Sunrise found the two yachts far out on the ocean with land nowhere in sight. The breeze was still stiff, but it was not as heavy as it had been, and Martin Harris was unable to decrease the space which separated his own craft from that of the enemy. "You see, the _Searchlight_ is the better boat in a strong blow," he explained. "When the wind is light the _Flyaway_ has as good a chance of making headway as we have." "Well, one thing is certain," said Tom. "This chase can't last forever." "It may last longer than you imagine, lad." "Hardly. We haven't more than enough provisions aboard to last over today." "Perhaps the other boat is even worse off," said Sergeant Brown hopefully. "If that's the case we'll starve them out." "I don't care what we do, so long as we rescue Dora and get that stolen fortune," said Dick, as he dragged himself to the crowd, followed by Sam. "And how's Sam?" questioned Tom, turning to his younger brother. "Oh, I'm all right--if it comes to fighting." "And you, Dick?" "I think I can do something--at least, I am willing to try." Breakfast--a rather scant meal--had just been disposed of, when Martin Harris uttered a shout. "They want to do some talking," he announced. "Why, what do you mean?" asked Dick. "They are hoisting a white rag." "Sure enough!" ejaculated Tom, as he pointed to a flag of truce which Dan Baxter was holding aloft, fastened to an oar. "What do you make of that?" "They want to make terms," laughed Sergeant Brown. "I reckon things are coming our way at last." "Do we want to talk to them?" asked Tom. "Let us make them surrender, and do the talking afterward," came from Sam. "It won't hurt to let them talk," said the police sergeant. "We can do as we please, anyway, after they are done." The matter was discussed for a moment, and then Tom tied his handkerchief to a stick and held it up. "Ahoy there!" came from Arnold Baxter. "Will you honor the flag of truce?" "Yes," yelled Sergeant Brown. "And let us have our distance after our talk is over, if we can't come to terms?" "Yes." "All right, then; we'll come close enough to talk to you." Slowly and cautiously the _Flyaway_ drew nearer, until all on board of Harris' yacht could see their enemies quite plainly. Arnold Baxter was armed with a shotgun, while Buddy Girk and Dan Baxter carried pistols. Mumps kept out of sight as much as possible, while Bill Goss attended to the steering of the boat. Dora and Mrs. Goss were below. "Well, what have you got to say?" demanded Dick, as soon as the others were within easy talking distance. "How many on board of that yacht?" demanded Arnold Baxter, as he looked at the police officers glumly. "Enough," replied Dick. "Is that all you've got to say?" "Don't grow impudent, boy. It won't set well." "A person couldn't be impudent to such a rascal as you, Arnold Baxter." "Have a care, Dick Rover. What do you propose to do?"