"Lay to, and lower a boat, captain," he said quietly. "We can't let the poor fellow drown." No one knew what it cost Dick to say those words.
The engine room telegraph clanged out an order to slow up. Almost at once the effect was apparent. The Albatross seemed to shoot ahead. A boat was quickly lowered from the Golconda, and the Spanish sailors soon had rescued the man in the water. A limp and wet figure he lay in the bottom of the small craft, as it was rowed back to the steamer's side. Dick was gazing at his fast-fleeing yacht, and he could scarcely keep down a lump in his throat. There was a mist before his eyes. He thought she was gone forever.
The rescued man was hauled up on deck.
"Get under way as quickly as you can, captain," ordered Dick, as the boat was hoisted to the davits. "We may catch them yet."
"Si, senor."
Dick strolled off the bridge to inquire how the half-drowned man was getting on, and also, to learn, if possible, the identity of the men who had stolen his yacht.
The rescued one was sitting up on deck, in a steamer chair, having recovered consciousness, due to the rough and ready treatment of the sailors. Dick saw an elderly man, with a little bunch of white whiskers on his chin. He rubbed his eyes and looked again.
