e 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, she
stared at the ever-widening circles which rippled the water and the
jagged rocks which shone ominously dark beneath the surface. She
followed the center of the ripples mechanically. Thank God, they had hit
in a clear spot. But what chance would a man have throttled like that by
another?

The cool rush of air on his throbbing face gave place to a cooler one as
the waters closed over Kenneth Gregory's head. He felt his body sinking
like a stone. The arms about his body tightened. The blood pounded to
his brain. To his mind flashed stories of swimmers who had been drowned
by women with the fatal strangle-hold. He realized sharply that he was
held 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 he
freed an arm and worked it upward until he felt the matted hair of the
islander's beard. From there it was only a span to the throat. That was
what he must reach. The throat. The words raced through his brain. The
throat. He must shut down on that and hang. His groping fingers searched
for the elusive organ. Perhaps Red-beard had no throat. The
grotesqueness of the idea caused him to want to laugh. It didn't matter
much after all. Not when.... There it was. He had found it at last. His
fingers stiffened and slid on the slippery flesh. Then they fastened,
tightened and hung.

* * * * *

Good God, would they never come up? Dickie searched the faintly dimpled
waters from her commanding elevation, but her closest scrutiny revealed
no sign of the men beneath the surface. Kenneth Gregory was drowned as
his father had been drowned at Diablo. So intent was the girl upon her
examination of the water that she failed to see a limping figure emerge
cautiously 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 the
islander relax. Then he became conscious in a vague sort of way, of
movement. They were rising to the surface or sinking lower to the
bottom. Why couldn't he tell which? He freed his legs from the inert
form which twined itself about him, and kicked weakly. The red-bearded
man slipped from him at the effort