As the two arms clashed together the knife went flying out of its owner’s hand and fell with a steely ring at the other side of the street. As it did so the Dreadnought Boy’s fist shot out and collided with the Costavezan’s face with a “squdgy” sound. The fellow was lifted clean off his feet by the blow, and came down to the ground after twirling once round completely. As he fell he collapsed in a senseless heap. “A sleep punch!” shouted Gifford, whose face was cut in a dozen places. What the mob in its fury might next have attempted will never be known, for at that moment Gifford’s friends, who had become separated from him before the row started, hove in sight. With a shout they charged, as had the boys just before, at the sight of the white uniforms in the midst of a hostile crowd. It was the end. With shouts of hate and fury, but prudently taking to their heels nevertheless, the mob scattered. “How did it all happen?” asked Ned, as Gifford began mopping his face. Of the mob only a few curious small boys remained. “Why, I saw a fellow pulling down an American flag from a small photo gallery up the street,” said Gifford, “and I just naturally waded in.” “And----” said Ned, a smile hovering about his lips. “Told him not to.” “What happened then?” “Why, then the nasty dago spat at me. I punched him, and before I knew it the whole mob was around me. I didn’t mind the stones so much, but, oh! those rotten bananas and those ancient eggs--phew!” “Well, it’s a good thing no bones are broken,” said Ned. “Come on, let’s get down to the boat before those fellows gather again. You want to get cleaned up.” “You haven’t much on you,” grinned Gifford, looking at Ned’s face, blood-stained, where the stone had struck him. Ned burst into a laugh. “I guess not. Say, fellows, we’d better not say anything to the lieutenant about this. He might think we’d been rioting or something.” “I guess you’re right,” agreed Stanley, “but in that case we want to look all right when he shows up.” With his handkerchief dipped in sea-water Ned soon removed the dirt and grime from his face, as did the others. When the lieutenant, therefore, came down to the boat, he found a demure-looking crew seated, ready to put the oars over at the word of command. Perhaps he may have noticed one or two angry-looking bruises on the men’s faces, but naval officers learn not to see a great deal--sometimes. “The feeling in the town is distinctly anti-American, the consul tells me,” Ned, who pulled stroke, heard Lieutenant Timmons remark to Ensign Conkling, as they gave way. “But about the revolutionists’ arms, sir?” “That’s the mystery. They are getting them somehow, and plenty of them. I wish we could solve it.” “So do I,” thought Ned to himself, as he bent to his oar. He resolved as he tugged away that if he got the chance, the delivery of the munitions of war to the enemies of his country would cease abruptly. CHAPTER VIII. THE BOYS MAKE AN INTERESTING DISCOVERY.