A ponderous fist cracked home between his eyes, fairly
lifting him from his feet and hurling him against
the base of the wheelhouse. Then a forearm shot
under his shoulder and a hand fastened on the back
of his neck in an incomplete half-Nelson. As
McTee applied the pressure, Harrigan felt his vertebral
column give under the tremendous strain. He struggled
furiously but could not break the grip. Far away,
like the storm wind in the forest, he heard the moan
of the wolf pack.
“Give in! Give in!” panted McTee.
“Ah-h!” snarled Harrigan.
He felt the deck swing and jerked his legs high in
the air. He could not have broken that grip of
his own strength, but the sway of the deck gave his
movement a mighty leverage. The hand slipped from
his neck, scraping skin away, as if a red-hot iron
had been drawn across the flesh. But he was half
loosed, and that twist of his body sent them both
rolling one over the other to the scuppers of the ship—and
it was McTee who crashed against the rail, receiving
the blow on the back of his head. His eyes went
dull; the red hands of Harrigan fastened on his throat.
“God!” screamed McTee, and gripped Harrigan’s
wrists, but the Irishman heaved him up and beat his
head against the deck.
McTee’s jaws fell open, and a bloody froth bubbled
to his lips; his eyes thrust out hideously.
“Ah-h!” snarled Harrigan, and shifted
his grip lower, his thumbs digging relentlessly into
the great throat. This time the giant limbs of
the captain relaxed as if in sleep. Then through
the fierce singing in his ears the Irishman heard
a yell. He turned his head. The wolf pack
saw their prey pulled down at last. They ran now
to join the kill, not men, but raging devils.
Harrigan sprang to his feet, catching up a marlinspike,
and whirled it above his head.
“Back!” he shouted.
They shrank back, growling one to the other savagely,
irresolute. There came a moan at Harrigan’s
feet. He leaned over and lifted the bulk of the
captain’s inert body. As if through a haze
he saw the chief engineer and the two mates running
toward him and caught the glitter of a revolver in
the hands of the first officer. The Irishman’s
battered lips stretched to a shapeless grin.
“Help me to the captain’s cabin,”
he said. “He’s afther bein’
sick.”
And the four of them went aft carrying McTee’s
body. On the promenade they passed Kate Malone.
She shrank against the rail, her eyes blank and her
face white.
“He’s dead!” she cried.
“He’s just beginnin’ to live,”
said Harrigan.
The captain was muttering faintly as they laid him
on the bunk in his room. “Now get out,”
commanded Harrigan. “I will be alone with
him when he wakes up. I have something to whisper
in his ear.”
“Is it safe?” said the first mate to the
chief engineer, gesturing with his weapon.
