or from behind a burned stanchion, to which clung pieces of charred
planking, peeped six inches of a rifle muzzle, and the cold round hole
in the end was aimed at his heart.

Still no human being came into sight on that creepily weird wreck.
Leyden took fright now with no pretence at concealing it; for at his
ensuing move he came up to one of the great water tanks, and out of the
manhole peered another cold blue tube, held unwaveringly at his head. He
turned again, darting towards the stern; and here he was met full front
by the cool, smiling, unarmed person of Vandersee, stepping out of the
companionway and barring the way.

Then it was that Leyden realized to the full the strength and
completeness of the trap that had snared him in the moment of his
highest hopes. He screamed his rage at the unimpressed being before him
and pulled a pistol from his pocket.

"So it's you, is it?" he shrieked. "The devil reward you for dogging me,
you Dutch fool!" He brought up his pistol, aimed at Vandersee's body,
and the onlookers on the schooner held their breath in fear. Barry
tugged futilely at his own weapon; Mrs. Goring turned white; a gasp
burst from all four. Then as if sent from the Gods of Justice a shot
rang out, and Vandersee still stood. Those who had watched closely only
saw Leyden's weapon fly from his hand simultaneously with a sharp jet
of fire somewhere in the boat alongside; the report came a fraction of
time later, and then, curling lazily up from Houten's great, ham-like
hand, was a tiny wreath of smoke. The huge trader moved not an inch; his
face altered not a bit; immovable as a statue, unruffled as the Sphinx,
he still stared up at the wreck. Vandersee stood still, showing no
surprise, nor apparently interested in the least in the little piece of
clever gun-play that his big compatriot had accomplished. But Leyden now
showed all the traits of the cornered rat. His pistol spun away from his
numbed fingers, and dumbly he seemed to sense that it had been shot out
of his grip by a snap bullet fired from Houten's hip. He saw no weapon,
but Houten's hand could easily conceal such a trifle as a pistol. He
wrung his tingling fingers once, then with a snarl that was more than a
curse he sprang at Vandersee, snatching a hunting knife from his shirt
as he sprang.

Lookers-on could comprehend the scene in its entirety; and with Leyden's
tigerish leap another element came in. Out from the blackened jungle
pealed the cri