"Is it little Billy?" thought Martin. "No, it can't be. Little Billy is on board, planning the uprising, directing Yip and Bosun." The guess he had made, born of hope and Ruth's hurried whisper, that Little Billy was at large on the ship, combated the evidence of his sight. He could not believe it was Little Billy.
But then the voice came across from the other entrance. It was unmistakably Billy's voice.
"Martin, Martin! Are you all right?"
Martin found his own voice then. He shouted loudly, "Billy, Billy!" He staggered to his feet, intent on joining the other. But Little Billy was already on the ledge, sidling towards him.
An instant later he was pawing the hunchback, and gabbling gladly, "Billy, Billy!" It really was Little Billy, a real flesh and blood Billy. The mere feel of him was medicine to Martin's sick soul; it shoved back the horror of the last few minutes. He was almost hysterical, so intense was his relief and joy at having Little Billy by his side.
But the hunchback's first words effectually checked this mood. "Ruth!" he said. "My God, Martin—the ship—Ruth—what has happened!"
It was like a cold blast—these words. They shocked Martin sober, blew the stupor from his mind. "Ruth—the ship!"
"Is she—is she—" stuttered Little Billy.
"All right. So far. Carew has the ship. But there is a plan—" Martin stopped. The plan! Good Lord, what now of the plan? He had taken it for granted that Little Billy was on the ship, directing a rescue. Why, Yip had passed him a note from Little Billy——
That note! Martin clapped his hand to his hip pocket.
"What is it?" cried Little Billy. "Talk to me—tell me, Martin, about the ship—Ruth!"
Martin bent over the lantern, and unfolded the paper he had drawn from his pocket. It was a mere scrap of paper, hurriedly and irregularly torn from a larger sheet; on it, in Ruth's hand, was penciled a few words.
"Grandfather has regained his sight—courage, dear—Yip has a plan. The noon meal."
Their eyes met above the papers, Martin's kindling with understanding, Little Billy's bewildered.
"By George, she wrote it!" exclaimed Martin. "I know—she slipped it to Yip in the cabin, and he slipped it to me. And all the time I thought I had a note you had written. She wrote it—Ruth!"
All of a sudden Martin realized that the hunchback's presence by his side was a mystery. For the first time his eyes began to critically inspect his companion. Revealed in the lantern light, Little Billy was a truly pitiful figure, coatless, shoeless, clad only in sea-soiled trousers and singlet. The twisted, meager frame slumped dejectedly, the face was haggard with fatigue and worry, the eyes deep-sunken, distrait.
"What happened, Billy? You—how did you get ashore?" began Martin.
"Swam," was the succinct reply. "Never mind me. Just now, you talk. What are conditions aboard? How many of us are left? The note—the plan—to retake the ship?"
"Yes, I think so. The crew—I'll explain, Billy. But this place—" The distant roar was audible again, and, despite himself, Martin fell to trembling. "Let us get out of here," he urged Little Billy. "Back to the beach—where we can see the ship."
"We can't show ourselves on the beach," said the Other. "Winters' cave—did you discover it?"
Martin nodded. The dry cave overhead—that was the place. He did not relish recrossing the ledge by the chasm edge at that moment; he did not think he could do it without falling in. And Winters' cave, if he recalled aright the description, had an outlook over the bay.
He motioned Little Billy to hold the lantern, while he bent over to inspect Ichi. A dim idea was at work in Martin's mind; not yet clear cut, not yet a reasoned plan. It concerned Ichi. If only the little wretch were not dead, or badly injured, as he feared. The man had lain there so motionless; he seemed such an inanimate lump as Martin rolled him over on his back.
But the fear was groundless. There was blood on Ichi's face from a torn scalp, and a big lump on the side of his head. The hunchback felt the lump, and cried, "Knocked out!" Immediately he added, "He's coming around—or playing 'possum. His eyes! He isn't shot. I thought you shot him; I saw the flash. But he's just knocked out—and waking up. See his eyes! Frisk him. Not even a knife."
Ichi's lids were fluttering. Presently they drew back slowly, and the man stared up at them. At first it was a vague, wavering, uncomprehending stare. But after a moment, intelligence—and fear—crept into the beady black eyes, and the gaze fastened upon the two grim, white faces above. Ichi tried to raise his head, his body. But Martin's hand was at his throat, and his knee upon his chest.
"He's alive!" exclaimed Martin, triumphantly. "Don't you see, Billy—we can bargain——"
"Use him, or kill him," cried the cripple, savagely, and he cursed at the prostrate man's face. "Drag him to his feet, Martin. Let's be going. The way to Winters' cave—up here?"
With his clutch on Ichi's collar, Martin dragged him to his feet and propped him against the wall. Ichi was groggy, but he kept his feet; and he was plainly conscious, though he did not open his mouth. The handcuffs which had chafed Martin's wrists for so many hours were still dangling from his left arm. He slipped them off, and, with no gentle hand, forced his prisoner's wrists together behind him and ironed them tightly. Tit for tat, thought Martin; and he made certain that Ichi would not wriggle his wrists through the steel clasps.
"Look here!" called Little Billy. "I had a hunch that shot hit somebody. Look—up here!"
He held the lantern over his head, and its rays lighted the shelf beneath the hole in the ceiling. On it was sprawled the body of a man. It was a gruesome sight; the form seemed oddly shrunken and twisted, one leg hung over the edge of the rock, the face was towards them, eyes and mouth wide open. Unmistakably dead.
"Hole in the forehead," said Little Billy.
The nausea had Martin's stomach again. But he fought it back. His mind searched for and immediately found the answer.
"When Ichi bit my arm, and I jerked it up and the gun went off. Yes, that's it. And that—I'd forgotten about that fellow, Ichi sent him aloft to explore. He must have been crawling back when I—when he was struck."
"Good riddance," said Little Billy.
"Watch this bird a moment," commanded Martin.
He stepped forward, and, conquering his repugnance, put his arms about the corpse and lifted it to the floor. Then, on second thought, he knelt and removed the leather belt and sheath knife from about the man's waist. He had remembered he was weaponless.
It was no easy task to boost the prisoner to the shelf, and thence through the crack in the ceiling. Ichi was none too willing to proceed, though he made no audible protest. But with Little Billy—who went first—pulling from above, and Martin prodding and thumping from below, the three finally negotiated the unhandy entrance.
They found themselves in a tunnel, much like the one below that connected with the Elephant Head. But this shaft, when they got a little ways into it, was dry, and the air was sweet. A cool, sweet wind touched their faces, so they knew they were approaching blessed daylight.
Little Billy went first, with the lantern. Martin brought up the rear, and, with his hand on Ichi's collar, directed the latter's somewhat faltering steps. Their way climbed sharply, then leveled; the tunnel was as tortuous as the one below. They turned a corner and discerned a bar of daylight cutting athwart the darkness of the passage. Another turn, and they were on the threshold of a wide and lofty cavern, a great room that was dimly lighted by a large, natural window in the farther wall.
"Watch him!" Martin cried to Little Billy; and, deserting his prisoner, he rushed forward to the opening.
He looked out over the beach and the sun-sparkled waters of the little bay. This cave was a good forty feet above the beach. He looked down on the vessel, which was but a few hundred yards distant; the flooding tide had swung her stern to the shore, and her decks were plainly visible.
At his first glance, Martin suffered a sharp stab of disappointment. For nothing was changed. There, leaning over the taffrail, staring shoreward, was the Japanese mate, Asoki, in the exact attitude in which Martin had last seen him, when he entered the caves in Ichi's wake. The man seemed not to have budged since then. And forward, the guards were still at the hatches. He saw Yip step out of the gallery, empty a pot overside, and stand there by the rail, gazing aft.
Asoki suddenly came to life, walked over to the skylight and glanced below, and then struck six bells' on the bell that hung by the wheel.
Martin's feeling of disappointment was changed to one of astonishment. Six bells! It was unbelievable. Only thirty moments since he followed Ichi through the Elephant Head! A half hour!
The swift tragedies by the chasm brink, the earth's convulsions, and the darkness, above all the darkness, all combined to lend error to his time reckoning. He had felt he was immersed in the black bowels of the mountain for hours. But now he looked into daylight, and reasoned about it, he realized how short was the time spent in the cave of winds. It was but a half hour since they landed. Thirty moments! Why, the bosun and the boys must still be quiet in the hold, and Yip's plot was still a-borning. And now, he was not impotent; he could help, perhaps. With Ichi.
He turned to call Little Billy and the prisoner forward. He discovered the hunchback by his side, peering out at the ship. But Ichi was gone.
"My God, where is he?" exclaimed Martin.
"Eh? Damn! I forgot him!" was Billy's answer. He glanced swiftly around. "There he goes!"
Martin saw him the same instant—the squat figure streaking for the dim recesses at the farther end of the cavern. He sprinted after the vanishing form. Before he could overhaul it, Ichi rounded a spur of rock; there was a crash, and a yelp of terror and pain. Martin, rounding the corner, came into collision with a round rolling object, and sprawled headlong over it.
He landed on a softer couch than the rock, on Ichi, himself; and the Jap's remaining wind was expelled from his body with a forcible "woof!" Something made of wood fell on Martin's back, and bounced off; then a barrel rolled against him and stopped. He did not feel either blow; he was too intent on making sure of the safety of the captive. He flopped the limp and groaning Ichi over on his back, and sat on him.
Just then Little Billy appeared around the jutting rock with the lantern.
"Got him safe?" he exclaimed. "Oh, Martin, I was so anxious—the ship—took my eyes off him just a second, and—" He stopped his excuses suddenly, and held up the lantern, gazing about.
"Good heavens, do you know what this is?" he cried.
Martin knew. He had guessed it even before Billy spoke, even before the lantern brought clear sight. The thing he had tumbled over: the other things that bumped him; the reek of musk in the air. He knew it was the treasure.
None the less, he was astonished when he followed Little Billy's gesture with his gaze. They were in a corner of the dry cave, and the jutting rock which had spelled grief for Ichi formed a pocket or alcove. This little chamber, in which they now were, was nearly filled with kegs. They were stowed neatly, tier on tier, from floor to sloping roof. They were about the size of pickle kegs, and there were dozens of them. Ichi had evidently plumped headlong into the pile and sent several kegs (and himself) rolling, one of which had tripped Martin.
Martin's knowledge of ambergris was still very vague. He would not have been surprised at the sight of a couple of barrels and an iron-bound chest or two. But a regiment of kegs! Dozens of kegs! If they all contained ambergris, he thought, there must be tons of the smelly stuff.
"See it, Martin?" cried the volatile hunchback, all else forgotten in the excitement of the instant. "By Jove, the entire fifteen hundred pounds, or I'll eat this lantern!Phew—it hasn't lost any of its virtue."
"But all those kegs can't be filled with it," said Martin. "Fifteen hundred pounds—why, there must be fifty kegs there."
"Fifty-five," answered Little Billy, "counting the ones you knocked over. Not as much as it looks. There is hardly any weight to ambergris; it takes quite a lump to weigh even an ounce. Specific gravity is—is—oh, I forget."
"It is .09," came a muffled voice from underneath Martin.
Martin started, and lifted his weight from the prostrate form.
"That is of betterness," said Ichi, more clearly. "May I see, please?"
"The rat smells cheese," observed Little Billy. It seemed so. Ichi struggled into a sitting posture, and his little black eyes were bright and greedy as he feasted them upon the kegs. He even sucked in the burdened air greedily.
"Let's get back where we can see the ship," said Martin. He jerked the Jap to his feet, and propelled him before. "That cursed stuff sickens me," he told Little Billy, as they rapidly retraced their way. "Think of the ruin—the murder—all the trouble it has caused."
"Aye, Sails," responded Little Billy. "Poor Sails. And who else? For God's sake, who else, Martin? And the ship—Ruth—everything! I know nothing."
"Lend a hand while I truss him up, so he won't lead us another chase," said Martin.
They had regained the window, and a glance had assured Martin the ship had remained peaceful during their brief absence. And now he took the strap belt he had salvaged from the dead sailor and with it tightly bound Ichi's ankles. It rendered him quite helpless. Martin deposited him with his back to the wall, a few feet from the window.
"Sit there awhile and think over your sins," he told him, when Ichi tried to speak. "When I'm ready, I'll talk with you."
"If we could only get on board to help," complained Little Billy. "If it were only dark. That whaleboat down there."
"But we can't," was Martin's prompt rejoinder. "You said yourself we dare not venture on the beach. They would only knock us over with their rifles—and besides, Carew would learn that something had happened to his landing party."
They were sitting on either side of the opening, watchfully regarding the ship. Martin, in response to the hunchback's importuning, had just briefly related the details of the previous night's misfortune, and he now summarized the situation on board as he knew or guessed it.
"The foc'sle crowd is locked in the hold—you see the guards, one at the fore hatch, and two amidships," said Martin. "The bosun has undoubtedly broken through from the lazaret and joined the boys by this time. Captain Dabney is laid up in his room, suffering from the blow Carew gave him, and Ruth is nursing him. But her note said he has regained his sight—what does that mean, Billy?"
"I don't know," said Little Billy. "It was a shock that blinded him; perhaps another shock has cured him. But the Chink's plan, Martin! What is it? 'The noon meal.' What does that mean?"
Martin shook his head. "I wish I knew. I shouldn't think eight bells would be a good time for the boys in the hold to attempt to break out. Now, would be a good time. There are only three of the gang on guard—or four, if you count the mate, there on the poop. Another one is in the cabin with Carew. The rest must be asleep in the foc'sle. There are only nine of them left, Billy. We have accounted for six, you and I—and that hole. There are ten of our fellows in the hold. If only they were armed! I am afraid to try my scheme just yet; it might upset their plans, it might spoil everything. Her note is explicit, 'The noon meal.'"
"Your plan? We can help?" exclaimed Little Billy.
Martin inclined his head towards the bound form of their captive, lying beyond earshot. "Decoy," he said.
Understanding lighted the hunchback's face. "I see. Draw them off—some of them. Just before eight bells. Oh, I am dopey, not to have thought of that. But I can't think straight. Nerves snapping. I've worried a lot since last night. You know how it is—I didn't know what had happened, and Ruth—-"
Yes, Martin knew how it was. He smiled his understanding and sympathy, and leaned over and patted Billy's shoulder. Yes, he knew. His own nerves were snapping, when he thought of Ruth. He knew that his, and Wild Bob's, were not the only hearts enslaved by the maid of theCohasset. And he, the accepted lover, could regard without disquiet the light that shone in Billy's eyes whenever the latter spoke of Ruth.
"I know how it is between you two," continued Little Billy. "And you—I think you know how it is with me. I—why, I'd die for her gladly. Oh, Martin, in my mind I think I died a thousand times last night."
"What happened to you last night?" inquired Martin. "How did you escape them, and get ashore?"
"I suppose they murdered Rimoa and Oomak while Sails was in the cabin, calling you. Poor Sails—so it was his concern for me that caused him to awaken you. He thought feydom had me."
"But he was wrong," said Martin, quickly.
"I don't know; I have had a feeling—oh, well, no matter," rejoined Little Billy. "I guess they would have finished me, as well as the others, had I been on board."
"Had you been on board?" echoed Martin.
"I was already on my way to the beach when they boarded. Passed them on the way. It was just an accident, a simple mishap," explained the other. "It happened just after I roused MacLean from his snooze in the galley. You recall how dark it was last night. I felt my way aft, and paused by the capstan, where you found my tobacco pouch. I placed it there preparatory to filling my pipe. My pipe wasn't in my pocket, and I remembered that it was lying on the thwart of the dingey, where I left when I came on board after sounding to anchor in the afternoon.
"Well, you may remember what state I was in. The booze craving made me jumpy and unreasonable. I decided I must have that pipe, no other pipe would do. So I crossed to the side and felt around until I grasped the boat's painter; and then I overhauled until the dingey was beneath me. I had climbed up on the rail, and was perched there on my knees, and as I twisted around to make the painter fast, I over-balanced and fell.
"I guess I struck the boat's gunwale a glancing blow with my head. Anyway, I bounced off into the water. When I came to the surface I was at first too stunned to cry out. I needed all my breath, anyway, to keep afloat. The tide was flooding like a millrace, and sweeping me with it. I couldn't see the ship; I was isolated in the black fog.
"The water was icy cold and my clothes dragged me under. You remember how chilly it was last night; I had on sea boots and reefer coat. I struggled desperately, under water half the time, and managed to slip off the boots; then I wriggled out of my coat and guernsey. By this time I knew I was near the beach, and I was almost spent.
"Then, a boat passed me. I could not see it—but I heard oars, or fancied I did. I tried to call out. But I was too far gone; every time I opened my mouth it filled with water, and I only spluttered. Anyway, I wasn't sure it was oars; it was more likely surf on a rock, I thought. A little later, I felt the ground under my feet, and staggered up on the beach.
"I was lying on the sand, waiting for strength that would enable me to hail the ship, when they rushed you. I heard a shriek coming out of the darkness. It must have been MacLean. Then shouts, and a shot, and Ruth's scream, and—silence. Oh, I knew then what had happened, and that I had really passed a boat, Carew's boat!
"I don't like to think about the time that followed. I think I was crazy for a time; I know I ranged up and down the beach like a madman. But I retained enough sense to know I couldn't swim against the tide. It was a miracle I kept afloat with the tide in that Arctic water, and me a lubberly swimmer. Then, after a long while—how long a time I don't know; each moment seemed an age—I stumbled upon MacLean's body. Poor Sails, he could not foretell his own finish!
"He—he couldn't have been quite dead when they threw him over, or he wouldn't have made the beach so quickly. But he was quite dead then. I took his knife from his hip—this is it I have here—because I felt I might have a chance to use it. God, how I longed for a chance to use it! Finding MacLean sort of steadied me; it shocked me sane, so to speak. The fog began to thin out, and I slipped into a cave.
"Pretty soon the fog lifted altogether, and it was a bright calm morning. Through the cave mouth, I could see the Japs parading the deck. But I didn't see them making preparations to get the ship under way, so I reasoned the ambergris was still ashore, and that they would come for it. So I just waited.
"You see, I thought it was all ended for the Happy Family. I knew Carew, and these yellow devils; I was sure you had all been killed, and that Ruth—oh, well, I was going to meet them when they came ashore, and do a little work with Sails' knife before they finished me.
"At last their whaleboat started for the beach. I was ready to show myself, when I noticed you in the party—you, alive. I thought if you were alive, some of the others might also be alive, and there might be something to hope for. So I lurked in the cave, and watched."
"I saw you!" interjected Martin. "Lord, what a start the glimpse of your face gave me! I knew you were alive, but I was convinced you were on board. I thought I was seeing ghosts."
"You went in through the Elephant Head, and I went after you," continued Little Billy. "The cave I was in (the one those fellows lived in, by the reek of the place) communicated with the passage you traveled, so I could fall in behind without going out on the beach. I trailed your party to the big cave, stopped just back of the light, and watched you cross the ledge. Then came that awful blast (did you notice it was steam, Martin?) and I saw you struggling with one of them, and you knocked another one over the edge, and I thought it was time for me to lend a hand. But the sight of me was too much for that fellow who held the line.
"Well, they are gone, poor devils. I suppose I should feel a bit sorry for them. But I don't. I know just what brutes they were. What surprises me, is that they didn't make a thorough job of it and slaughter all hands, instead of only three. What do they want of prisoners? Except—Ruth?"
"I am sure Carew prevented that," said Martin. He rehearsed the scene in the cabin. "Carew is wild about Ruth, and she has him bluffed, actually bluffed. If it had been left to Ichi, there, I am sure we all would have been killed, and the directions for finding the treasure tortured out of Ruth. But Carew protected her—and us. He hopes to gain her favor, to compel her to love him, or—at least accept him. He even hinted he would place all the rest of us safely ashore. I think he was lying."
"Depend on it, he was," asserted Little Billy. "Place you safely ashore on this island, I suppose, And conduct you to the edge of that hole, and personally chuck you in. That's Carew's style! My God, that is an awful hole, Martin! It got on my nerves. Listen, she's blowing again!"
They regarded each other silently, listening to the roaring down there in the depths. It grew and grew, became for a moment a harsh menacing, overwhelming screech, and then slowly subsided to the murmurous moaning that never ceased.
"It happens continuously," commented Little Billy. "Every hour or so, since I've been ashore. Blow the roof off some day. Here comes the rest of it."
"The rest of it" was the rumble and the little quake. It brought vividly before Martin's eyes the horrid picture of the ghostly lighted chasm, and the yellow men falling to their death. It brought disquietude to another mind, also. Ichi emitted a wail of pure terror.
"This place has got him," said Little Billy. "By Jove, it has nearly got me, too. One could swear those were human voices in torment, down there. Eh, Ichi," he added in louder tones, "don't you hear your shipmates calling to you to join them? Down yonder in the hole?"
Ichi chattered in his native tongue. He may have been answering Little Billy; it sounded as though he were cursing him. Whatever it was, it was frightened and forceless talk; and when presently Ichi lapsed into English, it was the fear-stricken coolie who entreated, and not the swagger Japanese gentleman who commanded.
"Oh, Mr. Blake, you are gentleman. Mr. Billy is not speak truthfulness, yis? Mr. Blake, please, you will not give me to the 'Deep Place.' Not to the 'Evil Ones.' Mr. Blake, I help you, I be of much usefulness. You promise—Mr. Billy spoke with jokefulness. Yis, prease?"
"He's forgetting his English. What do you know about that?" said Little Billy.
"He thinks you meant what you said about his shipmates calling," replied Martin, in a low voice. "He thinks you meant that you were going to drop him into the hole, after his gang. Threaten him some more. The more frightened he is, the more eagerly he'll do what we wish. There goes seven bells on the ship—we'll have to use him in a few minutes."
"So you don't like the thought of being chucked into the hole, eh, my yellow snake?" drawled Little Billy, strolling over to Ichi's resting place. Despite his knowledge that the hunchback was acting, Martin shuddered at his tones; his voice was vibrant with bitter hate. "But it is not what you like this time, Ichi. It is what we like, what I like, eh? You see this knife; you feel it when I prick your throat—so? Well, it is old Sails' knife, Ichi, poor old Sails' knife. Why not slit your lying throat with Sails' knife, like you slit Sails' throat—if I like, eh? But I don't like, Ichi. That's too sweet a finish for you. No, when we get ready we are going to cart you down to the edge of that hole, and—over the edge you go!"
"Oh, please, please—oh,preaseMr. Brake!" chattered Ichi. "You come take him away. You not let him do it? Oh, Mr. Blake, a long time I your friend; you helpful me I helpful you, I be your man. Not the Deep Place, not the—aiee-ee," and his voice trailed off in a dolorous howl as some freak of the draught caused the voice of the pit to momentarily shriek.
"All right, Billy, on watch here. Let me talk to him now," said Martin.
He dragged Ichi closer to the window, so that daylight fell upon the man's face. Then he sat down in front of him, and regarded him narrowly.
Ichi was in a frenzy of mingled hope and fear. He gabbled half incoherently his allegiance to his captor, his love for him, his willingness to do this, that, anything—only, not the Deep Place—prease! He was a pitiable object, could Martin have found pity for him in his heart. He was no longer the suave, dapper Japanese gentleman. His boasted gentility was gone with his courage; and superstitious terror had quite overcome his Western skepticism. He was just a yellow coolie, terror-stricken, cringing before and begging of his master.
"Wild Bob has just come up on the poop. He's talking to the mate," called Little Billy.
"Good," said Martin. He unbuckled the strap from around Ichi's ankles, and hoisted the man erect.
"Now, Ichi, you do what I say, and I promise you it won't be the Deep Place. Indeed, I promise you your life, so far as I hold it—though you don't deserve it. But if you don't do what I say——"
"Yis—oh, yes, please, I helpful you muchly," he promised, eagerly.
"Carew is at the taffrail," said Little Billy. "He's hailing the beach—hailing Ichi."
Martin had finished looping the strap about the chain of the handcuffs. Now he thrust the man forward, into the window; he, himself, retaining a grasp on the leather, and remaining beyond the window edge, by the hunchback's side.
Captain Carew stood at the taffrail and searched the face of the mountain. Presently he cupped his hands, and sent a second stentorian hail across the water—"Ahoy-y-y! Ahoy, the beach! Ichi!"
"So he's a bit worried about his partner," whispered Little Billy. "That's good."
Martin commanded Ichi. "Answer him."
Ichi hesitated. But a jerk on the strap opened his mouth. He sent a piercing "Aiee-e-e!" out of the window.
Carew looked eagerly for the sender of the hail. But it was Asoki, the mate, who located the figure framed in the opening. He clutched Carew's arm, and pointed. And Martin noted that not only the pirate captain was interested. Charley Bo Yip's head popped out of the galley door; and the guards all stared shorewards.
"Are you all right?" hailed Carew. "Have you found the stuff?" The voice came very clearly over the water; the cliffs making a sounding board that accented, then echoed, every syllable.
"Tell him," Martin commanded Ichi, "tell him, 'Come ashore!' Come, sing it out. Remember the Deep Place!"
"Come ashore!" howled Ichi.
"Anything wrong?" demanded Carew.
"Tell him, 'Yes,'" commanded Martin. On the spur of the moment he added, "Tell him I have been lost. That's it. An accident. And you need him. Out with it."
"Yes! Accident! Mr. Blake lost! You come and helpful, Captain!" Ichi called, obediently.
"What's that—the cub lost—gone?" shouted Carew. He seemed not overcome by the news. He laughed, and slapped Asoki on the back. "D'ye want me to help locate the stuff?" he hailed back to Ichi. "Shall I bring the girl?"
"My God!" breathed Little Billy.
Martin jerked viciously on the strap. "Tell him yes, damn you, tell him yes!" he cried.
"Yes—the girl!" called Ichi.
Carew waved his arm. "Coming!" he replied. "Meet me on the beach!"
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 intoherunwilling 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 theCohasset'sboats 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.