The sloop was moving now, slowly but surely. Behind her pulsed a distant outcry, borne hoarsely across the water. Bill glared backward over his shoulder. “Shout! Shout! D---- you!” he cried. Tom was by his side now, sheeting home the mainsail. The sloop felt the added press, and with every movement gathered way. But in the lee of the shore the wind was light, and the boats, driven by sinewy arms, were coming fast, relentlessly cutting down the distance that intervened. Bill glared back at them. “Shoot ’em, Tom,” he cried. “Shoot ’em! Why don’t you shoot?” A grim smile curved the plainsman’s lips. Erect he stood, a revolver in either hand, balancing to the swaying boat. “Too far yet,” he muttered. “I ain’t got no cartridges to waste. This is only the overturnity; we’ll need ’em all when the main show begins. Besides, we’re holding even with them now.” Indubitably the sloop was holding its own. With every foot she gained from the land, the breeze grew stronger. Soon the strip of water between her and the boats showed perceptibly larger and the hoarse cries grew fainter. Tom lowered his pistols. “I guess we’re all right now,” he remarked comfortably. Bill grunted. “All right as far as them boats counts,” he agreed. “But they’ll have steam launches and gunboats and torpedo-boats after us mighty soon, and then where’ll we be?” “We won’t be in no jail,” returned his brother grimly. “I won’t, any way. I won’t be took. I always expected to cash in with my boots on, and I’m ready right now.” “Same here--if I can’t help myself. But I reckon we’ve got a chance yet. They’ll be expectin’ us to run west and try to fetch Copenhagen, I reckon! But we’ll fool ’em. If we can get out of sight, we’ll run east and try to meet the _Haakon_. We’ve got to go east, any way. If we ran out into the Baltic, we’d swamp, sure, just as we would have the other day.” CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Driven by twin propellers, the _Sea Spume_ raced westward, bearing happy souls released from the suspense of the past month. Caruth had found a wife; Professor Shishkin, a daughter; Marie, a father and a husband; and freed from the long strain of service to the cause, she had learned for the first time how heavy the burden had been. With them were Bristow and Olga. The reporter’s assignment to the Russian capital was nearly up, and as it was madness for Olga to remain longer in the same city with Baron Demidroff and the pretended Princess Napraxine, he had decided to sail with Caruth.