THROUGH the balance of the day and all during the long night Billy Byrne
swung along his lonely way, retracing the familiar steps of the journey
that had brought Barbara Harding and himself to the little island in the
turbulent river.
Just before dawn he came to the edge of the clearing behind the dwelling
of the late Oda Yorimoto. Somewhere within the silent village he was
sure that the two prisoners lay.
During the long march he had thrashed over again and again all that the
success of his rash venture would mean to him. Of all those who might
conceivably stand between him and the woman he loved--the woman who had
just acknowledged that she loved him--these two men were the most to be
feared.
Billy Byrne did not for a moment believe that Anthony Harding would look
with favor upon the Grand Avenue mucker as a prospective son-in-law. And
then there was Mallory! He was sure that Barbara had loved this man, and
now should he be restored to her as from the grave there seemed little
doubt but that the old love would be aroused in the girl's breast. The
truth of the matter was that Billy Byrne could not conceive the truth of
the testimony of his own ears--even now he scarce dared believe that the
wonderful Miss Harding loved him--him, the despised mucker!
But the depth of the man's love for the girl, and the genuineness of
his new-found character were proven beyond question by the relentless
severity with which he put away every thought of himself and the
consequences to him in the matter he had undertaken.
FOR HER SAKE! had become his slogan. What though the results sent him
to a savage death, or to a life of lonely misery, or to the arms of his
beloved! In the face of duty the result was all the same to Billy Byrne.
For a moment he stood looking at the moon-bathed village, listening for
any sign of wakefulness or life, then with all the stealth of an Indian,
and with the trained wariness of the thief that he had been, the mucker
slunk noiselessly across the clearing to the shadows of the nearest hut.
He listened beneath the window through which he and Barbara and Theriere
had made their escape a few weeks before. There was no sound from
within. Cautiously he raised himself to the sill, and a moment later
dropped into the inky darkness of the interior.
With groping hands he felt about the room--it was unoccupied. Then
he passed to the door at the far end. Cautiously he opened it until a
narrow crack gave him a view of the dimly lighted chamber beyond. Within
all seemed asleep. The mucker pushed the door still further open and
stepped within--so must he search every hut within the village until he
had found those he sought?
They were not there, and on silent feet that disturbed not even the
lightly slumbering curs the man passed out by the front entrance into
the street beyond.
Through a second and third hut he made his precarious way. In the fourth
a man stirred as Byrne stood upon the opposite side of the room from the
door--with a catlike bound the mucker was beside him. Would the fellow
awake? Billy scarce breathed. The samurai turned restlessly, and then,
with a start, sat up with wide-open eyes. At the same instant iron
fingers closed upon his throat and the long sword of his dead daimio
passed through his heart.
Byrne held the corpse until he was positive that life was extinct, then
he dropped it quietly back upon its pallet, and departed to search the
adjoining dwelling. Here he found a large front room, and a smaller
chamber in the rear--an arrangement similar to that in the daimio's
house.
The front room revealed no clue to the missing men. Within the smaller,
rear room Byrne heard the subdued hum of whispered conversation just as
he was about to open the door. Like a graven image he stood in silence,
his ear glued to the frail door. For a moment he listened thus and then
his heart gave a throb of exultation, and he could have shouted aloud in
thanksgiving--the men were conversing in English!
Quietly Byrne pushed open the door far enough to admit his body. Those
within ceased speaking immediately. Byrne closed the door behind him,
advancing until he felt one of the occupants of the room. The man shrank
from his touch.
“I guess we're done for, Mallory,” said the man in a low tone; “they've
come for us.”
“Sh-sh,” warned the mucker. “Are you and Mallory alone?”
“Yes--for God's sake who are you and where did you come from?” asked the
surprised Mr. Harding.
“Be still,” admonished Byrne, feeling for the cords that he knew must
bind the captive.
He found them presently and with his jackknife cut them asunder. Then he
released Mallory.
“Follow me,” he said, “but go quietly. Take off your shoes if you
have 'em on, and hang 'em around your neck--tie the ends of the laces
together.”
The men did as he bid and a moment later he was leading them across the
room, filled with sleeping men, women, children, and domestic animals.
At the far side stood a rack filled with long swords. Byrne removed two
without the faintest suspicion of a noise. He handed one to each of his
companions, cautioning them to silence with a gesture.
But neither Anthony Harding nor Billy Mallory had had second-story
experience, and the former struck his weapon accidentally against the
door frame with a resounding clatter that brought half the inmates
of the room, wide-eyed, to sitting postures. The sight that met the
natives' eyes had them on their feet, yelling like madmen, and dashing
toward their escaping prisoners, in an instant.
“Quick!” shouted Billy Byrne. “Follow me!”
Down the village street the three men ran, but the shouts of the
natives had brought armed samurai to every door with a celerity that was
uncanny, and in another moment the fugitives found themselves surrounded
by a pack of howling warriors who cut at them with long swords from
every side, blocking their retreat and hemming them in in every
direction.
Byrne called to his companions to close in, back to back, and thus, the
gangster in advance, the three slowly fought their way toward the end of
the narrow street and the jungle beyond. The mucker fought with his long
sword in one hand and Theriere's revolver in the other--hewing a way
toward freedom for the two men whom he knew would take his love from
him.
Beneath the brilliant tropic moon that lighted the scene almost as
brilliantly as might the sun himself the battle waged, and though the
odds were painfully uneven the white men moved steadily, though slowly,
toward the jungle. It was evident that the natives feared the giant
white who led the three. Anthony Harding, familiar with Japanese, could
translate sufficient of their jargon to be sure of that, had not the
respectful distance most of them kept from Byrne been ample proof.
Out of the village street they came at last into the clearing. The
warriors danced about them, yelling threats and taunts the while they
made occasional dashes to close quarters that they might deliver a swift
sword cut and retreat again before the great white devil could get them
with the sword that had been Oda Yorimoto's, or the strange fire stick
that spoke in such a terrifying voice.
Fifty feet from the jungle Mallory went down with a spear through the
calf of his leg. Byrne saw him fall, and dropping back lifted the man to
his feet, supporting him with one arm as the two backed slowly in front
of the onpressing natives.
The spears were flying thick and fast now, for the samurai all were upon
the same side of the enemy and there was no danger of injuring one of
their own number with their flying weapons as there had been when the
host entirely surrounded the three men, and when the whites at last
entered the tall grasses of the jungle a perfect shower of spears
followed them.
With the volley Byrne went down--he had been the principal target for
the samurai and three of the heavy shafts had pierced his body. Two were
buried in his chest and one in his abdomen.
Anthony Harding was horrified. Both his companions were down, and the
savages were pressing closely on toward their hiding place. Mallory sat
upon the ground trying to tear the spear from his leg. Finally he was
successful. Byrne, still conscious, called to Harding to pull the three
shafts from him.
“What are we to do?” cried the older man. “They will get us again as
sure as fate.”
“They haven't got us yet,” said Billy. “Wait, I got a scheme. Can you
walk, Mallory?”
Mallory staggered to his feet.
“I'll see,” he said, and then: “Yes, I can make it.”
“Good,” exclaimed Byrne. “Now listen. Almost due north, across this
range of hills behind us is a valley. In the center of the valley is
a river. It is a good fifteen-hour march for a well man--it will take
Mallory and you longer. Follow down the river till you come to a little
island--it should be the first one from where you strike the river. On
that island you will find Miss Harding, Norris, and Foster. Now hurry.”
“But you, man!” exclaimed Mallory. “We can't leave you.”
“Never!” said Anthony Harding.
“You'll have to, though,” replied Billy. “That's part of the scheme.
It won't work any other way.” He raised his revolver and fired a single
shot in the direction of the howling savages. “That's to let 'em know
we're still here,” he said. “I'll keep that up, off and on, as long as
I can. It'll fool 'em into thinking that we're all here, and cover your
escape. See?”
“I won't do it,” said Mallory.
“Yes you will,” replied the mucker. “It's not any of us that
counts--it's Miss Harding. As many as can have got to get back to her
just as quick as the Lord'll let us. I can't, so you two'll have to. I'm
done for--a blind man could see that. It wouldn't do a bit of good for
you two to hang around here and get killed, waitin' for me to die; but
it would do a lot of harm, for it might mean that Miss Harding would be
lost too.”
“You say my daughter is on this island you speak of, with Norris and
Foster--is she quite safe and well?” asked Harding.
“Perfectly,” said Byrne; “and now beat it--you're wasting a lot of
precious time.”
“For Barbara's sake it looks like the only way,” said Anthony Harding,
“but it seems wicked and cowardly to desert a noble fellow like you,
sir.”
“It is wicked,” said Billy Mallory. “There must be some other way.
By the way, old man, who are you anyhow, and how did you happen to be
here?”
Byrne turned his face upward so that the full moon lighted his features
clearly.
“There is no other way, Mallory,” he said. “Now take a good look at
me--don't you recognize me?”
Mallory gazed intently at the strong face looking into his. He shook his
head.
“There is something familiar about your face,” he said; “but I cannot
place you. Nor does it make any difference who you are--you have risked
your life to save ours and I shall not leave you. Let Mr. Harding go--it
is not necessary for both to stay.”
“You will both go,” insisted Byrne; “and you will find that it does
make a big difference who I am. I hadn't intended telling you, but I see
there is no other way. I'm the mucker that nearly killed you on board
the Lotus, Mallory. I'm the fellow that man-handled Miss Harding until
even that beast of a Simms made me quit, and Miss Harding has been alone
with me on this island for weeks--now go!”
He turned away so that they could no longer see his face, with the
mental anguish that he knew must be writ large upon it, and commenced
firing toward the natives once more.
Anthony Harding stood with white face and clinched hands during Byrne's
recital of his identity. At its close he took a threatening step toward
the prostrate man, raising his long sword, with a muffled oath. Billy
Mallory sprang before him, catching his upraised arm.
“Don't!” he whispered. “Think what we owe him now. Come!” and the two
men turned north into the jungle while Billy Byrne lay upon his belly
in the tall grass firing from time to time into the direction from which
came an occasional spear.
Anthony Harding and Billy Mallory kept on in silence along their dismal
way. The crack of the mucker's revolver, growing fainter and fainter, as
they drew away from the scene of conflict, apprised the men that their
rescuer still lived.
After a time the distant reports ceased. The two walked on in silence
for a few minutes.
“He's gone,” whispered Mallory.
Anthony Harding made no response. They did not hear any further firing
behind them. On and on they trudged. Night turned to day. Day rolled
slowly on into night once more. And still they staggered on, footsore
and weary. Mallory suffered excruciating agony from his wound. There
were times when it seemed that it would be impossible for him to
continue another yard; but then the thought that Barbara Harding was
somewhere ahead of them, and that in a short time now they must be with
her once more kept him doggedly at his painful task.
They had reached the river and were following slowly down its bank. The
moon, full and gorgeous, flooded the landscape with silvery light.
“Look!” exclaimed Mallory. “The island!”
“Thank God!” whispered Harding, fervently.
On the bank opposite they stopped and hallooed. Almost instantly three
figures rushed from the interior of the island to the shore before
them--two men and a woman.
“Barbara!” cried Anthony Harding. “O my daughter! My daughter!”
Norris and Foster hastened through the river and brought the two men
to the island. Barbara Harding threw herself into her father's arms. A
moment later she had grasped Mallory's outstretched hands, and then she
looked beyond them for another.
“Mr. Byrne?” she asked. “Where is Mr. Byrne?”
“He is dead,” said Anthony Harding.
The girl looked, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, at her father for a full
minute.
“Dead!” she moaned, and fell unconscious at his feet.