the blood.

"A scratch, as I thought," smiled Dave. "Not even enough to get
excused from watch duty."

"You'll have it dressed, sir, won't you, as soon as you get aboard
the '_Long Island_' again?" urged Riley, applying the sterilized
bandage with swift skill. "If the scoundrels used any of the
brass-jacketed bullets of which they're so fond, a scratch like
that might lead to blood poisoning, sir."

In a few minutes more the launch was out of rifle range. Dave
ordered the course changed to east by north-east, in order to
reach the rendezvous of the three launches.

"Steamer ahead, sir!" sang out the bow lookout, a few minutes later.

"Whereaway?" called Darrin, moving forward.

"Three points off starboard bow, sir," replied the sailorman.
"It looks like our own launch, sir."

By this time Darrin was well forward. He peered closely at the
approaching craft, for she might be a Mexican Federal gunboat
that had fallen into the hands of rebels or outlaws.

"It's our own launch," pronounced Darrin, a minute later. He
reached for the whistle pull and blew three blasts of welcome,
which were promptly answered.