. “Have you the rifles, O’Neil?” he asked. “That I have, sir, and a hundred rounds of ammunition for each one,” replied the faithful man; “and me and Johnson there know how to use them.” “Well, I trust it won’t be necessary,” said Phil immensely pleased, “but it’s better to be sure than sorry.” The “Vidette” drew up slowly on the fleeing launch. “They are surely making for Mariel,” O’Neil announced, “and we can catch them before they reach there.” Of a sudden the engines, which had been running perfectly, suddenly seemed to slow. Phil was on his feet in an instant. “What is it?” he asked anxiously. The engineer looked up, showing a white, scared face in the dim light of the solitary lantern. “Running a little hot, sir,” he replied haltingly. Phil felt the moving parts. They were cool. He looked up in surprise at the engineer and saw him put his hand quickly in his shirt. Impulsively he grabbed the man by the wrist and held his hand to the light. “Sand!” he cried in anger. “Get this man out of here, O’Neil,” he suddenly ordered, forcibly pushing him from the engines and taking the man’s place at the throttle. “None of your monkeying now,” O’Neil assured the engineer. “You’ve given enough trouble already.” The engine bearings were thoroughly oiled and the throttle opened wide. Fortunately, Phil had detected the man in time, for if he had succeeded in getting the smallest quantity of sand in the bearings, the engines must have stopped. The fleeing launch was now in plain sight, but the landing at Mariel was but a half mile away. He did not dare open fire on her. Would he dare attempt to cut her out under the eyes of the insurgents waiting their expected guns? “Launch ahoy!” Phil hailed in Spanish. Silence. He hailed again and added: “I want to speak to you!” From outward appearances, there was no one on the launch, but black smoke poured from her funnel and her white wake showed she was making a final spurt. The bow of the “Vidette” was now inside and abreast of the launch’s quarter. It slowly moved forward. There was scarce ten feet of open water between the two boats. With weapons in hand Phil and his men waited. “Put her alongside,” Phil ordered, striving to control the nervousness in his voice. The two launches came together, with scarcely a jar, and steamed along as one boat. No one moved on the prize. O’Neil instinctively had swung his bow around and headed the boats out from the land now only a few hundred yards distant.