During this “game of talk” the pilot was manipulating the steamer as skillfully as possible, the bell tinkling nervously and frequently in the engine room. Dick felt something touch his leg and glanced down. Dunbar Budthorne, agitated and cowering, was crouching on his knees in the shadow of the rail at the boy’s feet. “Get up!” muttered Dick, in a low tone. “Don’t let them see they have frightened anybody. We must bluff this thing through.” “They may begin shooting any moment,” chattered the cowering fellow. “If they do, they can pick us all off easily. You’ll be the first one killed, too, for Bunol thirsts for your blood.” Not another one of the group had sought shelter. Colonel Stringer, his gray mustache bristling, was standing erect with his shoulders squared toward the enemy, while John Coddington was planted near, his hands on his hips. Buckhart was close to the rail, his square jaw set, fire in his eyes. The professor, inspired by the others, had not betrayed any alarm, although Dick fancied he was ready to drop and seek shelter the instant any trouble began. In the very forefront was Merriwell. The enemy seemed in doubt, and while they hesitated the steamer bumped against the side of the yacht. The moment the two boats touched Dick and Brad were on the jump. The searchlight no longer bore on them. They leaped to the rail and went over it. From the steamer they sprang to the deck of the yacht. Colonel Stringer followed, only he was somewhat more cautious. He was a moment ahead of Coddington. Dick had a pistol in his hand when his feet struck the deck of the yacht. Buckhart also had drawn a weapon. They found themselves confronted by two men, both of whom seemed unarmed. “Is this the way peaceable persons behave?” asked a cuttingly sarcastic voice. “You have boarded my yacht in defiance of my wishes, and, if my eyes do not deceive me in this light, you have weapons in your hands.” “We shall not use our weapons unless you force us to use them,” said Dick. “Have no fear of that.” “Under the circumstances,” said the stranger, “you must confess that you have given us great provocation. We should have been justified in firing on you as you drew near, for your movements have been hostile all along.” “I reckon there was a right good reason why you did no shooting,” put in Brad. “And that reason was—what?” “You didn’t dare.” “Oh, but any man has a right to defend himself and his property. You are wrong in thinking we did not dare. What had we to fear?” “The row it would raise if you did fire on us. You bet your boots shooting of that sort would have kicked up a rumpus.” “Your logic is poor. However, I do not intend arguing with you. Now that you are here, be good enough to state your business instantly. As soon as possible I wish you to retire.” “I presume you haven’t the least idea of the nature of our business?” said Dick sarcastically. “Not the least, I assure you.” “Where is Miguel Bunol?” “Who is that?”