CHAPTER XI
REFUSING TO BE BLUFFED
Dickie Lang reeled backward as the red-bearded man shoved her from him.She felt the eel-grass slipping beneath her feet. Striving vainly toregain her balance, she turned cat-like in the air and broke the fallwith her hands. As she rebounded to her feet she could see Gregorywrestling with the man who had precipitated the attack. Close by hisside, Tom Howard grappled with the scar-faced islander. The third manlay huddled on the rocks where he had fallen.
Dickie decided at once upon her course of action. Gregory and Howardwere holding their own against the two men. It was up to her to see thatthe third of the islanders did not come to the rescue of his companions.The man might regain consciousness at any moment. Then there would bethree against two. She remembered suddenly that there was rope on the_Petrel_. Better than that there was a rifle. It was but a few steps tothe launch. She covered it quickly, caught the main-stay and pulledherself aboard.
* * * * *
Kenneth Gregory realized at the outset that he was up against a hardfight. In his hurry to close with the red-bearded man, his foot hadslipped on the slimy grass and he had been forced to clinch to savehimself from falling. This placed him at a marked disadvantage. Hisopponent had the best of him in weight by at least twenty pounds and washeavily muscled. Moreover he possessed a certain agility on thegrass-covered rocks which rendered any attempt on Gregory's part toforce the battle, as extremely hazardous. The islander, at home on theslippery footing, from the start, became the aggressor.
For a time Gregory was content merely to hold his feet againstRed-beard's rushes and retain his hold on the islander's knife-arm,should he be possessed of a weapon. Men of that type, he reasoned, wereusually short-winded. In time the heavier man would exhaust himself.Then his turn would come. Ahead he noticed a clear space, free fromgrass. The solid rock would afford good footing. There he would have abetter chance.
If the islander was determined to crowd, he might as well crowd in theright direction. Gregory changed front slowly, working his body aroundthe heavier man, giving way before his bull-like rushes. When he reachedthe position he desired, he checked his circling movement and began toretreat steadily. Keeping his feet wide apart, his body carefullybalanced, he backed slowly in the direction of the spot where the grasswould no longer slip beneath his feet.
On the other side of the ledge, Tom Howard battled with the scar-facedman. Of equal weight and strength, the struggle resolved itself into aquestion of endurance, as the two men rolled over each other on thebarnacled rocks in an effort to break the other's grip and strengthenhis own. Unconscious of their surroundings, their heads locked close totheir straining bodies, they grappled blindly, working closer to a deepcrevice which lay across their path. For a brief instant they ceasedstruggling. Their bodies stiffened. With each man seeking to pin theother beneath him they rolled to the crevice and dropped from view.
* * * * *
Dickie, aboard the boat, flashed a glance at the gun-rack. The rifle wasgone. The patent-clasp which held the weapon in place had been wrenchedfree. Her eyes traveled to the empty provision-locker, which stood open.Close by it lay a small monkey-wrench with which some one had batteredthe padlock.
A wrench would be better than nothing. She caught it up and ran to thedeck. Securing a small coil of rope, she jumped to the rocks and racedin the direction of the spot where the weasel-faced man had fallen.
As she ran she caught a glimpse of Gregory giving way before thered-bearded man toward the table-like surface of the ledge which juttedout over the cove. Of Howard she could see nothing. She stoppedsuddenly as she came in view of the spot where the weasel-facedislander had sprawled upon the rocks.
The man was gone.
* * * * *
Solid rock beneath his feet at last--Red-beard had forced him to theexact spot he desired to reach--Gregory's muscles contracted with ajerk. He stopped retreating and began to slide around the islander. Ifhe was successful in carrying out his plan it was best to have Red-beardon the outside of the ledge.
Divining his purpose, the big man stiffened as he caught a glimpse ofthe sea over his shoulder. Straining closer to each other's throbbingbodies, the two men redoubled their efforts to twist the other to theoutside. Red-beard's breath began to come in gasps. He opened his mouthand sucked in the air feverishly. His corded muscles were beginning torelax. Gregory's feet shot under the islander's legs and the big mannarrowly escaped falling. When he regained his balance he could not seethe water. The cool air from the sea which had been blowing in his facenow stirred the thick hair which covered his neck. He was on the outsideof the ledge overlooking the cove.
Before he could recover from his surprise, Red-beard felt the fingers onhis arm relax. His opponent wriggled in his arms, stiffened and crushedagainst him. As the big man fought to regain his balance, Gregory freedan arm and his fist flashed to the islander's ear. Red-beard grunted forbreath. Again the rigidly flexed forearm cut under his guard and landedon his hairy chin. As he raised his big arms to protect his head, hisantagonist twisted free.
Ducking under the clumsy fist which beat the air above his head, Gregoryswung again for the islander's chin. With a snarl of rage, the big manlowered his head. Then his angry growl changed quickly to a grunt ofpain as he took the blow full in the forehead. Reeling dizzily, his handsought his girdle. His fingers closed on the hilt of his knife andjerked it free.
Gregory hurled himself forward at the sight of the steel. Grasping theuplifted arm he wrenched it inward, twisting the man half around.Surprised at the suddenness of the move, the islander gave way in aseries of staggering steps which carried him to the edge of the rockledge overlooking the water.
Retaining his hold on the red-bearded man's wrist, Gregory struck withall his force at the bulging chest. As the blow landed he felt the bodycrumple in his arms and the knife clattered to the rocks. The islanderstaggered backward with his assailant pressing close against him. Intheir struggle both men had for the moment forgotten the overhangingledge.
Both men had forgotten the overhanging ledge]
Gregory remembered it too late. Red-beard's arms were still about him.Suddenly he felt the dead weight of the islander's body. As he strove tobreak the man's hold he tottered on the brink of the ledge. He felthimself being dragged downward. Before his eyes flashed the rock-dappledwaters of the cove. His only chance lay in clearing the rocks below.His knees straightened with a jerk. Shoving his body outward, heplunged over the ledge with the islander clinging to him.
The warning scream died on Dickie Lang's lips as she ran toward them.Checking her steps on the edge of the rocks overlooking the water, shestared at the ever-widening circles which rippled the water and thejagged rocks which shone ominously dark beneath the surface. Shefollowed the center of the ripples mechanically. Thank God, they had hitin a clear spot. But what chance would a man have throttled like that byanother?
The cool rush of air on his throbbing face gave place to a cooler one asthe waters closed over Kenneth Gregory's head. He felt his body sinkinglike a stone. The arms about his body tightened. The blood pounded tohis brain. To his mind flashed stories of swimmers who had been drownedby women with the fatal strangle-hold. He realized sharply that he washeld by no woman, but a red-bearded giant, insane through fear,incapable of reason. Whatever he did must be done at once.
With an effort which left his lungs pressing hard against his ribs hefreed an arm and worked it upward until he felt the matted hair of theislander's beard. From there it was only a span to the throat. That waswhat he must reach. The throat. The words raced through his brain. Thethroat. He must shut down on that and hang. His groping fingers searchedfor the elusive organ. Perhaps Red-beard had no throat. Thegrotesqueness of the idea caused him to want to laugh. It didn't mattermuch after all. Not when.... There it was. He had found it at last. Hisfingers stiffened and slid on the slippery flesh. Then they
fastened,tightened and hung.
* * * * *
Good God, would they never come up? Dickie searched the faintly dimpledwaters from her commanding elevation, but her closest scrutiny revealedno sign of the men beneath the surface. Kenneth Gregory was drowned ashis father had been drowned at Diablo. So intent was the girl upon herexamination of the water that she failed to see a limping figure emergecautiously from behind a pile of rocks and drop into a near-by crevice.
* * * * *
Under the steady pressure of his fingers, Gregory felt the body of theislander relax. Then he became conscious in a vague sort of way, ofmovement. They were rising to the surface or sinking lower to thebottom. Why couldn't he tell which? He freed his legs from the inertform which twined itself about him, and kicked weakly. The red-beardedman slipped from him at the effort and he narrowly escaped losing hishold upon his throat. He kicked again. If he could only get one gulp ofair he could make it. In spite of the ever-increasing pressure on hislungs he found himself getting sleepy. He was tired, worn out. If hecould only fill his lungs with something to stop that dull pain, hecould go to sleep and rest.
* * * * *
Dickie Lang saw the dark blot of the two figures as they neared thesurface. Then she thought of the rope in her hand. She could weigh itwith the wrench and throw it from where she stood. Uncoiling it hastily,she measured the distance. Too far, she realized bitterly. She looked tothe water's edge. The distance would be shorter from there. Shoving thewrench into her pocket and throwing the rope loosely about her neck, shecrawled over the ledge and climbed downward.
The ledge dipped sharply under the overhanging surface and extendedshoreward in a narrow shelf, carpeted by kelp and washed by the sea.Around that big boulder would be the best place. From there she couldthrow the rope to good advantage. She was about to shout encouragementwhen she heard the sharp splash of a stone falling into the water fromthe cliff. Shrinking closer to the rocks, she listened. Then creptsilently on.
* * * * *
Air to breathe at last! Gregory lay passive on the surface, content togulp it in in huge mouthfuls. Nothing else mattered now. His headthrobbed painfully and his eyeballs burned in their sockets. But he hadair. And that was enough. As the pressure of blood on his brainlessened, he became conscious of the fact that he was still gripping theislander's throat. He released his fingers and the big head tiltedforward until it rested face down on the water. With a start Gregoryrealized that the air had come too late for Red-beard. He must get theman ashore at once.
He turned his head slowly and saw the rock ledge only a few feet away.By that big overhanging boulder would be the place to land. There hecould crawl up on the soft kelp and rest. Rolling the unconscious man tohis back, he swam slowly for the ledge.
* * * * *
Dickie reached the base of the projecting rock and wedging her slenderbody into a small fissure, peered cautiously through the cleft. So closethat she could almost touch him, alert and motionless, stood theweasel-faced man. His small eyes were fixed upon the water. The handwhich was nearest her held a knife.
Wriggling from the crevice she hastily retraced her steps. No use tryingto squeeze through there. She would be in full view before she wouldhave a chance. Flashing a glance at the rugged surface of the boulder,she began to climb.
* * * * *
It was farther to the ledge than he thought. Something was the matterwith his legs. His arms had no strength. They had almost ceased tofunction. A sharp pain gripped his side and tore downward through hisbody. Still Gregory swam on. In another moment he could reach out andgrip the kelp with his hand. He closed his eyes and swam mechanically.At length his extended fingers touched the sea-grass which fringed theledge. Twining them eagerly about it, he pulled his aching body closerand rested, clinging to the rocks.
* * * * *
Hand over hand Dickie Lang crawled upward and outward until she couldsee the water lapping at the ledge beneath. From her vantage point shecould see Gregory swimming on with closed eyes in the direction of therocks. His limbs were moving slowly and his face was drawn with pain.Still he floundered on. Straight for the kelp-covered ledge--andWeasel-face.
A sharp turn in the rocky pathway put the man in full view, only a fewfeet below. Sheltered from sight of the struggling figure in the water,he waited in silence.
If she called out to warn Gregory to seek a new landing-place it wasdoubtful if he could make the beach in his exhausted condition. Such acourse, too, would make her presence known to the hatchet-faced man whoas yet had not observed her. No, it was better to take the man unawares.She thought of the rope. Perhaps she could loop it over his head. Shegave up the idea at once. It could only fail. Jamming her hands into herpockets, her fingers closed on the wrench. She jerked it out andbalanced it in her hand. A feeling of confidence surged over her. Shecouldn't miss him from where she stood. Her pastime of flinging stonesat the gulls when a child would stand her in good stead now. If the manlooked up, she would throw before he could recover from his surprise.
* * * * *
Dragging his tired body wearily from the water, Gregory pulled hisunconscious companion after him. As he stretched the islander at fulllength on the soft kelp and knelt over him, he caught sight of a man'sfoot protruding from behind a rock.
Gregory stumbled to his feet. At the same instant he heard the sound ofa muffled blow. A small wrench clattered to the rocks and fell with asplash into a pool of water.
"I knew I could get him," a girlish voice called from above. Dickie Langjumped down with shining eyes and made her way toward him. "Buck up," heheard her say. But the voice trailed away into silence.
When he regained consciousness, the girl was bending over him, rubbinghis numbed limbs and slapping his cold flesh violently.
"You'll be all right in a minute," she said. "Don't try to talk now. Liestill and rest. Feel better?"
He nodded. As he moved his head he noticed the two figures lying closebeside him. Noting the questioning look in his eyes, Dickie explained:
"They're all right or will be in a little while. I'm looking after them.When they come to, I'm going to tie them up." She flourished a smallcoil of rope.
As his strength returned Gregory began to pick up the loose threads."Howard?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Don't know where he is. Couldn't see him. Don'tworry. Chances are he's all right. He's hard as nails. When you can walkwe'll go and look for him."
They found the fisherman huddled against the rocks at the bottom of thesmall crevice. Close by his side lay the scar-faced islander. Both menwere unconscious.
Gregory examined Howard carefully.
"His leg is broken," he announced. "And he's pretty well bruised up. Hemust have got an awful jolt when he fell on these rocks." Jumping up, heexclaimed: "I'll go and get something for splints," he said. "Make himas comfortable as you can."
When he returned Dickie noticed he carried a heavy oar which he hadfashioned into a rude crutch, a number of small strips of wood and apiece of an old blanket.
"Found them on the _Petrel_," he said as he set to work.
Dickie assisted Gregory in caring for the wounded man. Her respect forthe young man increased as she noted the skilful manner with which heworked. Soon Howard's leg was set and after a time he opened his eyesand slowly regained consciousness. The sun was high overhead when theywere able to move the injured men. While Howard rested for a moment onthe ledge, Gregory carried the unconscious form of the other man to thesoft sea-grass and stretched him at full length. Then he thought of thetwo men they had left on the narrow shelf by the sea.
"I'd better have a look at Red-beard and the other fellow," he saidsuddenly. "The water might come in there and wash them off."
Dickie nodded. "I'll stay here," she said,
and Gregory hurried off.
When he came back he shook his head. "Gone," he announced.
"Washed off?"
"Don't think so. The water hadn't quite got to where we left them. Iguess they sneaked."
Dickie's eyes searched the sea while he spoke.
"I can't understand what is keeping the boys from the _Curlew_," shesaid. "We'd better get Tom aboard the _Petrel_ where we can make himmore comfortable. Better bring the other fellow too. There's some whiskyon the boat unless those devils have stolen it too. Hello, what's that?"
The quiet was broken by the sharp clatter of horses' hoofs. Looking inthe direction of the sound, Gregory saw a number of horsemen riding overthe crest of the bluff overlooking the cove.
The fisherman glanced toward the dory which lay on the rocks at theextreme end of the ledge.
"Better beat it," he suggested.
Dickie Lang shook her head stubbornly. "No," she said. "We'll leave thatman here and the rest of us will get aboard. The _Petrel's_ on tide landand I'll be damned if any one's going to bluff me out."
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