The Mucker

the day is much older, it wouldn’t be worth while lying. I do not want that damned ransom any more, either. I only want to do what I can to right the wrong that I have helped to perpetrate against Miss Harding. I⁠—I⁠—Byrne, I love her. I shall never tell her so, for I am not the sort of man a decent girl would care to marry; but I did want the chance to make a clean breast to her of all my connection with the whole dirty business, and get her forgiveness if I could; but first I wanted to prove my repentance by helping her to civilization in safety, and delivering her to her friends without the payment of a cent of money. I may never be able to do that now; but if I die in the attempt, and you don’t, I wish that you would tell her what I have just told you. Paint me as black as you can⁠—you couldn’t commence to make me as black as I have been⁠—but let her know that for love of her I turned white at the last minute. Byrne, she is the best girl that you or I ever saw⁠—we’re not fit to breathe the same air that she breathes. Now you can see why I should like to go first.”

“I t’ought youse was soft on her,” replied the mucker, “an’ dat’s de reason w’y youse otter not go first; but wot’s de use o’ chewin’, les flip a coin to see w’ich goes an w’ich stays⁠—got one?”

Theriere felt in his trousers’ pocket, fishing out a dime.

“Heads, you go; tails, I go,” he said and spun the silver piece in the air, catching it in the flat of his open palm.

“It’s heads,” said the mucker, grinning. “Gee! Wot’s de racket?”

Both men turned toward the village, where a jabbering mob of half-caste Japanese had suddenly appeared in the streets, hurrying toward the hut of Oda Yorimoto.

“Somepin doin’, eh?” said the mucker. “Well, here goes⁠—s’long!” And he broke from the cover of the jungle and dashed across the clearing toward the rear of Oda Yorimoto’s hut.

XII

The Fight in the Palace

Barbara Harding heard the samurai in the room beyond her prison advancing toward the door that separated them from her. She pressed the point of the daimio’s sword close to her heart. A heavy knock fell upon the door and at the same instant the girl was startled by a noise behind her⁠—a noise at the little window at the far end of the room.

Turning to face this new danger, she was startled into a little cry of surprise to see the head and shoulders of the mucker framed in the broken square of the half-demolished window.

The girl did not know whether to feel renewed hope or utter despair. She could not forget the heroism of her rescue by this brutal fellow when the Halfmoon had gone to pieces the day before, nor could she banish from her mind his threats of violence toward her, or his brutal treatment of Mallory and Theriere. And the question arose in her mind as to whether she would be any better off in his power than in the clutches of the savage samurai.

Billy Byrne had heard the knock upon the door before which the girl knelt. He had seen the corpses of the dead men at her feet. He had observed the telltale position of the sword which the girl held to her breast and he had read much of the story of the impending tragedy at a glance.

“Cheer up, kid!” he whispered. “I’ll be wid youse in a minute, an’ Theriere’s out here too, to help youse if I can’t do it alone.”

The girl turned toward the door again.

“Wait,” she cried to the samurai upon the other side, “until I move the dead men, then you may come in, their bodies bar the door now.”

All that kept the warriors out was the fear that possibly Oda Yorimoto might not be dead after all, and that should they force their way into the room without his permission some of them would suffer for their temerity. Naturally none of them was keen to lose his head for nothing, but the moment that the girl spoke of the dead “men” they knew that Oda Yorimoto had been slain, too, and with one accord they rushed the little door.

The girl threw all her weight against her side, while the dead men, each to the extent of his own weight, aided the woman who had killed them in her effort to repulse their fellows; and behind the three Billy Byrne kicked and tore at the mud wall about the window in a frantic effort to enlarge the aperture sufficiently to permit his huge bulk to pass through into the little room.

The mucker won to the girl’s side first, and snatching Oda Yorimoto’s long sword from the floor he threw his great weight against the door, and commanded the girl to make for the window and escape to the forest as quickly as she could.

“Theriere is waiting dere,” he said. “He will see youse de moment yeh reach de window, and den youse will be safe.”

“But you!” cried the girl. “What of you?”

“Never yeh mind me,” commanded Billy Byrne. “Youse jes’ do as I tells yeh, see? Now, beat it,” and he gave her a rough shove toward the window.

And then, between the combined efforts of the samurai upon one side and Billy Byrne of Kelly’s gang upon the other the frail door burst from its rotten hinges and fell to one side.

The first of the samurai into the little room was cleft from crown to breast bone with the keen edge of the sword of the Lord of Yoka wielded by the mighty arm of the mucker. The second took the count with a left hook to the jaw, and then all that could crowd through the little door swarmed upon the