Howland laughed nervously. "But it was no use. I
believe I reared a Frankenstein monster when I selected him as the man
to land our guns. Frankly he as much as told me to mind my business.
He's in a fighting mood now; his jaws are set like steel-traps--I know
his kind. And do you know, Virginia, he will land us and the guns,
too. You wait!"
The _El Toro_ had stopped firing, and was bending all energies to
heading off the freighter; it looked as though she would do it, too,
for she had once been a private yacht and had evidently lost none of
her speed. It was a mighty race. The _Tampico_ was by no means a
slouchy craft, and she ripped her way through the waters, clawing for
the harbor mouth and San Blanco City like a thing possessed. Swinging
on a tactical semi-circle, the trim little flag-ship flew like a white
ghost, tearing the waters, curling them up on deck until they ran out
of the scuppers. She unlimbered another gun and the leaden hail swept
away the _Tampico's_ port lifeboat, crumpling the stanchions and davits
like thin wire.
"Their marksmanship is bad, as usual," said Mr. Howland, trembling
nevertheless, in suppressed excitement.
But if their marksmanship was bad their speed was not. The _El Toro_
was, in fact, shooting up rapidly; and as she began to circle in on the
freighter it was plain to every one that her path would cross that of
the fugitive.
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