On through the mist,
through the smother of foam, over the big greenish-blue waves scudded
the Tartar, the lieutenant, in oilskins, standing in the bows,
peering ahead for a sight of the steamer.
And, at noon, following a fierce burst of wind, he give a cry.
"What is it?" asked Jack, struggling toward.
"Ship ahead! I think it is the Ramona!" was the answer.
CHAPTER XXVII
SENOR RAMO
Clinging to the life-lines that had been stretched along the deck,
Jack made his way to a partly-sheltered spot near which the
lieutenant stood.
"Where is she?" asked Jack, fairly shouting the words into the
officer's ear, for the noise of the storm was such as to make this
necessary.
"Right ahead!" was the answer. "Look when we go up on the next
crest."
One moment the Tartar was down in the hollow of the waves, and the
next on the top of the swell, and it was only on the latter occasion
that a glimpse ahead could be had.
"Now's your chance!" cried Lieutenant Walling to Jack. "Look!"
Eagerly Cora's brother peered through the mist, wiping the salty
spray from his eyes. Just ahead, wallowing in the trough of the sea,
as though she were only partly under control, was a steamer.
"I see her!" Jack shouted, and then the Tartar, went down in the
hollow between two waves again, and he could glimpse only the
seething water as it hissed past under the force of the wind.
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