AFTER Byrne had dropped the lifeless form of his enemy to the ground he
turned and retraced his steps toward the island, a broad grin upon his
face as he climbed to the girl's side.
“I guess I'd better overhaul this gat,” he said, “and stick around home.
It isn't safe to leave you alone here--I can see that pretty plainly.
Gee, supposin' I'd got out of sight before he showed himself!” And the
man shuddered visibly at the thought.
The girl had not spoken and the man looked up suddenly, attracted by her
silence. He saw a look of horror in her eyes, such as he had seen there
once before when he had kicked the unconscious Theriere that time upon
the Halfmoon.
“What's the matter?” he asked, alarmed. “What have I done now? I had to
croak the stiff--he'd have got me sure if I hadn't, and then he'd have
got you, too. I had to do it for your sake--I'm sorry you saw it.”
“It isn't that,” she said slowly. “That was very brave, and very
wonderful. It's Mr. Mallory I'm thinking of. O Billy! How could you do
it?”
The man hung his head.
“Please don't,” he begged. “I'd give my life to bring him back again,
for your sake. I know now that you loved him, and I've tried to do all I
could to atone for what I did to him; just as I tried to play white
with Theriere when I found that he loved you, and intended to be on the
square with you. He was your kind, and I hoped that by helping him to
win you fairly it might help to wipe out what I had done to Mallory.
I see that nothing ever can wipe that out. I've got to go through life
regretting it because you have taught me what a brutal, cowardly thing I
did. If it hadn't been for you I'd always have been proud of it--but you
and Theriere taught me to look at things in a different way than I ever
had learned to before. I'm not sorry for that--I'm glad, for if remorse
is a part of my punishment I'll take it gladly and welcome the chance to
get a little of what's coming to me. Only please don't look at me that
way any more--it's more than I can stand, from you.”
It was the first time that the man ever had opened his heart in any such
whole-souled way to her, and it touched the girl more than she would
have cared to admit.
“It would be silly to tell you that I ever can forget that terrible
affair,” she said; “but somehow I feel that the man who did that was an
entirely different man from the man who has been so brave and chivalrous
in his treatment of me during the past few weeks.”
“It was me that did it, though,” he said; “you can't get away from that.
It'll always stick in your memory, so that you can never think of Mr.
Mallory without thinking of the damned beast that murdered him--God! and
I thought it smart!
“But you have no idea how I was raised, Miss Harding,” he went on. “Not
that that's any excuse for the thing I did; but it does make it seem a
wonder that I ever could have made a start even at being decent. I
never was well acquainted with any human being that wasn't a thief, or
a pickpocket, or a murderer--and they were all beasts, each in his own
particular way, only they weren't as decent as dumb beasts.
“I wasn't as crafty as most of them, so I had to hold my own by brute
force, and I did it; but, gad, how I accomplished it. The idea of
fighting fair,” he laughed at the thought, “was utterly unknown to me.
If I'd ever have tried it I'd have seen my finish in a hurry. No one
fought fair in my gang, or in any other gang that I ever ran up against.
It was an honor to kill a man, and if you accomplished it by kicking him
to death when he was unconscious it detracted nothing from the glory of
your exploit--it was WHAT you did, not HOW you did it, that counted.
“I could have been decent, though, if I'd wanted to. Other fellows who
were born and raised near me were decent enough. They got good jobs and
stuck to them, and lived straight; but they made me sick--I looked down
on them, and spent my time hanging around saloon corners rushing the can
and insulting women--I didn't want to be decent--not until I met you,
and learned to--to,” he hesitated, stammering, and the red blood crept
up his neck and across his face, “and learned to want your respect.”
It wasn't what he had intended saying and the girl knew it. There sprang
into her mind a sudden wish to hear Billy Byrne say the words that he
had dared not say; but she promptly checked the desire, and a moment
later a qualm of self-disgust came over her because of the weakness that
had prompted her to entertain such a wish in connection with a person of
this man's station in life.
Days ran into weeks, and still the two remained upon their little island
refuge. Byrne found first one excuse and then another to delay the march
to the sea. He knew that it must be made sooner or later, and he knew,
too, that its commencement would mark the beginning of the end of his
association with Miss Harding, and that after that was ended life would
be a dreary waste.
Either they would be picked up by a passing vessel or murdered by the
natives, but in the latter event his separation from the woman he loved
would be no more certain or absolute than in her return to her own
people, for Billy Byrne knew that he “didn't belong” in any society that
knew Miss Barbara Harding, and he feared that once they had regained
civilization there would be a return on the girl's part to the old
haughty aloofness, and that again he would be to her only a creature of
a lower order, such as she and her kind addressed with a patronizing air
as, “my man.”
He intended, of course, to make every possible attempt to restore her to
her home; but, he argued, was it wrong to snatch a few golden hours of
happiness in return for his service, and as partial recompense for the
lifetime of lonely misery that must be his when the woman he loved had
passed out of his life forever? Billy thought not, and so he tarried on
upon “Manhattan Island,” as Barbara had christened it, and he lived in
the second finest residence in town upon the opposite side of “Riverside
Drive” from the palatial home of Miss Harding.
Nearly two months had passed before Billy's stock of excuses and
delay ran out, and a definite date was set for the commencement of the
journey.
“I believe,” Miss Harding had said, “that you do not wish to be rescued
at all. Most of your reasons for postponing the trip have been trivial
and ridiculous--possibly you are afraid of the dangers that may lie
before us,” she added, banteringly.
“I'm afraid you've hit it off about right,” he replied with a grin.
“I don't want to be rescued, and I am very much afraid of what lies
before--me.”
“Before YOU?”
“I'm going to lose you, any way you look at it, and--and--oh, can't you
see that I love you?” he blurted out, despite all his good intentions.
Barbara Harding looked at him for a moment, and then she did the one
thing that could have hurt him most--she laughed.
The color mounted to Billy Byrne's face, and then he went very white.
The girl started to say something, and at the same instant there came
faintly to them from the mainland the sound of hoarse shouting, and of
shots.
Byrne turned and started on a run in the direction of the firing, the
girl following closely behind. At the island's edge he motioned her to
stop.
“Wait here, it will be safer,” he said. “There may be white men
there--those shots sound like it, but again there may not. I want to
find out before they see you, whoever they are.”
The sound of firing had ceased now, but loud yelling was distinctly
audible from down the river. Byrne took a step down the bank toward the
water.
“Wait!” whispered the girl. “Here they come now, we can see them from
here in a moment,” and she dragged the mucker down behind a bush.
In silence the two watched the approaching party.
“They're the Chinks,” announced Byrne, who insisted on using this word
to describe the proud and haughty samurai.
“Yes, and there are two white men with them,” whispered Barbara Harding,
a note of suppressed excitement in her voice.
“Prisoners,” said Byrne. “Some of the precious bunch from the Halfmoon
doubtless.”
The samurai were moving straight up the edge of the river. In a few
minutes they would pass within a hundred feet of the island. Billy and
the girl crouched low behind their shelter.
“I don't recognize them,” said the man.
“Why--why--O Mr. Byrne, it can't be possible!” cried the girl with
suppressed excitement. “Those two men are Captain Norris and Mr. Foster,
mate of the Lotus!”
Byrne half rose to his feet. The party was opposite their hiding place
now.
“Sit tight,” he whispered. “I'm goin' to get 'em,” and then, fiercely
“for your sake, because I love you--now laugh,” and he was gone.
He ran lightly down the river bank unnoticed by the samurai who had
already passed the island. In one hand he bore the long war spear of
the head-hunter he had slain. At his belt hung the long sword of Oda
Yorimoto, and in its holster reposed the revolver of the Count de
Cadenet.
Barbara Harding watched him as be forded the river, and clambered up the
opposite bank. She saw him spring rapidly after the samurai and their
prisoners. She saw his spear hand go up, and then from the deep lungs of
the man rose a savage yell that would have done credit to a whole tribe
of Apaches.
The warriors turned in time to see the heavy spear flying toward them
and then, as he dashed into their midst, Billy Byrne drew his revolver
and fired to right and left. The two prisoners took advantage of
the consternation of their guards to grapple with them and possess
themselves of weapons.
There had been but six samurai in the party, two had fallen before
Byrne's initial onslaught, but the other four, recovered from their
first surprise, turned now to battle with all the terrific ferocity of
their kind.
Again, at a crucial moment, had Theriere's revolver missed fire, and in
disgust Byrne discarded it, falling back upon the long sword with which
he was no match for the samurai. Norris snatched Byrne's spear from the
ground, and ran it through the body of one of the Japs who was pressing
Byrne too closely. Odds were even now--they fought three against three.
Norris still clung to the spear--it was by far the most effective weapon
against the long swords of the samurai. With it he killed his antagonist
and then rushed to the assistance of Foster.
Barbara Harding from the island saw that Byrne's foe was pressing him
closely. The white man had no chance against the superior swordsmanship
of the samurai. She saw that the mucker was trying to get past the Jap's
guard and get his hands upon him, but it was evident that the man was
too crafty and skilled a fighter to permit of that. There could be but
one outcome to that duel unless Byrne had assistance, and that mighty
quickly. The girl grasped the short sword that she constantly wore now,
and rushed into the river. She had never before crossed it except in
Byrne's arms. She found the current swift and strong. It almost swept
her off her feet before she was halfway across, but she never for an
instant thought of abandoning her effort.
After what seemed an eternity she floundered out upon the mainland, and
when she reached the top of the bank she saw to her delight that Byrne
was still on his feet, fighting. Foster and Norris were pushing their
man back--they were in no danger.
Quickly she ran toward Byrne and the samurai. She saw a wicked smile
upon the brown face of the little warrior, and then she saw his gleaming
sword twist in a sudden feint, and as Byrne lunged out awkwardly to
parry the expected blow the keen edge swerved and came down upon his
head.
She was an instant too late to save, but just in time to
avenge--scarcely had the samurai's sword touched the mucker than the
point of Oda Yorimoto's short sword, wielded by the fair hand of Barbara
Harding, plunged into his heart. With a shriek he collapsed beside the
body of his victim.
Barbara Harding threw herself beside Byrne. Apparently life was extinct.
With a little cry of horror the girl put her ear close to the man's
lips. She could hear nothing.
“Come back! Come back!” she wailed. “Forgive me that cruel laugh. O
Billy! Billy! I love you!” and the daughter of old Anthony Harding,
multimillionaire and scion of the oldest aristocracy that America
boasts, took the head of the Grand Avenue mucker in her arms and covered
the white, bloody face with kisses--and in the midst of it Billy Byrne
opened his eyes.
She was caught in the act. There was no escape, and as a crimson flush
suffused her face Billy Byrne put his arms about her and drew her down
until their lips met, and this time she did not put her hands upon his
shoulders and push him away. “I love you, Billy,” she said simply.
“Remember who and what I am,” he cautioned, fearful lest this great
happiness be stolen away from him because she had forgotten for the
moment.
“I love you Billy,” she answered, “for what you ARE.”
“Forever?”
“Until death do us part!”
And then Norris and Foster, having dispatched their man, came running
up.
“Is he badly hurt, madam?” cried Captain Norris.
“I don't know,” replied Miss Harding; “I'm just trying to help him up,
Captain Norris,” she laboriously explained in an effort to account for
her arms about Billy's neck.
Norris gave a start of surprise at hearing his name.
“Who are you?” he cried. “How do you know me?” and as the girl turned
her face toward him, “Miss Harding! Thank God, Miss Harding, you are
safe.”
“But where on earth did you come from?” asked Barbara.
“It's a long story, Miss Harding,” replied the officer, “and the
ending of it is going to be pretty hard on you--you must try to bear up
though.”
“You don't mean that father is dead?” she asked, a look of terror coming
to her eyes.
“Not that--we hope,” replied Norris. “He has been taken prisoner by
these half-breed devils on the island. I doubt if they have killed
him--we were going to his rescue when we ourselves were captured. He and
Mr. Mallory were taken three days ago.”
“Mallory!” shouted Billy Byrne, who had entirely recovered from the blow
that had merely served to stun him for a moment. “Is Mallory alive?”
“He was yesterday,” replied Norris; “these fellows from whom you so
bravely rescued us told us that much.”
“Thank God!” whispered Billy Byrne.
“What made you think he was dead?” inquired the officer, looking closely
at Byrne as though trying to place him.
Another man might have attempted to evade the question but the new
Billy Byrne was no coward in any department of his moral or physical
structure.
“Because I thought that I had killed him,” he replied, “the day that we
took the Lotus.”
Captain Norris looked at the speaker in undisguised horror.
“You!” he cried. “You were one of those damned cut-throats! You the man
that nearly killed poor Mr. Mallory! Miss Harding, has he offered you
any indignities?”
“Don't judge him rashly, Captain Norris,” said the girl. “But for him
I should have been dead and worse than dead long since. Some day I will
tell you of his heroism and his chivalry, and don't forget, Captain,
that he has just saved you and Mr. Foster from captivity and probable
death.”
“That's right,” exclaimed the officer, “and I want to thank him; but I
don't understand about Mallory.”
“Never mind about him now,” said Billy Byrne. “If he's alive that's
all that counts--I haven't got his blood on my hands. Go on with your
story.”
“Well, after that gang of pirates left us,” continued the captain, “we
rigged an extra wireless that they didn't know we had, and it wasn't
long before we raised the warship Alaska. Her commander put a crew on
board the Lotus with machinists and everything necessary to patch her
up--coaled and provisioned her and then lay by while we got her in
running order. It didn't take near as long as you would have imagined.
Then we set out in company with the warship to search for the
'Clarinda,' as your Captain Simms called her. We got on her track
through a pirate junk just north of Luzon--he said he'd heard from the
natives of a little out-of-the-way island near Formosa that a brigantine
had been wrecked there in the recent typhoon, and his description of the
vessel led us to believe that it might be the 'Clarinda,' or Halfmoon.
“We made the island, and after considerable search found the survivors.
Each of 'em tried to lay the blame on the others, but finally they all
agreed that a man by the name of Theriere with a seaman called Byrne,
had taken you into the interior, and that they had believed you dead
until a few days since they had captured one of the natives and learned
that you had all escaped, and were wandering in some part of the island
unknown to them.
“Then we set out with a company of marines to find you. Your father,
impatient of the seeming slowness of the officer in command, pushed
ahead with Mr. Mallory, Mr. Poster, and myself, and two of the men of
the Lotus whom he had brought along with us.
“Three days ago we were attacked and your father and Mr. Mallory taken
prisoners. The rest of us escaped, and endeavored to make our way back
to the marines, but we became confused and have been wandering aimlessly
about the island ever since until we were surprised by these natives a
few moments ago. Both the seamen were killed in this last fight and Mr.
Foster and myself taken prisoners--the rest you know.”
Byrne was on his feet now. He found his sword and revolver and replaced
them in his belt.
“You men stay here on the island and take care of Miss Harding,” he
said. “If I don't come back the marines will find you sooner or later,
or you can make your way to the coast, and work around toward the cove.
Good-bye, Miss Harding.”
“Where are you going?” cried the girl.
“To get your father--and Mr. Mallory,” said the mucker.