“I don’t believe the ‘Juanita’ is anywhere on this wide ocean,” muttered Eph, stifling a yawn.

“It doesn’t look that way,” smiled Hastings.

Down before the wheelhouse a bell began to sound briskly.

“Eight bells; your watch, Mr. Somers,” announced Hastings.  “But I am going to remain on the bridge with you for a while.  I want a look at that mud-hooker over yonder.”

Within fifteen minutes more the gunboat was running fairly close, though off to starboard.

“That doesn’t look even a little bit like the ‘Juanita,’” muttered Ensign Eph, disgustedly.  “Why, she’s longer than the Cobtown schooner.  Besides, the ‘Juanita’ is a two-sticker, while that hooker yonder has a third mast with a yawl-rig leg-o’-mutton sail.”

Hal said nothing, but continued to study the stranger through his night-glass.

“She is a queer-looking hooker,” muttered Hastings.  “Say, Eph, somehow that boat doesn’t look as though she was built to fit her own rig.”

“Why not!” demanded Eph.

“Well, look at her length.  Then take a peep at the height of her dory-mast.  Does it look tall enough for the length of the schooner?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Somers, also taking a careful look through the nightglass.  “Jove, Hal, she is an odd-looking piece of hulk.”

Eph turned to pass the order to run in still closer to the schooner.

“What’s wrong with her stern-hull?” asked Ensign Somers, three or four minutes later.

“Looks like a patchwork affair,” declared Hal, more interested than ever.

“Has she a built-on stern?” demanded Somers, half a minute later.

“By Jove, I half believe she has.  Eph, without that stern and the yawl mast, would you say the craft looks like the ’Juanita’?”

“I believe she would,” muttered young Somers, excitedly.  “Marine orderly!”

A sea-soldier came quickly up the bridge stairs, saluting.

“Mr. Somers’s compliments to Mr. Fullerton, and will the executive officer come to the bridge?”

Again saluting the marine vanished aft.  It doesn’t take a naval officer long to report, even when he has to rouse himself out of a sound sleep to do it.

Ensign Fullerton reached the bridge rubbing his eyes, but he listened intently to what the two younger ensigns had to say.

“Marine orderly!” called the executive officer.  “Mr. Fullerton’s compliments to the commanding officer, and will he come to the bridge?”

Barely a minute later, Jack Benson stood on the bridge, listening to his subordinate officers and staring across the gap of water at the unknown craft.

“Mr. Fullerton,” directed the young commander, “prepare to fire a signal shot and to lower the power launch.  Make up the boarding party as usual.  Mr. Somers, you will go in command of the launch.  And I will accompany you this time.  Mr. Fullerton, when I leave the bridge, you will assume command.”