owl, you fool," retorted Bothwell impatiently. "Come, I give you one more chance, Gallagher. Will you join us and share the booty? Or shall I blow out your brains?"
Gallagher, from where he lay on the ground, spoke out firmly:
"I'll sail no more with murderous mutineers."
"Bully for you, partner!" boomed the undaunted voice of the cattleman.
"And you, Alderson?"
"I stand with my friends, Captain Bothwell."
"The more fool you, for you'll be a long time dead. Stand back, Fleming."
As I ran forward I let out a shout.
Simultaneously a revolver cracked.
Bothwell cursed furiously, for Henry Fleming had struck up the arm of the murderer.
The Russian turned furiously on the engineer and fired point-blank at him.
The bullet must have struck him somewhere, for the man gave a cry.
Bothwell whirled upon me and fired twice as I raced across the moonlit sand.
A flash of lightning seared my shoulder but did not stop me.
"Ha! The meddler again! Stung you that time, my friend," he shouted, and fired at me a third time.
They were the last words he was ever to utter . One moment his dark, venomous face craned toward me above the smoke of his revolver, the next it was slowly sinking to the ground in a contorted spasm of pain and rage.
For George Fleming had avenged the attempt upon his brother's life with a shot in the back.
Bothwell was dead almost before he reached the ground.
For a moment we all stood in a dead silence, adjusting our minds to the changed conditions.
Then one of the natives gave a squeal of terror and turned to run. Quick as a flash the rest of them—I counted nine and may have missed one or two—were scuttling off at his heels.
George Fleming stared at the body of his chief which lay so still on the ground with the shining moon pouring its cold light on the white face.
Then slowly his eyes came up to meet mine.
In another moment he and his brother were crashing through the lush underbrush to the beach. I judged from the rapidity with which Henry moved that he could not be much hurt. From the opposite direction Smith came running up.
I dropped to my knees beside Yeager and cut the thongs that tied his hands.
"Hurt?" I asked.
"No," he answered in deep disgust at himself. "I stumbled over a root and hit my head against this tree right after the game opened. Gallagher and Alderson had to play it out alone. But Bothwell must have had fourteen men with him. He got Gallagher in the leg and rushed Alderson. You dropped in right handy, Jack."
"And not a minute too soon. By Jove! we ran it pretty fine this trip. Badly hurt, Gallagher?"
"No, sir. Hit in the thigh."
I examined the wound as well as I could and found it not as bad as it might have been.
"A good clean flesh wound. You're in luck, Gallagher. The last two days have more than wiped out your week of mutiny. We're all deep in your debt."
"Thank you, sir," he said, flushing with pleasure.
Here I may put it down that this was the last word Gallagher heard about his lapse from duty. He and the other reconstructed mutineers were forgiven, their fault wiped completely off the slate.
I sent Alderson down to the spit to signal the Argos for a boat. One presently arrived with Stubbs and Higgins at the oars. The little cockney was struck with awe at sight of the dead man.
"My heye, Mr. Sedgwick, 'e's got 'is at larst and none too soon. 'Ow did you do it?"
"I didn't do it. One of his friends did."
"Well, 'e 'ad it comin' to 'im, sir. But I'll sye for him that 'e was a man as well as a devil."
We helped Gallagher down to the boat and he and I were taken aboard.
The wound in my shoulder was but a scratch.
It was enough, however, to let me in for a share of the honors with Gallagher.
In truth I had done nothing but precipitate by my arrival the final tragedy; but love, they say, is blind.
It was impossible for me to persuade Evelyn that I had not been the hero of the occasion.
She could appreciate the courage of the three men who had chosen death rather than to join Bothwell in his nefarious plans, but she was caught by the melodramatic entry I had made upon the stage.
"You were one against fourteen, but that didn't stop you at all. Of course the others were brave, but——"
"Sheer nonsense, my dear. Any one can shout 'Villain, avaunt!' and prance across the sand, but there wasn't any pleasant excitement about looking Boris Bothwell in the eye and telling him to shoot and be hanged. That took sheer, cold, unadulterated nerve, and my hat's off to the three of them."
She leaned toward me out of the shadow, and the light in her eyes was wonderful.
With all the innocence of a Grecian nymph they held, too, the haunting, wistful pathos of eternal motherhood.
She yearned over me, almost as if I had been the son of her dreams.
"Boy, Jack, I'm glad it's over—so glad—so glad. I love you—and I've been afraid for you."
Desire of her, of the sweet brave spirit in its beautiful sheath of young flesh, surged up in my blood irresistibly.
I caught her to my heart and kissed the soft corn-silk hair, the deep melting eyes, the ripe red lips.
By Heaven, I had fought for her and had won her! She was the gift of love, won in stark battle from the best fighter I had ever met.
The mad Irish blood in me sang.
After all I am not the son of a filibuster for nothing.
Chapter XXVII.
In Harbor
The morning found me as good as new except for a dull ache in my shoulder. I was up betimes for breakfast and ready for shore duty.
Yet I was glad to accept Blythe's orders to stay on board as long as we remained in Darien Harbor.
It was good to avoid the sun and the mosquitoes and the moist heat of the jungle, though I felt a little guilty at lying
