TABLES TURNED
They waited there at the window for some time longer, watching the
preparations made for Carew’s coming ashore. Carew, himself, had
disappeared below, but a sailor appeared on the main deck, and hauled
the dingey alongside. He was the cabin guard, thought Martin. Asoki,
the mate, left the poop and lent a hand at the task, and supervised
the placing of the oars in the boat, and the adjusting of the Jacob’s
ladder.
And they in the cave watched not only this task. Events were proceeding
forward. It was evidently very near the noon hour, for Yip was
preparing to serve the dinner to the crew. Even before Carew left the
deck, the Chinaman banged a pan, at the galley door, announcing his
purpose to the world. And now, three new figures were visible on the
deck, coming up from the foc’sle.
Martin stared closely. The newcomers did not appear to carry their arms
with them; the sunlight gleamed on but three rifles, the one carried
by the fore-hatch guard, and the two weapons in the possession of the
men lounging abaft the house, amidships. All of the Japs, save only the
guard at the fore hatch, lounged over to the rail and watched their
compatriots aft prepare the dingey. They were evidently more interested
in this work, and in the aspect of the beach, than in the meal that Yip
was now spreading for them on the deck abaft the house.
Presently, Carew was visible again—on the main deck, this time, at the
rail. And—Martin’s heart leaped into his throat—Ruth was with him.
Ruth, cloaked and bowed, stood submissively by Carew’s side.
Carew noticed his men lounging forward, gaping at him. He evidently
disliked the sight, or perhaps, some word of theirs’ about the girl
reached his ears—he flung an order to Asoki, and the latter chattered
angrily at the loafers. They left the rail precipitantly, and clustered
about the mess kits Yip had just finished placing on the deck. The
Chinaman, Martin noticed, retreated immediately into the galley; and,
a second later, reappeared on the other side of the deck. He peeked
around the side of the house at the diners; then he strolled forward.
Carew was already in the dingey, and Ruth was being helped to the rail
by the Jap mate. The sailor was in the dingey, too, seated at oars,
ready to give way. Martin had the thought: “There is now no guard in
the cabin, and if Captain Dabney really has his sight—” But he did not
pursue the speculation. He was thinking of Ruth, watching her descend
the Jacob’s ladder into Carew’s waiting arms. He forgot to watch Yip.
He forgot everything save Ruth, and the hated hands that fastened upon
her waist and lifted her into the boat.
Grim-faced, savage-eyed, Martin stared down at the little boat; watched
Carew seat Ruth beside him in the sternsheets; watched the sailor
bend to the oars as Asoki cast off the painter. And Martin’s mood was
exultant as he watched. Carew was coming! Now he was going to square
accounts with the renegade beast! Now he was going to wipe the smirk
from those cruel lips! That sneering mouth would never again babble the
brute’s unclean love into _her_ unwilling ears, by heaven, no!
It was a gasp from Ichi, and a stuttering exclamation from Little
Billy, that brought his mind—and eyes—to the ship again. Something was
happening amid the group of eaters. One of them was rolling on the
deck, another was staggering about, consternation reigned over the
rest, and their cries of surprise and fear were audible in the cave.
Asoki was running toward the scene.
“The hatch! Yip!” cried Little Billy.
A blood-curdling whoop rode the air. Yip’s whoop. The Chinaman was
dancing on the deck, away forward by the foc’sle scuttle, brandishing
something over his head. More than that, Martin saw—the fore hatch was
open. Other figures appeared by Yip’s side. The gigantic figure of
the bosun appeared around the forward corner of the house, and he was
rushing aft.
He—and his followers—almost reached the after end of the house before
the rattled Japs spied them. Then was pandemonium. One of the armed
Japs shot point blank at the bosun. He missed the mark at which he
aimed, though a man behind the bosun fell; but the bosun, before his
enemy could fire again, leaned over and scooped into his arms the
figure that had been writhing on the deck, and, half straightening,
hurled it at the man with the gun. The body hurtled true to its
mark—both target and missile went scooting across the deck, to fetch
up motionless in the scuppers. Then the bosun had the rifle and was
swinging it, clubbed, the center of a mêlée.
Carew’s voice, roaring at Asoki, brought Martin’s gaze down to the
small boat. It had made some hundred yards towards shore when the shot
was fired at the bosun—the first inkling Carew had, it seemed, that his
conquest of the ship was in jeopardy. He was standing up in the boat,
trying to get a glimpse of the deck of the ship, and calling to know
what was wrong. The man at the oars was backing water, holding the boat
motionless; but as the sounds of general conflict came to the captain’s
ears, he evidently gave the sailor instructions, for the boat began to
swing back to the brig.
But Carew was not destined to set foot again on stolen decks. A new
factor suddenly entered the struggle. Martin noticed first, with a
great gasp of astonishment; then Little Billy exclaimed, “The captain!
Skipper Dabney! See!” and excitedly wagged his finger at the figure
just emerging into the sunlight of the poop deck through the cabin
hatch.
Captain Dabney was coatless, barelegged, bare-headed, all his white
hair blowing. But he moved with the swiftness of a young man, and his
step was no blind man’s step. As soon as he reached the deck he spied
and snatched up the rifle that was leaning against the skylight—it was
Asoki’s rifle, left behind when that worthy went to supervise Carew’s
departure—and rushed to the rail.
Carew shook his fist and roared a curse at the wild figure that so
suddenly appeared at the poop rail. Asoki was climbing the poop ladder,
come for his rifle or perhaps to take the Captain from behind. There
was a shot forward (it was Hardy, the Australian, with the rifle
taken from the hatch guard, Martin afterwards learned) and Asoki fell
backward, out of sight. Then Captain Dabney drew down his bead, and his
rifle barked—and Carew’s cap flew from his head.
Carew did a thing that drew a growl of rage and fear from two of the
watchers in the cave. He ducked, seized Ruth and swung her in front of
him, covering his own body with hers. And in response to his orders,
the sailor at the oars began to furiously pull towards the beach.
Martin never remembered much about that second, headlong passage of the
caves, when he and Little Billy, and the cowering Ichi, retraced their
path to the beach. He was in a frenzy of rage and fear. The hunchback
was weeping and cursing in the same breath. Their prisoner howled
hysterically as they kicked him along the ledge by the chasm edge.
Martin could never afterwards figure out why they troubled with Ichi
when time was so precious; he had no further use for the Jap that he
knew of. But they dragged the little wretch all the way to the beach.
Not quite to the beach. Little Billy, in the lead, guided them into
another passage, and instead of emerging through the Elephant Head,
they found themselves in the great open-mouthed chamber where Billy had
hidden before.
The beach lay revealed before them. Thirty yards distant, at the
water’s edge, the oarsman was beaching the dingey. Carew and Ruth were
already halfway up the beach; he was literally almost dragging the girl
over the sand, for she was struggling in his grasp. He was making for
the Elephant Head.
“Ichi! Where are you? Lend a hand here!” Carew shouted. “You
white-livered sneak—send a man out here if you are afraid!”
“Answer him!” Martin urged Ichi. “Tell him, ‘This way!’”
Ichi stuttered, and hesitated. He was evidently less anxious to face
Carew than was Martin.
Out on board the brig, the battle apparently was over, with victory for
Martin’s side. For Martin saw one of the _Cohasset’s_ boats swinging
out in the davits, and heard the bosun’s stentorian bellow as he
encouraged the launching. On the poop still stood Captain Dabney, his
rifle trained shorewards. Even as Martin looked, the rifle cracked, and
the sand spurted about the feet of the Jap sailor by the dingey.
The closeness of the miss seemed to rattle the man, to take his wits
and lend wings to his feet. He had been landing the gear of the boat;
he now dropped his task and sped for the caves. He would have been
quite safe had he fallen in behind his captain and unwilling companion,
for they would not have ventured a shot from the ship with Ruth in
line of fire. But he attempted to speed by Carew and gain the—as he
thought—comparatively safety of the caves.
“Help me here—hey, you—stop!” commanded Carew, as the man dashed past.
“Damn you then—take, that!” And he threw down with the pistol he was
brandishing, and shot the sailor in the back. The fellow pitched
forward on his knees, and then fell face down on the sand.
In the cavern where the trio lurked, Ichi suddenly yelped as Little
Billy pressed the point of his knife a half inch into the yellow hide.
“Call to him,” he commanded.
Ichi screamed it. “This way! This way, Captain!”
“Where? Show yourself! Give me a hand, here!” roared Carew.
Martin thrust Ichi half out of the cave, and, when Carew glimpsed him,
jerked him back again. Swearing vilely, Carew changed his course, and
began to draw Ruth towards the open-mouthed cave.
He had his hands full with the girl. His hand, rather, for he held
her with one arm, leaving his other, his weapon arm, free. She was
struggling furiously to break free from his grasp, wriggling, kicking,
clawing, using all of her vigorous strength against him. Almost she
succeeded. Then he had recourse to brute tactics to subdue her.
“Curse you, come along!” he exclaimed, and struck her heavy blows in
the face with the fist that held the revolver. She sagged limply in his
arm.
Something seemed to snap in Martin’s mind at this sight. Gone was his
caution, forgotten his plan. With a hoarse, wordless cry, he cleared
the cave entrance with a bound, and threw himself forward towards his
enemy.
Carew was still a score of paces distant from the cave mouth. But so
startled was he by the sudden appearance of the charging, hostile
figure, that Martin had covered half the intervening distance ere
Wild Bob’s sagging mouth closed. But by then Carew had recognized the
oncomer, and realized his danger. He took snap aim with his weapon, and
fired point blank at Martin.
The bullet seared Martin’s cheek. Behind him, Little Billy, just
emerging from the cave in Martin’s wake, stopped short in his tracks,
clutched at his poor, disfigured breast, and sank slowly to the ground.
Before Carew could shoot again, Ruth reached up her hands and clawed
his face. Screaming a curse, Carew threw her from him and staggered
back a step.
But Martin was closed with him now. He had Carew’s wrist, wrenching
it, and the weapon dropped to the sand. He had Carew’s throat in his
clutch. He was pressing, pressing, forcing the man back.
It was the very fury of his headlong, unreasoned assault that gave
Martin initial victory. He was not as large as Carew, nor as strong.
But at the moment he had the strength of three men in his body. He
was berserk. He had no craft in his fighting; only blind rage and the
strength it gave him. His hands were at the throat of the most hateful
thing in the world—the man who had harmed loved ones, the man who tried
to steal his woman.
Carew’s fists battered at Martin’s unguarded face. Martin did not even
feel these blows. He squeezed and squeezed that cursed neck. Carew gave
ground. He bent backwards. His glaring eyes were popping; his mouth was
open. He was down.
And then something happened to Martin. He was conscious of pain, of
sudden, paralyzing pain that pervaded his whole body. The strength left
his fingers; he felt his entire body giving way, slumping weakly.
Now he was on his back, and fingers were at his throat. Carew’s face
loomed above him, red, contorted, the lips curled into a fiendish
snarl, an insane murderous light in his eyes. Martin was choking;
a tremendous weight was on his chest. In Carew’s hand was a knife
descending. Above the ringing in his ears, Martin heard Carew’s voice
saying, “You shall not have her!”
A sudden roar filled his ears. The weight on his chest jerked suddenly;
the knife fell from the up-raised hand, the fingers loosened on his
throat. He saw Carew’s eyes blinking rapidly, and an expression of
stupid surprise succeeded the triumphant ferocity in the man’s face.
And then Carew rolled off him altogether, and lay quiet on the ground
by his side.
Dazed, Martin raised himself on his elbow. He saw the skirt, and then
the smoking revolver clutched in the little hand, and, his eyes leaping
upwards, Ruth’s frightened face and wide open, horrified eyes. The pain
still gripped him, but he tried to get up, and he held out his arms to
her.