loaded as
it was. He had leaped the breastworks, he knew that, and between him
and the vast bright blur of the ocean he saw one of the beach-combers
backing away and watching him intently, his hatchet in his hand. Wilbur
had only time to think that he himself would no doubt be killed within
the next few moments, when this latter halted abruptly, took a step
forward, and, instead of striking downward, as Wilbur had anticipated,
dropped upon his knee and struck with all his might at the calf of
Wilbur's leg. It was only the thickness of his boots that saved Wilbur
from being hamstrung where he stood. As it was, he felt the blade bite
almost to the bone, and heard the blood squelch in the sole of his boot,
as he staggered for the moment, almost tripping over the man in front of
him.

The Chinaman sprang to his feet again, but Wilbur was at him in an
instant, feeling instinctively that his chance was to close with his
man, and so bring his own superior weight and strength to bear. Again
and again he tried to run in and grip the slim yellow body, but the
other dodged and backed away, as hard to hold as any fish. All around
and back of him now Wilbur heard the hideous sound of stamping and
struggling, and the noise of hoarse, quick shouts and the rebound of
bodies falling and rolling upon the hard, smooth beach. The thing had
not been a farce, after all. This was fighting at last, and there within
arm's length were men grappling and gripping and hitting one another,
each honestly striving to kill his fellow--Chinamen all, fighting
in barbarous Oriental fashion with nails and teeth when the knife or
hatchet failed. What did he, clubman and college man, in that hideous
trouble that wrought itself out there on that heat-stricken tropic beach
under that morning's sun?

Suddenly there was a flash of red flame, and a billow of thick, yellow
smoke filled all the air. The cabin was afire. The hatchet-man with whom
Wilbur was fighting had been backing in this direction. He was close
in when the fire began to leap from the one window; now he could go no
further. He turned to run sidewise between his enemy and the burning
cabin. Wilbur thrust his foot sharply forward; the beach-comber tripped,
staggered, and before he had reached the ground Wilbur had driven home
the knife.

Then suddenly, at the sight of his smitten enemy rolling on the ground
at his feet, the primitive man, the half-brute of the stone age,
leaped to life in Wilbur