Young Hunters In Porto Rico.
CHAPTER I.
A STORM OFF SHORE.
"What do you think of the weather, Bob?"
"It looks like a storm, Dick, and a heavy one, too."
"Exactly my idea. I wonder how far we are from the lighthouse?"
"I can't say. Jacob!"
"What is it, Master Robert?"
"How far is it to the lighthouse?"
The old Yankee sailor at the wheel of the Dashaway rubbed his grizzled chin and cast his eyes about before replying.
"I reckon as how it is about two miles or so," he said, with deliberation. "We have been running putty lively, you know."
"Do you imagine we can make it before that blow comes up?" asked Dick Wilbur, anxiously. "We don't want to lose a stick out here."
"We can do our best, sir. But we've got to work for it, for the wind is going down fast."
