The warriors turned in time to see the heavy spear flying toward them and then, as he dashed into their midst, Billy Byrne drew his revolver and fired to right and left. The two prisoners took advantage of the consternation of their guards to grapple with them and possess themselves of weapons.
There had been but six samurai in the party, two had fallen before Byrne’s initial onslaught, but the other four, recovered from their first surprise, turned now to battle with all the terrific ferocity of their kind.
Again, at a crucial moment, had Theriere’s revolver missed fire, and in disgust Byrne discarded it, falling back upon the long sword with which he was no match for the samurai. Norris snatched Byrne’s spear from the ground, and ran it through the body of one of the Japs who was pressing Byrne too closely. Odds were even now—they fought three against three.
Norris still clung to the spear—it was by far the most effective weapon against the long swords of the samurai. With it he killed his antagonist and then rushed to the assistance of Foster.
Barbara Harding from the island saw that Byrne’s foe was pressing him closely. The white man had no chance against the superior swordsmanship of the samurai. She saw that the mucker was trying to get past the Jap’s guard and get his hands upon him, but it was evident that the man was too crafty and skilled a fighter to permit of that. There could be but one outcome to that duel unless Byrne had assistance, and that mighty quickly. The girl grasped the short sword that she constantly wore now, and rushed into the river. She had never before crossed it except in Byrne’s arms. She found the current swift and strong. It almost swept her off her feet before she was halfway across, but she never for an instant thought of abandoning her effort.
After what seemed an eternity she floundered out upon the mainland, and when she reached the top of the bank she saw to her delight that Byrne was still on his feet, fighting. Foster and Norris were pushing their man back—they were in no danger.
Quickly she ran toward Byrne and the samurai. She saw a wicked smile upon the brown face of the little warrior, and then she saw his gleaming sword twist in a sudden feint, and as Byrne lunged out awkwardly to parry the expected blow the keen edge swerved and came down upon his head.
She was an instant too late to save, but just in time to avenge—scarcely had the samurai’s sword touched the mucker than the point of Oda Yorimoto’s short sword, wielded by the fair hand of Barbara Harding, plunged into his heart. With a shriek he collapsed beside the body of his victim.
Barbara Harding threw herself beside Byrne. Apparently life was extinct. With a little cry of horror the girl put her ear close to the man’s lips. She could hear nothing.
“Come back! Come back!” she wailed. “Forgive me that cruel laugh. O Billy! Billy! I love you!” and the daughter of old Anthony Harding, multimillionaire and scion of the oldest aristocracy that America boasts, took the head of the Grand Avenue mucker in her arms and covered the white, bloody face with kisses—and in the midst of it Billy Byrne opened his eyes.
She was caught in the act. There was no escape, and as a crimson flush suffused her face Billy Byrne put his arms about her and drew her down until their lips met, and this time she did not put her hands upon his shoulders and push him away.
“I love you, Billy,” she said simply.
“Remember who and what I am,” he cautioned, fearful lest this great happiness be stolen away from him because she had forgotten for the moment.
“I love you Billy,” she answered, “for what you are.”
“Forever?”
“Until death do us part!”
And then Norris and Foster, having dispatched their man, came running up.
“Is he badly hurt, madam?” cried Captain Norris.
“I don’t know,” replied Miss Harding; “I’m just trying to help him up, Captain Norris,” she laboriously explained in an effort to account for her arms about Billy’s neck.
Norris gave a start of surprise at hearing his name.
“Who are you?” he cried. “How do you know me?” and as the girl turned her face toward him, “Miss Harding! Thank God, Miss Harding, you are safe.”
“But where on earth did you come from?” asked Barbara.
“It’s a long story, Miss Harding,” replied the officer, “and the ending of it is going to be pretty hard on you—you must try to bear up though.”
“You don’t mean that father is dead?” she asked, a look of terror coming to her eyes.
“Not that—we hope,” replied Norris. “He has been taken prisoner by these half-breed devils on the island. I doubt if they have killed him—we were going to his rescue when we ourselves were captured. He and Mr. Mallory were taken three days ago.”
“Mallory!” shouted Billy Byrne, who had entirely recovered from the blow that had merely served to stun him for a moment. “Is Mallory alive?”
“He was yesterday,” replied Norris; “these fellows from whom you so bravely rescued us told us that much.”
“Thank God!” whispered Billy Byrne.
“What made you think he was dead?” inquired the officer, looking closely at Byrne as though trying to place him.
Another man might have attempted to evade the question but the new Billy Byrne was no coward in any department of his moral or physical structure.
“Because I thought that I had killed him,” he replied, “the day that we took the Lotus.”
Captain Norris looked at the speaker in undisguised horror.
“You!” he cried. “You were one of those damned cutthroats! You the man that nearly killed poor Mr. Mallory! Miss Harding, has he offered you any indignities?”
“Don’t judge him rashly, Captain Norris,” said the girl. “But
