Martin's eager eyes ranged about the decks. What he saw did not encourage his hopes. For just before him, on the main hatch, sat two impassive yellow men, one with a rifle across his knees, the other holding a shotgun. Forward, the galley blocked his view of the fore-hatch; but an armed man leaned against the rail at the break of the forecastle. So he knew that both hatches were well guarded from the deck.

The two men on the main hatch were of alert and efficient appearance; and Martin knew that Carew's men, being seal-hunters, must be experienced and expert shots. Martin regarded them gloomily. What chance for a successful rising in the face of these armed watch-dogs? The lads would be slaughtered, even though their numbers were even.

The Japs before him were dressed in clothes he recognized as belonging to his shipmates. He concluded that the invaders were already domiciled in the forecastle; probably a half of them were even then occupying the imprisoned men's bunks. Even so, the few armed men on deck would be more than a match for the boatswain.

If he only knew what time the boatswain would make his attempt! It was ten in the morning now—he had noticed the cabin clock—and the boatswain might wait till night, not knowing of the shore expedition. How long could he manage to hold the party ashore? If there only was some other, safer plan! Plan! What was it Ruth tried to tell him? Had she also a plan?

Such were Martin's troubled thoughts during the moment of his leisure. They were black bodings, and they almost killed the cheerful spark that had been born in his heart during the tilt of wits in the cabin. The menacing peace of the deck occupied all his mind. He barely noticed the mountain looming blackly beyond the ship's bows, and on either side.

Smoke was pouring out of the galley smoke-stack. The rattle of pots against iron came to his ears. Yip was preparing another meal; the Japs, Martin reflected, were not denying their stomachs. Probably making up for the enforced starvation they had lately suffered.

He wondered if the men imprisoned in the hold had been given food, or whether they were being starved, like the boatswain, because of Dr. Ichi's whim. Beneath the Japanese gentleman's velvet exterior existed a merciless humor. He delighted in cruelty, and Martin sensed that, for some reason, he bore a sly and implacable hatred toward the entire company of the Cohasset.

Martin wondered just what position Ichi filled in Carew's following. In the cabin, his manner toward Carew had been of a man toward an equal, rather than a subordinate to a leader. Martin wondered if the yellow crew were at bottom Carew's men or Ichi's. They jumped to Ichi's orders; there, at the rail, Carew's mate was actually fawning upon Ichi's words. Ichi was plainly the owners' man.

Yip stuck his head out of the galley door, looked aft, and then withdrew from sight. Immediately after there issued from the galley the shrill caterwauling of a Chinese song, and a renewed rattle of pots.

Martin listened resentfully. Charley Bo Yip's cheerful acceptance of change of masters angered him. He had been quite friendly with Yip during the passage, and he knew the Chinaman was a veteran of the Chinese revolution and a professed enemy of all Japanese. Yet here he was working for these same Japanese, apparently content with events, and serenely indifferent to the fate of his shipmates. During the scene in the cabin, Martin had divined from Ichi's bearing toward Yip that the thugs from the Dawn regarded the Chinaman—or rather, disregarded him—contemptuously, as one of a despised and slavish race, born to serve obediently and menially. Which he was, thought Martin disgustedly.

During this short period of his musing, Martin's eyes were not idle. He suddenly was aware of the cause for Ichi's delay.

From the recesses forward appeared Moto and another man, coming aft. Moto carried a lantern in each hand, and the fellow who followed him bore a watch-tackle on his shoulder. As they passed the galley, Yip's song ceased, and the Chinaman also stepped out on deck and ambled aft.

Martin wasted no glance on the cook. He watched with interest the Japs. The burdens they bore were to aid in the exploration of the caves, he knew. At the sight of the lanterns, a dim plan for future action germinated in his mind.

The two Japs reached the spot where Ichi and Asoki stood waiting. They handed their loads over the rail to the waiting hands below. Then they followed, by way of a Jacob's ladder.

Charley Bo Yip approached, bound for the cabin entrance. He passed close behind Martin, almost brushing against Martin's handcuffed hands. He stepped on into the alleyway without slackening his stride, but Martin marked the silent passage with a suddenly thumping heart—for Yip had pressed a piece of paper into one of his manacled hands. Ichi turned to him and motioned—

"Come, we are of readiness, Mr. Blake!"

Martin twisted his hand around and thrust the paper into his hip pocket. Then he stepped forward to the rail.

A couple of moments later, Martin sat in the stern-sheets of a whaleboat. He was much shaken and somewhat bruised from his attempt to negotiate a Jacob's ladder with his hands behind him, but his swift descent had not dimmed his mind. His first thought, even as he clambered over the brig's rail, was to count the men in the shore party. His fall hardly interrupted him.

There were four men at the oars, he saw. And beside him stood Moto, manning the steering oar. On the opposite gunwale perched Ichi. Six of them!

"That will leave nine of them aboard," ran Martin's mind. "Ichi said only three were killed last night. They would be Rimoa and Oomak and MacLean. Then there are eight forecastle hands, and Chips, and the bosun, down below. Numbers are even, more than even! But odds! Oh, if only a couple of those rifles were in the bosun's hands! If only Ichi would take them ashore!"

Martin searched the boat with his eyes, but no firearms were visible. If the boatswain and the lads reached the deck, they would have those armed watchers to reckon with. Hopeless!

At a sharp order from the steersman, the four oarsmen gave way smartly, and the boat left the ship's side, headed beachward. It was not one of the Cohasset's boats, Martin noted. The dingey, in which Little Billy had sounded to anchorage yesterday, still rode to its painter under the counter. The rest of their own boats were still snug on the skids. The whale-boat was Carew's boat in which he had boarded them.

Little Billy! The sight of the dingey brought the hunchback into Martin's racing thoughts. Where was Little Billy? The paper Yip had slipped him, fairly burned in his pocket. But, of course, he dare not attempt to read it here in the midst of his enemies. For he had not the slightest doubt the paper was a note written by Little Billy, and conveyed by Yip's friendly hand.

Good old Yip! Martin felt shame of his recent low estimate of the Chinaman. Yip was fooling the Japs—perhaps coached by the safely hidden hunchback!

Martin's hopes leaped again. Why, thought he, with Little Billy's fertile mind on the job, and Yip free and friendly, their chance of success in an outbreak was greatly increased. Likely enough Little Billy was in communication with the men in the hold. A well-timed surprise might overcome the terrible handicap of the guns. If he only knew what that paper in his pocket contained! Well, perhaps he would know soon, if things went right.

Ichi's right side was toward him. Martin carefully noted the revolver-butt peeping from the coat-pocket. That revolver occupied an important place in the plan that was forming in Martin's mind. He carefully scanned the other occupants of the boat. So far as he could see their only weapons were sheath-knives.

The tide was ebbing swiftly and the Cohasset tugged at her cable, bow on to the beach. The breach between the ship and the whale-boat widened; the panoramic view of the mountain and the little bay interrupted Martin's thoughts. He twisted about in his seat, and sent his gaze about the cove in an encircling sweep, thus gaining his first clear idea of the actual geography of the place.

Nature had formed the bay, he saw, by pinching a small chunk out of the huge cone of the volcano. The bay was a watery wedge cutting into the mountain to a depth of about twelve hundred yards, a half-mile wide at the entrance, and narrowing down to a bare half hundred yards of narrow beach at the point of the wedge.

The Cohasset was anchored about five hundred yards from the beach, and at a like distance on either side of her the flanking cliffs rose sheer from the water. The waters of the bay were quiet, but, at the mouth, Martin saw the seas beating fiercely upon the girdling reef, smashing thunderously upon jutting, jagged rocks, and sending the white spray cascading into the sunshine. But he searched in vain for signs of a wreck. He interrupted Ichi's reverie with a question.

"Where did the Dawn strike?"

To his surprise, the Japanese answered promptly.

"On the opposite side of the island—on the reef. Ah, that was a happening of much terribleness, Mr. Blake. It was night and fog—the same utterly darkness that was of such disaster to you honorable gentlemen last night. Honorable Carew did not suspect the nearness of land. The rock pierced our bottom and we sank with immediateness. Ah—it was of much sadness! We saved not food or clothes and but half our number. We rowed away.

"After while, there came to us a morning of much niceness, like the present one, and we found that the schooner had been altogether taken, as honorable Carew remarked by one god of the sea, named David Jones. So we rowed around the volcano and came in this bay, and I knew the place from the memory I had of hearing the reading, so long ago, in Honolulu.

"Ah, but the days we spent here before the worthy Cohasset was sighted were days of much badness! We thought you had come and departed, for we did not find the ambergris. We thought we would all have to go out from hunger and exposure. We thought it would be of much sadness to go out in this place of blackness; the spirits of our honorable ancestors would regard us with much unkindness if we came from this evil place." The man suddenly leered upon Martin. "How would you like to go out in this place of bleakness? Ah—what a sadness!"

He turned and stared at the fantastic, brooding face of the rapidly nearing rock.

"I will with frankness say I do not like this place," he concluded. "I shall be of gladness when I see the last of that smoke, up there, and feel no more the shakes of awfulness."

They were within a few yards of the beach. Martin stared upward. The mountain tapered steeply to the crater thousands of feet above him. The yellow-brown smoke poured upward lazily, and he was sensible, as on the day before, of an acrid, unpleasant taste in the air. Also, as when he had obtained his first fog-obscured view of the mountain from the topgallantyard, he felt oppressed as he looked at that desolate wilderness of crazily jumbled rock towering above him; the sunlight, which sparkled upon the water, failed to brighten the mountain's somber tone, and the nightmare architecture looming above him shivered him with dread.

The openings of numberless caves gaped blackly, like blind eyes. The myriad-voiced screeching of the sea-birds added to the bleakness of the aspect. As Moto swept the boat through the gentle surf that laved the little beach, the Fire Mountain was invested, in Martin's excited mind, with personality, with a malignant, evil personality.

In truth, Martin looked upon himself as doomed. "How would you like to go out?" Ichi had queried; and his manner had made the question a promise. Well, he would try not to go out alone. His work was cut out for him, and it was desperate work. There was slim chance, he knew, of surviving the execution of his plan, but he contemplated his probable death with the high courage of self-sacrifice.

His life, he felt, was a small price to pay for the recovery of the ship and the freeing of his sweetheart. For he was convinced that the boatswain's success was dependent upon his keeping these six Japs on shore. He felt sure his comrades, warned by Yip and Little Billy, would seize the opportunity presented by Carew's divided forces. He meant to fight to keep the Japs separated.

As the boat grounded, and he stood up to leap ashore, he wriggled his wrists in the cuffs, making sure he could free himself with a jerk. He might die, but he vowed he would take some of these yellow devils with him on his passage out.

Also, he reflected, it would make little difference to him, even if he remained docile. The issue would be the same. He was certain Ichi would murder him, so soon as the treasure was uncovered. He was certain Carew had commanded that very ending.

So, it was with a mind made up to grasp any desperate chance, with a courage utterly reckless, that Martin disembarked on the volcanic sand of Fire Mountain beach.

They had landed at one end of the beach. The first object Martin's curious eyes encountered was the "Elephant Head." John Winters' directions ran in his mind—"south end beach, in elephant head." That curiously fashioned jutting rock was the elephant head; cleanly sculptured were the rounded head, slab ears, arched trunk, all gigantic. Beneath the rock-snout was a narrow slit about six feet high by half as wide. It was, Martin knew, the entrance the whaleman had written of.

But Martin had little time to inspect the beach. Ichi commanded dispatch. Martin noticed with surprise that as soon as Ichi touched foot on the sand, his accustomed phlegm was replaced by visible nervousness.

Ichi ordered, and the four sailors ran the boat up on the beach. Then, Moto leading the way, carrying the two lanterns, they all trooped toward the cave entrance.

Martin used his eyes as he walked. There were, he saw, many cave openings on a level with the beach. One in particular was a gaping cavern. Ichi, by his side, and talkative, indicated this place.

"Where we lived," he informed. "Very nasty place—damp, and of coldness. But our torches were poor, and driftwood of much scarceness, so we dare not investigate greatly the interior for better place. Our wood was all gone, and we feared muchly we must break up the boat, when Fate with so great a kindness sent the honorable Dabney to rescue us."

"A queer rescue, you murderous little wretch!" thought Martin. But aloud, he said, "What did you live on?"

They had fallen behind the others. Martin considered swiftly whether or not to fall upon his companion now. He was certain he could get the gun, and commence shooting, before the others assailed him. But he decided promptly that it would not do. They would witness the affair from the ship.

"Oh—we eat the gulls," replied Ichi. "And the shell-fish, and a seal that was dead—ah, he was long dead and of great nastiness! But mostly it was the shell-fish. See the many shells on the sand?"

Martin looked. He gulped a swift, deep breath to keep from crying out, and stopped dead in his tracks. He stared into the yawning mouth of the cave Ichi was speaking about, his heart thumping furiously. Good Heaven! Had he seen a ghost? Was it a crazy trick of his overwrought mind? Or had he actually beheld, for a fraction of a second, a white face framed in the dense gloom of the cave's interior? But that face!

"Ah—but do not pause, my dear Mr. Blake," said Ichi with a hint of sarcasm. "It is of great interest, I know, but the view that awaits you as we seek the ambergris inside, is of much more interestness. Come! See, our dear Moto has the lanterns lighted!"

Martin with difficulty maintained a disinterested expression. He recovered his stride, and they joined the others beneath the overhanging elephant rock. Moto and Ichi held for a moment a chattering interchange of their native speech.

Martin peered into this other opening, his agitated mind half-expecting to see the startling vision again, flashing white in the interior blackness. But beyond a few feet of sand floor and black lava walls, he saw nothing. The opening in the elephant head led into a narrow gallery, a hallway into the mountain.

A blast of hot, sulfur-tainted air swirled out of the opening. It made his eyes smart. Coincidentally, his ears were assailed by strange sound. It came out of the black hole, and it was like the wailing of souls in torment. It was a dolorous whistling that increased to a shrill screeching, then died away sobbingly.

Martin listened to that weird grief all a-prickle with shivery sensations. It was unnerving.

Nor were his companions indifferent to the sound. The four sailors huddled quickly together and gazed fearfully into the dark opening.

Moto chopped off short the word he was saying, and Martin saw his body stiffen and his eyes dilate. Even Ichi betrayed agitation, and Martin saw a violent but quickly mastered emotion flit across his yellow features.

The eery wail died quite away, and Martin's scalp stopped crawling. Ichi turned to him with a somewhat shaken smile; Martin saw that the Japanese gentleman's nostrils were twitching nervously, and that his voluble speech was really an effort to regain composure.

"Have no afraid. The sound of much strangeness is from the cave of the wind," said Ichi. "It is from the deep place. Now will come the shake, perhaps."

The shake came on the tail of Ichi's words. A heavy, ominous rumbling came out of the black depths. Martin recalled hearing the same sound the day before, when he was on the topgallant-yard. And suddenly the hard, packed sand began to crawl beneath his feet, things swayed dizzily before his eyes, and a sharp nausea attacked the pit of his stomach.

It was but a baby temblor, and it lasted but an instant.

Martin was not much disturbed—a lifetime in San Francisco had made quakes a commonplace experience—but he had the sudden thought that there were safer journeys in the world than the one he was about to take into the heart of a half-extinct volcano. Not that the probable danger of the trip impressed him sharply—he was too much occupied with his plight, and desperate plan—but it was evident the Japs did not relish the undertaking.

The four sailors and Moto were plainly terrified, and, as the trembling and rumbling ceased, they exclaimed with awe and fear. Ichi held himself in hand, but his mouth sagged.

"Always comes the strange noise, and then the shake," he said to Martin. There was the hint of a quiver in his voice. "Out of the deep place, they come—like the struggles of Evil Ones!"

He broke off to speak sharply to his men, bracing them with words.

"They are of much ignorance," he continued to Martin. "They have much fear. They know a silly story their mothers have told them, about the Evil Ones calling from the deep pit; it is a—what you say?—a folk story of the Japanese. These men are of ignorance. But we gentlemen know it is of absurdness, and most untrue. It is a story of great unscientificness."

Ichi rolled the last word off his tongue with difficult triumph. "Unscientificness," was evidently the club his Western education gave him, with which to combat the inbred superstition of centuries. But Martin saw it was a straw club.

But if Ichi were frightened, he mastered his fear.

"It will, perhaps, be some time till the next shake," he told Martin. "We must haste. You shall follow me, please? And recall, as we walk, that Moto is but a pace behind you, and in fine readiness."

He chattered peremptory words to his followers. One of the sailors picked up a lantern, Moto stepped behind Martin, and Ichi lifted the other lantern and stepped toward the cave mouth.

"You might look well at the sky, dear Mr. Blake," he leered over his shoulder at Martin. "Who may say when you will see it again?"

But Martin was in no mood to be frightened. Indeed, if he had put his hot thoughts into words, he would have replied to the sinister hint by inviting Ichi to take his last look at daylight. He did look at the sky, but it was for another purpose than bidding farewell to sunlight. He brought his gaze down to the waters of the bay.

The Cohasset was quiet, lying peacefully on the easy water. Figures on her deck were plainly visible. Martin saw the bow-legged lieutenant standing on the poop, staring at the group on the beach. He saw more.

The tide had swung the vessel around during the past few moments. She now lay broadside on to the beach. From a cabin port, he saw a bit of fluttering white. A lump rose in his throat. It was Ruth, he knew, waving him good-by. Dear Ruth! Yes, it was farewell! Farewell to life, perhaps, and to love, to this wonderful love that made him almost happy in his misery. The thought of his sweetheart cooped up in that little room with the stricken blind man, with only her resourceful wit and high courage to combat the leaguering terrors, steeled his resolve. He would play his part, he vowed to himself, no matter what the price he payed. God grant that his shipmates be enabled to play their part!

"Ah—we wait, Mr. Blake!" came Ichi's voice, and he was suddenly conscious that Moto's hand was pressing his shoulder.

Ichi was already inside, lantern held high. As Martin stepped for the opening, he cast a swift, sidelong glance down the beach, toward the big-mouthed cave. He saw nothing—which was what he expected.

"I must have been mistaken," he thought. "It must have been a trick of imagination."

He brushed past the man who had the watch-tackle coiled over a shoulder, and fell in behind Ichi. The last sound he heard from the outer world was the clear, vibrant sound of the ship's bell. Five bells!



CHAPTER XIX

THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS

During the voyage Martin had listened to many discussions between Little Billy and Captain Dabney concerning the formation of Fire Mountain, and their descriptions of the strange features of the island had made him impatient to see with his own eyes the grotesque sculptures, and with his own feet explore the mysterious caverns.

In some long past age, argued the captain, the volcano had erupted during the Arctic winter, and the flowing lava had been quickly chilled by the intense cold, and in the hardening formed the odd sculpting and the numberless caves. But, urged the captain, this lava cloak could not be very thick, and while the caves existed from base to summit and all the way around the mountain, it was unlikely that any of them penetrated into the heart of the mountain.

Little Billy disagreed. He cited John Winters's log in disproof; and he and Martin made plans to thoroughly explore the Island. The prospect charmed Martin. He felt he could hardly wait to reach Fire Mountain beach, and enter the gloomy depths through the portal of the Elephant Head on his errand of discovery.

And here at last he was on the very beach, stepping through the very opening! How different was reality from his bright dreams? Instead of friendly company, he was surrounded by alien, hostile figures; instead of Ruth's little hand snuggling confidingly in his, his arms were bound behind him; instead of inspecting his path with carefree, curious gaze, he looked about him with eyes of desperation.

He had little interest in discovery as he stepped through the Elephant Head. The details of the physical appearance of the passageway were sharply impressed upon his mind, but they were subconscious impressions. His active mind was at the moment wholly concerned with his arms. They ached cruelly. Would they fail him? When he jerked them free, would he be able to use them? Or would they drop numb and useless by his sides? No, he decided after cautious experiment, they were not numbed. He could wriggle his fingers easily.

Ichi walked first, then Martin, the grim Moto next, and the four sailors trailed behind, the last man carrying the second lantern. The gallery they traversed was a deep fissure in the black rock, of uneven height and width. The walls narrowed until they could hardly squeeze through, and then widened until the lanterns' rays failed to reveal them; at times Martin had to bend his head to pass beneath the low roof; again the roof was lost in the gloom.

After a few steps, the sand underfoot gave place abruptly to a floor of hard, smooth lava rock. The gallery twisted, and the thin shaft of daylight from the entrance was lost. The way sloped gently upward. The lanterns waged but a feeble battle against the darkness; Martin felt he was being crushed by that heavy, intense gloom. Their steps echoed upon the glasslike, slippery rock underfoot.

Soon Martin was sensible of a sharp rise in temperature. There was a strong draft in the passageway, and a hot, smelly air blew against his face, and ruffled his hair. And now he was also conscious of the low moaning, a vast, spine-prickling moaning like the protest of a giant in pain, that came out of the darkness ahead.

They wound this way and that. Martin had lost count of the steps, but he thought they must have gone sixty or seventy yards into the mountain. They passed an opening, but it was on the left hand.

The whaleman's directions were in Martin's mind: "4 starboard—windy cave." That must mean the fourth opening on the right hand. The cave of winds. Ichi said that was where the "deep place" was located. This horrible moaning must come from there. Ichi's "deep place" must be Winters's "bottomless hole"; the weird moaning must be the "Voice" that called the conscience-stricken Silva to his doom.

In quick succession they passed three openings on the right hand. The hot wind blew more strongly; it was a moisture-laden breeze and Martin's clothes were damp. Suddenly the passage angled obliquely. A few steps more and Ichi stopped. Over his head Martin saw the yawning mouth of the windy cave.

It was a large opening, and the agitated air rushed out through it as though expelled by a giant fan. The air smelled and tasted evilly of gas and sulphur. The moaning came with the air; it seemed to come from below, from an immense distance.

The group clustered at the mouth of the cave, and the two lanterns, held high, beat back the gloom for a few yards. Ichi shouted orders to his men, and his words were hardly audible above the deep, rhythmic moan that rose steadily from somewhere beneath their feet. Martin peered into the cavern; it was huge, he knew, but he could not even guess its dimensions.

But it was not the length or breadth of the windy cave that fastened his regard. It was the depth. There, at his feet, plainly revealed by the lanterns' light, was the "deep place," the "bottomless hole." It was a crack in the floor, its width and length lost in the gloom. Its near edge was but a couple of feet inside the cavern entrance. It was from this half revealed gaping slit that the wind came rushing; it was from somewhere in that hole, down, down, an immeasurable distance, that the eerie wailing came.

The lanterns revealed white vapors swirling upward out of the hole. Everything was wet, water dripped from overhead, the black walls glistened with moisture, underfoot was wet and slippery as a waxed floor. Martin's clothes were wet through.

The four sailors huddled fearfully together, peering into the chasm. Ichi's orders finally aroused them to action. The man with the tackle slipped it from his shoulder, and, with the aid of another, overhauled it. Martin had supposed the tackle was to be used in recovering the treasure, but now he saw it was intended for another purpose. This was not Ichi's first visit to the cave of winds, and he came prepared.

The opening in which they stood was near the left hand wall of the windy cave. A ledge, no more than six feet wide at the widest, ran between the wall and the edge of the pit. It sloped towards the gaping hole, and it was wet and shining like the walls. Martin could see it must be a most treacherous footing, and he knew from the words of the code—"windy cave—2 port—aloft"—that they must travel that dangerous path.

It was here, on this ledge, that the blocks and tackle were to be used. The man who carried the second lantern, took the head block in his free hand, and stepped onto the ledge. He sidled along, hugging the wall, dragging the rope behind him.

A few feet inside he crept past the first opening in the wall. A score of feet beyond, man and lantern melted into the wall, and Martin knew the second opening was reached. In a moment, man and lantern reappeared, and the fellow sang out.

The sailor in the entrance, who held the foot block, fastened its hook in a little raised hump of rock; then, grasping the hauling line, pulled the tackle taut. The result was a serviceable lifeline, waist high, across the dangerous passage.

The sailor took a turn about his body with the bight of the rope, and leaned back, holding a steady strain upon the tackle. Martin could see now why they had fetched a tackle, and not just a length of rope—there were no boldly jutting rocks about which a rope might be looped and knotted, but the hooks of the blocks fitted into the small inequalities the edges of the walls presented. So long as a strain was kept upon the hauling line, the hooks would bite, and the lifeline would be quite safe.

Martin followed this work with a watchful eye. He was on the lookout for a chance to execute his plan, waiting for a careless moment on the part of those about him, which would give him an opportunity to free his hands, and strike his blow.

For this was the time and the place! Here, by the edge of the abyss, must come his opportunity, his only opportunity. Somehow he must get possession of Ichi's revolver, the only firearm in the crowd. If he obtained that, he might be able to hold this gang at bay, and prevent them returning to the ship until after the bosun's surprise party. Or, failing that, he could surely finish some of them before their sharp knives finished him. He could dispose of Ichi.

And this was the only plan he had. To fight, and to sacrifice himself, if need be. He had dismissed the thought of escape, of making a dash and losing himself in the black caves. He could do that, he knew. But his escape would not help his shipmates; it would not save Ruth.

He knew that if he did not run for it, his death was almost certain. If he fought, when he fought, he would be killed. If he did not make his chance to fight, Ichi would murder him as soon as the ambergris was discovered—he was sure this program was agreed upon by Carew and Ichi. And if the ambergris were not discovered he would be given over to Moto for torture. Martin was afraid of Moto, and a little bit afraid of death—but his fear for himself was quite overshadowed by his other great fear, his fear for Ruth. His fate was nothing. But her fate! It was because of Ruth he disdained an attempt at flight; it was for Ruth he would strike his blow, and take death if it came.

Hence Martin stood meekly by while the sailors rigged the line, and watched for his chance. Moto's eyes remained fixed upon him unwaveringly; Ichi was surrounded by his men. The moment was not yet.

Martin could not help according the little yellow men a certain admiration. They were frightened, plainly terrified, by this gloomy cave, and especially by the gruesome sounds that came from the "deep place." But their native courage, or, perhaps, the iron discipline to which they were accustomed, caused them to fight down their superstitious fears. Even Ichi, himself, was visibly unnerved by his surroundings. "Scientificness" and "Fate" evidently could not stop his ears, nor quite eradicate inherited fears. But he held his disquiet firmly under control, and his bearing was sure as he shouted his orders—only a side glance into the hole, and a momentary shudder, betrayed his nervousness.

Ichi placed his lantern on the ground, beside the man who was holding the line, and beckoned to Martin. Then he stepped out upon the ledge, one steadying hand upon the tackle.

For the fraction of a second, Martin hesitated to follow. "What if they shove me over?" he thought. His hands were useless, doubled behind him; if Moto were to give him the slightest shove, over the edge into that dreadful hole he would go, for he would have no saving grip upon the lifeline. But the instant's reflection reassured him. They would not try to get rid of him until the treasure's hiding place were discovered; and by that time he would have made his opportunity to strike.

He followed Ichi. Although the comforting touch of the lifeline was not for him, his nerves were steady, and he did not falter on the glassy, inclined way. Ichi minced his steps, compelling Martin to shorten his stride. Martin saw that Ichi was trembling, and gazing fearfully into the abyss. He had an impulse to throw himself upon Ichi, and roll with him over the edge. But then, he thought, this blow would not help his shipmates; indeed, it would harm them, for the rest would immediately scurry back to the ship. No, he must try to get the revolver into his hand.

Ichi reached the lantern, and stepped into the cleft in the wall. Martin followed, and found himself again on a level floor, and in the entrance to another cave.

This entrance was not large. There was standing room there for but four of them, the sailor who had strung the line, and who was guarding the head block, Ichi, Moto, and himself. The other two sailors were compelled to stay on the ledge, grasping the tackle. The remaining man in the party held to his position at the other end of the tackle, the rope wrapped about his body.

"Ah—It is here we must commence our looking," exclaimed Ichi. "It is here we must test the statements of the young female and your honorable self, Mr. Blake. You are—ah—of a sureness as to direction? My worthy Moto is of a readiness."

Martin could feel the worthy Moto's fingers resting lightly upon his shoulder. But he also felt against his leg, the hard outline of the revolver in Ichi's coat pocket—so closely were they crowded together in the cave entrance.

"The code says 'aloft,'" answered Martin. "Look for a hole in the roof leading up into a dry cave."

Ichi chattered an order, and the sailor picked up the lantern and held it over his head. Very cautiously, so Moto would not feel and interpret the movement, Martin began to squeeze his hand free from the handcuff.

The lantern revealed the overhead rock for quite an area. It revealed the very spot they sought. Just to the left of the entrance and on level with Martin's chin a shelf of rock jutted out a couple of feet from the wall. Above this shelf was an opening, a crack in the ceiling wide enough to admit a man's body.

Ichi pointed and exclaimed excitedly. The lantern light illumined his upturned face and Martin saw it contorted with triumphant greed. The others also exclaimed their joy. Half glancing over his shoulder, Martin saw that Moto's attention was fixed on the ceiling. It was the careless moment Martin awaited, his moment—with a convulsive jerk he freed his hands.

But before he could straighten his arms, Ichi turned and grinned up into his face.

"Ah—so, it was with truthfulness you spoke. But we must prove, yes?" He gave an order to the sailor, and the latter, replacing the lantern on the floor, boosted himself to the ledge and disappeared through the hole. Martin backed against the wall to conceal the fact that his hands were free, that one-half of his handcuffs were empty. He waited stolidly—Ichi and Moto were both watching his face, gloating upon him.

In a moment the expected hail came from overhead. The sailor returned from his exploration, stuck his head through the opening, and shouted a sentence to Ichi, a triumphant, exultant shout. Martin's knees bent slightly and his body tensed for the leap. And Ichi, leering up at him, said, "And now—we have no needfulness of Mr. Blake——"

So far he got. And then the smirk disappeared from his sagging mouth, the cruelty and cupidity left his eyes, and terror crept in.

It was not Martin that checked him. It was the Voice of the Pit. In the passing of a second, the moan from the chasm had become an appalling roar. A very gale of hot air hit their backs as it gushed up from below. The terrifying roaring grew in volume. It seemed to be a tangible thing approaching them. Moto and Ichi, their prisoner forgotten, were crouching, staring wide-eyed into the pit.

Martin reached out and gathered Ichi into his arms.

He had mentally rehearsed his movements. He hugged the Jap with his left arm, from which wrist the irons dangled, while his right hand dove for Ichi's coat pocket. His fingers closed about the pistol butt, and he jerked the weapon out.

Ichi struggled furiously, awake to danger at the first touch. He could not break Martin's bear-like hug. He screamed at the fascinated Moto; Martin could see his lips framing cries, but not a syllable sounded above the huge roaring that filled the caverns. Then Ichi bent his head and sunk his teeth into Martin's arm.

The pain of the bite caused Martin to jerk his arm violently upward. He wrenched it free from the other's teeth; involuntarily, he pressed the trigger, and the weapon discharged. But he did not lose his grasp on the gun; he clubbed it, and brought it down with all his might on Ichi's head.

Ichi collapsed. He sagged in Martin's encircling arm as limply and as lifelessly as a sack of wheat. The shot had aroused Moto; the torturer's terrible fingers were reaching for Martin's throat. The latter dropped Ichi, and sprang backward; and even as he did so, he hurled the weapon at Moto's face.

It was a true shot. The heavy butt caught the Jap squarely on the forehead, and sent him reeling and stumbling, hurled him off the level underfooting at the cave entrance, and caused him to slip and over-balance upon the sloping edge outside. He fell. His momentum carried him on, and he slid down the slope toward the chasm, clutching futilely at the wet, glassy surface. At the edge he appeared to hang motionless for an instant, his face lifted to Martin, his mouth wide open, his contorted features half obscured by the wreathing vapors. Then he vanished.

Martin's knees sagged. He was horrified. So suddenly had the tragedy happened, he was still in the posture of throwing the revolver—and now revolver and victim were both gone, and Ichi—Ichi was this lump at his feet. Unconsciously, he strained his ears for Moto's death cry. But the thunder that ascended from the depths drowned all other sounds. This roar was swelling, swelling; it seemed to rock the world.

He felt sick. He squatted there in the entrance, beside Ichi's body, his wide eyes fixed upon the dancing rim of the chasm. In his mind's eye he could see Moto falling, falling down, down, down, past black, slippery walls, down into the heart of that tremendous sound. But he was too stunned by the awful noise to feel either glad or sorry. Only horror, and a dumb wonder.

He thought, "This is death." Then, strangely, his mind inquired, "Why the sound? What is it?" Once the query was put to himself, his mind worked upon it quite independent of his will. It was a saving quest, something to keep him sane, this groping for an explanation. He watched the vapors. The windy cave seemed less dark, and the white clouds poured upward and swirled about like dancing ghosts. The hot, wet air beat upon him. He was half choked, and sopping wet. And the noise grew and grew. It was like a thousand huge boilers all blowing off at once.

Steam! The thought of boilers was the clue. He had it; he was sure he was right. It was the roar of escaping steam far, far down in that fearful hole. The vapors, the hot, wet wind—dead steam, half condensed during its long rush upward. Down there in the bowels of the mountain the sea seepage was being turned to steam. The live heart of this old volcano was nothing else than a tremendous boiler, and this chasm was the boiler's safety valve. But, God—how far down must be the fires! Miles, perhaps. He wondered if Moto had yet reached bottom.

Gradually, he became conscious that the roar was diminishing, that the vapors no longer gushed forth in such volume. He had lost track of time; he felt he had always been sitting here by the edge of the pit; he had forgotten all about the other Japs, all about the bosun and Ruth. The noise had even driven Ruth from his conscious mind. But now, with the lessening of the pressure against his ear drums, and the end of the great humming inside his head, his apathy was gone. He peered about him.

He looked out of the entrance, along the ledge. The two sailors still clung to the lifeline; there was only air between them and the chasm, and they clutched the ropes tightly and stared down into the hole. Martin could not see their faces, but their postures were eloquent of their terror. Beyond, by the light of the lantern at his feet, the remaining Jap was plainly revealed. His face was visible—and terror-stricken. But he still had the hauling line about him, and was leaning backwards keeping the saving strain upon the lifeline.

The great steam roar died away to the rhythmic, whistling wail that had preceded it. But another great noise was commencing. It was not the shattering scream of steam, but a mighty rumble that came from an immense distance. Coincidentally, the mountain itself came alive and shook, not violently, but gently, shudderingly, as if Atlas, far beneath, were hunching his burdened shoulders.

A dim light appeared, hovering over the great crack in the cave floor. It seemed a reflection of some distant glare, in color a pale green. Slowly it mounted and spread, diffusing a soft, eerie radiance, and revealing to Martin's fascinated gaze the truly vast dimensions of the cave of winds.

Something forced Martin's gaze to the other entrance. And, as his eyes rested upon the figure of the rope-holding Jap, Martin's own body stiffened convulsively with a shock of surprise. His heart skipped a beat, and then began to furiously race, while cold chills crawled up and down his spine.

For a second figure had suddenly materialized beside the figure of a Jap. Another figure—a gnome, a wraith! The unholy light from the pit painted it an unearthly greenish hue, and accentuated the haggardness of face, and the gleaming eyes, the humped body, its crookedness magnified by the crouched attitude. It looked like some demon come floating up on the wicked light from the "deep place." It crouched to leap, to strike, and a bared knife gleamed in an upraised hand; it glared balefully, fixedly, at the living anchor of the lifeline.

The yellow sailor seemed to feel that fearsome presence at his side. He did not turn his head, but he slowly rolled his eyes and regarded the menacing apparition. An expression of complete horror and despair swept into his face.

For an instant he remained motionless. Then his surrender to his terror was complete. He leaped as though released by a spring, cast the rope from him, covered his face with his hands, and backed away from the figure. He backed into the big cave, toward the pit.

In another second they were gone—all three of them. Gone before Martin could utter his cry of warning—or recognition. Gone before the stranger could move.

For, when the sailor cast away the rope, the strain on the tackle was released, and the freed hauling line whipped snakelike through the air as it rushed through the sheaves. The two men on the ledge fell backward, as their lifeline collapsed; the blocks, with no weight to hold them taut dropped from the rock; and the two poor wretches sliding down the incline towards the pit dragged the tackle after them. The tail block, swishing over the smooth surface, twined about the feet of the backward-stumbling first man, and jerked him from his feet. With the swiftly waning light revealing a writhing jumble of outflung arms and legs, ropes and blocks, the three men slipped over the chasm edge.

The quake rumble had ceased. Above the simmering moan of the steam, Martin heard the death wail of the trio, a wild, hideous shriek that grew fainter and fainter, farther and farther away, and finally merged completely with the other sound.

The greenish glow subsided into the depths from which it had sprung. The black gloom swept down over the caves, covering all save the narrow circles about the lanterns. And Martin squatted, sick and shaken, by one lantern, and stared beyond the ledge at the other lantern. By it stood Little Billy.



CHAPTER XX

TREASURE CAVE

"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."



CHAPTER XXI

DECOY

"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 the Cohasset. 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, prease Mr. 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!"



CHAPTER XXII

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 melee.

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.



CHAPTER XXIII

CONCLUSION

"Aye, it was the knee he give you, lad. 'Ow was an innercent babe like you to know about foul tricks o' fighting? But 'twas a close shave you 'ad, a blinkin' close shave, swiggle me stiff, it was! If it 'adn't been for the lass grabbin' up 'is gun and potting the blighter—well, it's a lucky lad you are, Martin, with a double treasure won, and but sore muscles to pay." The bosun shifted his quid and spat over the rail into the racing sea. "Aye, the lass," he mumbled. "A lucky lad, that's wot."

"I know I am," answered Martin, humbly. "Oh, so lucky. If only poor Billy had had some of my luck."

"'E was feyed, Martin," declared the bosun. "I knew from the moment you told me wot Sails as 'ow I'd never clasp Little Billy's 'and again, and 'im alive and cheery. Poor Billy! 'E was my mate, my chum, and I'd give my share o' the swag ten times over just to 'ear 'im cuss me out again."

They took a turn or two on the deck in sorrowful silence, Martin limping somewhat painfully, and the big man accommodating his stride to the other's progress. The brig was running before the wind, over a sun-sparkled, white capped sea; every rag she owned was spread, and the breeze snored aloft like an organ. The bosun paused at the poop break, snorted into his large red handkerchief, and pretended to inspect the drawing of the mainsail. Then, his emotion conquered, he resumed the stroll.

"We left foul weather be'ind us in that black Devil's 'ole," he commented. "Now it's fair winds and bright skies. Ow, well, swiggle me stiff, wot's done is done and can't be undone, as Sails would 'ave said. 'Tis fine weather for you, eh, lad—and you standin' the moonlight watches with the lass by your side? Another day o' this, and we'll be landin' those five yellow imps we got in the hold on their own bloomin' coast, and then it's 'urrah for 'ome and the splicin' party, eh, lad?"

Martin smiled happily.

"I don't mind landin' the four 'foremast 'ands, and lettin' them off scott free except for their cuts and bumps," grumbled the bosun. "They didn't 'ave no 'and in the plannin' of it. But to land that feller, Ichi—swiggle me stiff, if I 'ad my way, I land that blighter in the air, below the tops'l yardarm, with a bloomin' noose around 'is neck! Why, 'e was the ruddy bird wot started the business!"

"But I promised him his life," said Martin. "And—my God, Bosun, hasn't there been enough death on this ship?"

"Well, anyway, that feller, Ichi, is lucky 'e wasn't on board when we 'ad the grand fight," vowed the Bosun. "I was looking for 'im; I 'ad 'im marked for my meat. Swiggle me, 'e'd 'ave gone over the side if I got my 'ands on 'im that mornin'. Aye, and Yip was layin' for 'im, too."

"How Yip hated them," mused Martin.

"Aye, that 'e did," agreed the bosun. "But 'e was a slick one, was Yip. 'Oo but 'im would of thought o' dopin' their grub? And the 'olesale way 'e did it—mixin' a pint bottle o' cockroach killer in with their rice. A white man wouldn't 'ave been able to do that. But it give Yip his chance, when they got the bellyache, to skip for'ard and lay out the 'atch guard with his cleaver. My blinkin' heye, when I come up after 'e opened the 'atch, there 'e was with that Jap's neck across the 'atch combin', and 'e was 'ackin' away and yellin' like a wild Indian. Aye, and 'e'd 'ave 'acked some more o' them, if that shot that was aimed at me 'adn't took 'im through the 'ead. Swiggle me, Marty, I wouldn't 'ave been able to eat 'is grub after that."

"Nor I," agreed Martin. "Well, Bos, I think I'll take a turn below."

"Aye, I 'eard the lass' voice through the skylight, a moment since," observed the bosun, slyly. "Swiggle me—get along with ye, lad!" He gave Martin a gentle nudge with his giant's elbow that nearly knocked him down the hatch.

She was in the cabin, when Martin descended the stairs. She welcomed him with a glance that more than repaid him for the bosun's thump; aye, that repaid him (he would have sworn) for all the pain and misery he had ever suffered.

She was standing by her grandfather's side, and the latter was seated at the cabin table, a mess of papers before him.

"Well, my boy, I've just been figuring out our fortune," he hailed Martin. "It's plenty; more than plenty. Something not much short of a million, as prices for ambergris were quoted when we left San Francisco. Not such a bad little treasure, eh?"

"We have paid a stiff price for it," answered Martin, soberly.

A shade crossed the captain's serene old face. "That we have," he assented. "Too great a price. Gladly I'd give it all, and more, to get my men back again. To have—Little Billy—" He heaved a deep sigh, and smiled again. "Ah, and that is not all," he said, patting Ruth's hand, which lay on his shoulder, "for it seems I must lose my girl, as well. Even the thought of walking in on that doctor who told me I would never see again hardly reconciles me to the thought of losing my girl."

"What nonsense!" exclaimed Ruth. "Why, grand-daddy, you don't lose me. You gain—a son."

Captain Dabney's bright, clear eyes searched Martin's face, and when he replied to Ruth it was in a contented, satisfied voice:

"Yes, I do," he said. "And a worthy son, girl, tried and tempered, by Fire Mountain."



THE END