t seemed to shake the sea.

"Pull for your lives!" shouted the ensign to the alarmed sailors.

Dazed as they were, they lost no time in doing so, but even then
fragments of blazing wood and red-hot metal rained about them in a
downpour of great danger.

Luckily, however, none of the blazing fragments struck the boat. As soon
as they recovered their faculties, the boys gazed back at the spot where
the _Good Hope_ had last been seen. There was not a trace of her. The
dynamite had literally blown the ill-fated whaler out of existence. Only
oily pools remained on the surface to show the spot of her vanishing.

"I can easily see that you chaps have been through some thrilling
experiences," remarked the Wolf boy, whose name proved to be Donald
Grant, attached to the Wolf Patrol of the 14th New York City Troop.

"We have, indeed," rejoined Rob, "but we would rather defer the telling
of them till we arrive on board your yacht. What's her name?"

"The _Brigand_," was the reply; "we are on a cruise through the West
Indies."

"The _Brigand_," echoed the ensign. "Isn't that J. P. Grant, the great
financier's yacht?"

"Yes, he's my father," rejoined Donald simply; "he's on board. You'll be
glad to meet him, and I know he'll be delighted to welcome you and hear
your story."

"Did you recognize our signal as soon as you saw it?" inquired Rob.

"I sure did," responded Donald; "lucky you sent it up, too, as we were
on another course, and would not have passed near enough to see that
there was anyone on board what we thought was just an old hulk drifting
about the ocean."

"You'll be more interested still when you hear how we made the signals,"
spoke up Hiram.

"Well, I knew that the call meant that the necessity was urgent, and
although we were going slowly at the time we soon got under full speed.
Dad has been a bit sceptical about scouting, but I guess he'll admit
there's some good in it now."

"It was Scout lore that saved our lives," said the ensign quietly.

"Not a doubt of that," agreed Donald; "but here we are, almost alongside
the _Brigand_."

The boys gazed up at the towering sides of the big yacht, at her
glittering brass work, and crowds of white-jacketed sailors gazing over
the side curiously. Astern a big bronzed man leaned over the rail gazing
down with equal interest. Rob recognized him instantly from pictures he
had seen of him in the papers, as Junius P. Grant, the "Wall Street
King," as he was called