BARBARA HARDING heard the samurai in the room beyond her prison
advancing toward the door that separated them from her. She pressed the
point of the daimio's sword close to her heart. A heavy knock fell upon
the door and at the same instant the girl was startled by a noise behind
her--a noise at the little window at the far end of the room.
Turning to face this new danger, she was startled into a little cry
of surprise to see the head and shoulders of the mucker framed in the
broken square of the half-demolished window.
The girl did not know whether to feel renewed hope or utter despair. She
could not forget the heroism of her rescue by this brutal fellow when
the Halfmoon had gone to pieces the day before, nor could she banish
from her mind his threats of violence toward her, or his brutal
treatment of Mallory and Theriere. And the question arose in her mind as
to whether she would be any better off in his power than in the clutches
of the savage samurai.
Billy Byrne had heard the knock upon the door before which the girl
knelt. He had seen the corpses of the dead men at her feet. He had
observed the telltale position of the sword which the girl held to her
breast and he had read much of the story of the impending tragedy at a
glance.
“Cheer up, kid!” he whispered. “I'll be wid youse in a minute, an'
Theriere's out here too, to help youse if I can't do it alone.”
The girl turned toward the door again.
“Wait,” she cried to the samurai upon the other side, “until I move the
dead men, then you may come in, their bodies bar the door now.”
All that kept the warriors out was the fear that possibly Oda Yorimoto
might not be dead after all, and that should they force their way into
the room without his permission some of them would suffer for their
temerity. Naturally none of them was keen to lose his head for nothing,
but the moment that the girl spoke of the dead “men” they knew that Oda
Yorimoto had been slain, too, and with one accord they rushed the little
door.
The girl threw all her weight against her side, while the dead men, each
to the extent of his own weight, aided the woman who had killed them in
her effort to repulse their fellows; and behind the three Billy Byrne
kicked and tore at the mud wall about the window in a frantic effort
to enlarge the aperture sufficiently to permit his huge bulk to pass
through into the little room.
The mucker won to the girl's side first, and snatching Oda Yorimoto's
long sword from the floor he threw his great weight against the door,
and commanded the girl to make for the window and escape to the forest
as quickly as she could.
“Theriere is waiting dere,” he said. “He will see youse de moment yeh
reach de window, and den youse will be safe.”
“But you!” cried the girl. “What of you?”
“Never yeh mind me,” commanded Billy Byrne. “Youse jes' do as I tells
yeh, see? Now, beat it,” and he gave her a rough shove toward the
window.
And then, between the combined efforts of the samurai upon one side and
Billy Byrne of Kelly's gang upon the other the frail door burst from its
rotten hinges and fell to one side.
The first of the samurai into the little room was cleft from crown to
breast bone with the keen edge of the sword of the Lord of Yoka wielded
by the mighty arm of the mucker. The second took the count with a left
hook to the jaw, and then all that could crowd through the little door
swarmed upon the husky bruiser from Grand Avenue.
Barbara Harding took one look at the carnage behind her and then sprang
to the window. At a short distance she saw the jungle and at its edge
what she was sure was the figure of a man crouching in the long grass.
“Mr. Theriere!” she cried. “Quick! They are killing Byrne,” and then
she turned back into the room, and with the short sword which she still
grasped in her hand sprang to the side of the mucker who was offering
his life to save her.
Byrne cast a horrified glance at the figure fighting by his side.
“Fer de love o' Mike! Beat it!” he cried. “Duck! Git out o' here!”
But the girl only smiled up bravely into his face and kept her place
beside him. The mucker tried to push her behind him with one hand while
he fought with the other, but she drew away from him to come up again a
little farther from him.
The samurai were pushing them closely now. Three men at a time were
reaching for the mucker with their long swords. He was bleeding from
numerous wounds, but at his feet lay two dead warriors, while a third
crawled away with a mortal wound in his abdomen.
Barbara Harding devoted her energies to thrusting and cutting at those
who tried to press past the mucker, that they might take him from
behind. The battle could not last long, so unequal were the odds. She
saw the room beyond filled with surging warriors all trying to force
their way within reach of the great white man who battled like some
demigod of old in the close, dark, evil warren of the daimio.
She shot a side glance at the man. He was wonderful! The fire of battle
had transformed him. No longer was he the sullen, sulky, hulking brute
she had first known upon the Halfmoon. Instead, huge, muscular, alert,
he towered above his pygmy antagonists, his gray eyes gleaming, a
half-smile upon his strong lips.
She saw the long sword, wielded awkwardly in his unaccustomed hands,
beat down the weapons of his skilled foemen by the very ferocity of its
hurtling attack. She saw it pass through a man's shoulder, cleaving
bone and muscle as if they had been cheese, until it stopped two-thirds
across its victim's body, cutting him almost in two.
She saw a samurai leap past her champion's guard in an attempt to close
upon him with a dagger, and when she had rushed forward to thwart
the fellow's design she had seen Byrne swing his mighty left to the
warrior's face with a blow that might well have felled an ox. Then
another leaped into closer quarters and she saw Byrne at the same
instant bury his sword in the body of a dark-visaged devil who looked
more Malay than Jap, and as the stricken man fell she saw the hilt of
the mucker's blade wrenched from his grip by the dead body of his foe.
The samurai who had closed upon Byrne at that instant found his enemy
unarmed, and with a howl of delight he struck full at the broad chest
with his long, thin dagger.
But Billy Byrne was not to be dispatched so easily. With his left
forearm he struck up the hand that wielded the menacing blade, and then
catching the fellow by the shoulder swung him around, grasped him about
the waist and lifting him above his head hurled him full in the faces of
the swordsmen who were pressing through the narrow doorway.
Almost simultaneously a spear shot through a tiny opening in the ranks
before Billy Byrne, and with a little gasp of dismay the huge fellow
pitched forward upon his face. At the same instant a shot rang out
behind Barbara Harding, and Theriere leaped past her to stand across the
body of the fallen mucker.
With the sound of the shot a samurai sank to the floor, dead, and the
others, unaccustomed to firearms, drew back in dismay. Again Theriere
fired point-blank into the crowded room, and this time two men fell,
struck by the same bullet. Once more the warriors retreated, and with an
exultant yell Theriere followed up his advantage by charging menacingly
upon them. They stood for a moment, then wavered, turned and fled from
the hut.
When Theriere turned back toward Barbara Harding he found her kneeling
beside the mucker.
“Is he dead?” asked the Frenchman.
“No. Can we lift him together and get him through that window?”
“It is the only way,” replied Theriere, “and we must try it.”
They seized upon the huge body and dragged it to the far end of the
room, but despite their best efforts the two were not able to lift the
great, inert mass of flesh and bone and muscle and pass it through the
tiny opening.
“What shall we do?” cried Theriere.
“We must stay here with him,” replied Barbara Harding. “I could never
desert the man who has fought so noble a fight for me while a breath of
life remained in him.”
Theriere groaned.
“Nor I,” he said; “but you--he has given his life to save yours. Should
you render his sacrifice of no avail now?”
“I cannot go alone,” she answered simply, “and I know that you will not
leave him. There is no other way--we must stay.”
At this juncture the mucker opened his eyes.
“Who hit me?” he murmured. “Jes' show me de big stiff.” Theriere could
not repress a smile. Barbara Harding again knelt beside the man.
“No one hit you, Mr. Byrne,” she said. “You were struck by a spear and
are badly wounded.”
Billy Byrne opened his eyes a little wider, turning them until they
rested on the beautiful face of the girl so close to his.
“MR. Byrne!” he ejaculated in disgust. “Forget it. Wot do
youse tink I am, one of dose paper-collar dudes?”
Then he sat up. Blood was flowing from a wound in his chest, saturating
his shirt, and running slowly to the earth floor. There were two flesh
wounds upon his head--one above the right eye and the other extending
entirely across the left cheek from below the eye to the lobe of the
ear--but these he had received earlier in the fracas. From crown to heel
the man was a mass of blood. Through his crimson mask he looked at the
pile of bodies in the far end of the room, and a broad grin cracked the
dried blood about his mouth.
“Wot we done to dem Chinks was sure a plenty, kiddo,” he remarked to
Miss Harding, and then he came to his feet, seemingly as strong as ever,
shaking himself like a great bull. “But I guess it's lucky youse butted
in when you did, old pot,” he added, turning toward Theriere; “dey jest
about had me down fer de long count.”
Barbara Harding was looking at the man in wide-eyed amazement. A moment
before she had been expecting him, momentarily, to breathe his last--now
he was standing before her talking as unconcernedly as though he had not
received a scratch--he seemed totally unaware of his wounds. At least he
was entirely indifferent to them.
“You're pretty badly hurt, old man,” said Theriere. “Do you feel able
to make the attempt to get to the jungle? The Japs will be back in a
moment.”
“Sure!” cried Billy Byrne. “Come ahead,” and he sprang for the window.
“Pass de kid up to me. Quick! Dey're comin' from in back.”
Theriere lifted Barbara Harding to the mucker who drew her through the
opening. Then Billy extended a hand to the Frenchman, and a moment later
the three stood together outside the hut.
A dozen samurai were running toward them from around the end of the
“Palace.” The jungle lay a hundred yards across the clearing. There was
no time to be lost.
“You go first with Miss Harding,” cried Theriere. “I'll cover our
retreat with my revolver, following close behind you.”
The mucker caught the girl in his arms, throwing her across his
shoulder. The blood from his wounds smeared her hands and clothing.
“Hang tight, kiddo,” he cried, and started at a brisk trot toward the
forest.
Theriere kept close behind the two, reserving his fire until it could be
effectively delivered. With savage yells the samurai leaped after their
escaping quarry. The natives all carried the long, sharp spears of the
aboriginal head-hunters. Their swords swung in their harness, and their
ancient armor clanked as they ran.
It was a strange, weird picture that the oddly contrasted party
presented as they raced across the clearing of this forgotten isle
toward a jungle as primitive as when “the evening and the morning were
the third day.” An American girl of the highest social caste borne in
the arms of that most vicious of all social pariahs--the criminal mucker
of the slums of a great city--and defending them with drawn revolver,
a French count and soldier of fortune, while in their wake streamed
a yelling pack of half-caste demons clothed in the habiliments of
sixteenth century Japan, and wielding the barbarous spears of the savage
head-hunting aborigines whose fierce blood coursed in their veins with
that of the descendants of Taka-mi-musu-bi-no-kami.
Three-quarters of the distance had been covered in safety before the
samurai came within safe spear range of the trio. Theriere, seeing the
danger to the girl, dropped back a few paces hoping to hold the brown
warriors from her. The foremost of the pursuers raised his weapon aloft,
carrying his spear hand back of his shoulder for the throw. Theriere's
revolver spoke, and the man pitched forward, rolling over and over
before he came to rest.
A howl of rage went up from the samurai, and a half-dozen spears leaped
at long range toward Theriere. One of the weapons transfixed his thigh,
bringing him to earth. Byrne was at the forest's edge as the Frenchman
fell--it was the girl, though, who witnessed the catastrophe.
“Stop!” she cried. “Mr. Theriere is down.”
The mucker halted, and turned his head in the direction of the
Frenchman, who had raised himself to one elbow and was firing at the
advancing enemy. He dropped the girl to her feet.
“Wait here!” he commanded and sprang back toward Theriere.
Before he reached him another spear had caught the man full in the
chest, toppling him, unconscious, to the earth. The samurai were rushing
rapidly upon the wounded officer--it was a question who would reach him
first.
Theriere had been nipped in the act of reloading his revolver. It lay
beside him now, the cylinder full of fresh cartridges. The mucker was
first to his side, and snatching the weapon from the ground fired coolly
and rapidly at the advancing Japanese. Four of them went down before
that deadly fusillade; but the mucker cursed beneath his breath because
of his two misses.
Byrne's stand checked the brown men momentarily, and in the succeeding
lull the man lifted the unconscious Frenchman to his shoulder and bore
him back to the forest. In the shelter of the jungle they laid him upon
the ground. To the girl it seemed that the frightful wound in his chest
must prove fatal within a few moments.
Byrne, apparently unmoved by the seriousness of Theriere's condition,
removed the man's cartridge belt and buckled it about his own waist,
replacing the six empty shells in the revolver with six fresh ones.
Presently he noticed the bound and gagged Oda Iseka lying in the brush
behind them where he and Theriere had left him. The samurai were now
sneaking cautiously toward their refuge. A sudden inspiration came to
the mucker.
“Didn't I hear youse chewin' de rag wit de Chinks wen I hit de dump over
dere?” he asked of Barbara.
The girl, oddly, understood him. She nodded her head, affirmatively.
“Youse savvy deyre lingo den, eh?”
“A little.”
“Tell dis gazimbat to wise his pals to de fact dat I'll croak 'im, if
dey don't beat it, an' let us make our get-away. Theriere says as how
he's kink when his ole man croaks, an' his ole man was de guy youse
put to sleep in de chicken coop,” explained the mucker lucidly; “so dis
slob's kink hisself now.”
Barbara Harding was quick to see the strength of the man's suggestion.
Stepping to the edge of the clearing in full view of the advancing
enemy, with the mucker at her side, revolver in hand, she called to them
in the language of their forbears to listen to her message. Then she
explained that they held the son of Oda Yorimoto prisoner, and that his
life would be the price of any further attack upon them.
The samurai conferred together for a moment, then one of them called out
that they did not believe her, that Oda Iseka, son of Oda Yorimoto, was
safe in the village.
“Wait!” replied the girl. “We will show him to you,” and turning to
Byrne she asked him to fetch the youth.
When the white man returned with the boy in his arms, a wail of mingled
anguish and rage rose from the natives.
“If you molest us no further we shall not harm him,” cried Barbara, “and
when we leave your island we shall set him free; but renew your attack
upon us and this white man who holds him says that he will cut out his
heart and feed it to the fox,” which was rather a bloodthirsty statement
for so gentle a character as Barbara Harding; but she knew enough of the
superstitious fears of the ancient Japanese to feel confident that this
threat would have considerable weight with the subjects of the young
Lord of Yoka.
Again the natives conferred in whispers. Finally he who had acted as
spokesman before turned toward the strangers.
“We shall not harm you,” he said, “so long as you do not harm Oda Iseka;
but we shall watch you always until you leave the island, and if harm
befalls him then shall you never leave, for we shall kill you all.”
Barbara translated the man's words to the mucker.
“Do youse fall fer dat?” he asked.
“I think they will be careful to make no open assault upon us,” replied
the girl; “but never for an instant must we cease our watchfulness for
at the first opportunity I am sure that they will murder us.”
They turned back to Theriere now. The man still lay, unconscious and
moaning, where Byrne had deposited him. The mucker removed the gag from
Oda Iseka's mouth.
“Which way is water? Ask him,” he said to Barbara.
The girl put the question.
“He says that straight up this ravine behind us there is a little
spring,” translated the girl.
Byrne lifted Theriere in his arms, after loosening Oda Iseka's feet and
tethering him to his own belt with the same grass rope; then he motioned
the youth up the ravine.
“Walk beside me,” he said to Barbara Harding, “an' keep yer lamps peeled
behind.”
Thus, in silence, the party commenced the ascent of the trail which
soon became rough and precipitous, while behind them, under cover of the
brush, sneaked four trailing samurai.
After half an hour of the most arduous climbing the mucker commenced
to feel the effects of loss of blood from his many wounds. He coughed
a little now from the exertion, and when he did the blood spurted anew
from the fresh wound in his breast.
Yet there was no wavering or weakness apparent to the girl who marched
beside him, and she wondered at the physical endurance of the man.
But when at last they came to a clear pool of water, half hidden by
overhanging rocks and long masses of depending mosses, in the midst of
a natural grotto of enchanting loveliness, and Oda Iseka signaled
that their journey was at an end, Byrne laid Theriere gently upon
the flower-starred sward, and with a little, choking gasp collapsed,
unconscious, beside the Frenchman.
Barbara Harding was horror-stricken. She suddenly realized that she had
commenced to feel that this giant of the slums was invulnerable, and
with the thought came another--that to him she had come to look more
than to Theriere for eventual rescue; and now, here she found herself in
the center of a savage island, surrounded as she felt confident she was
by skulking murderers, with only two dying white men and a brown hostage
as companions.
And now Oda Iseka took in the situation, and with a grin of triumph
raised his voice in a loud halloo.
“Come quickly, my people!” he cried; “for both the white men are dying,”
and from the jungle below them came an answering shout.
“We come, Oda Iseka, Lord of Yoka! Your faithful samurai come!”