e punishment offered, but, with all his weight,
stamped on Drew's unprotected foot.

The groan that this forced from the young man's lips brought a
diabolical grin to the mutineer's face. Even the satisfaction of
changing that grin to a bloody smear, as he did the very next moment by
giving a fearful blow to the mouth, did not relieve Drew's pain.

He had to keep the fellow at arm's length, and that was not
advantageous to his own style of fighting. He could make a better
record in close-up work. But the mutineer wore heavy sea-boots, and
Drew already felt himself crippled. His own footwork was spoiled. He
limped as badly as had Tyke Grimshaw for a while.

There was not room for a fair field in the crowded forecastle, at best.
The big sailor was very wary about stepping near the five prisoners,
but he forced Drew, time and again, against the body of the prone and
unconscious man on the deck. Three times his naked antagonist all but
sprawled over this obstruction.

In fact, Drew was not getting much the best of it, although few of the
mutineer's blows landed. This fighting at arm's length never yet
brought a quick decision. And that was what Allen Drew was striving
for. For all he knew, Ditty might take it into his head to come off to
the schooner before bedtime. If he were caught in this plight, he
would be utterly undone.

This thought harried the young man's very soul. All he had risked in
swimming out to the schooner would go for nothing. Not only would his
object in coming fail of consummation, but if Ditty caught him, the
besieged party up on the side of the whale's hump would lose its best
shot.

Thus convinced of the necessity for haste, Drew suddenly rushed in. He
stifled a cry as the heavy boot crunched down on his foot once again.
This was no time for fair fighting. He seized his antagonist by the
collar of his shirt, jerked him forward, and at the same time planted a
right upper-cut on the point of the jaw.

The fellow crashed to the deck--down and out without a murmur. Drew,
panting and limping, leaving a trail of blood wherever he stepped,
secured some lengths of spun yarn and tied both mutineers hand and foot
before he gave any attention to the murmuring prisoners.

"Now, men," he said, turning to the five, "you know me. I'm Mr. Drew
and I'm no ghost."

"You don't hit like no ghost," grinned Trent. "I'm mighty glad you
come, Mr. Drew. It would have been all up with us when old