my friend," he answered. "The sons of filthy mothers, they
killed him!"

"Too bad!" said Jan sympathetically. "But you gave a pretty good account
of yourselves, you two. I like a man that can fight like you were
fighting when I came in. What can I do for you?"

"I'm dead, pretty soon now!" said the fellow indifferently. And from the
blood that was soaking down his shirt and spreading on the floor about
him, Jan saw that the words were true. Anxious, however, to do something
to show his good will, he pulled out his big red handkerchief, and
knelt to bandage a gaping slash straight across the man's left forearm,
from which the bright arterial blood was jumping hotly. As he bent, the
fellow's eyes lifted and looked over his shoulder.

"Look out!" he screamed. Before the words were fairly out of his mouth
Jan had thrown himself violently to one side and sprung to his feet. He
was just in time. The knife of one of the Chinamen whom he had supposed
to be dead was sticking in the wall beside the Lascar's arm.

Jan stared at the bodies--all, apparently, lifeless.

"That's the one did it," cried the Lascar excitedly, pointing to the one
whom Jan had struck on the head with his stick. "Put your knife into the
son of a dog!"

But that was not the big Norseman's way. He wanted to assure himself. He
went and bent over the limp-looking, sprawling shape, to examine it. As
he did so the slant eyes opened upon his with a flash of such maniacal
hate that he started back. He was just in time to save his eyes, for the
Chinaman had clutched at them like lightning with his long nails.

Startled and furious at this novel attack, Jan reached for his knife.
But before he could get his hand on it the Chinaman had leaped into the
air like a wildcat, wound arms and legs about his body, and was
struggling like a mad beast to set teeth into his throat. The attack was
so miraculously swift, so disconcerting in its beast-like ferocity, that
Jan felt a strange qualm that was almost akin to panic. Then a black
rage swelled his muscles; and tearing the creature from him he dashed
him down upon the floor, on the back of his neck, with a violence which
left no need of pursuing the question further. Not till he had examined
each of the bodies carefully, and tried them with his knife, did he turn
again to the wounded Lascar leaning against the wall.

"Thank you, my friend!" he said simply.

"You're a good fighting man. You're--like him," answered th