“You must rank me as one of your own kind,” I burst forth.  “Now you listen to a plain word from me.  If that was intended as an offer, I refuse it.  When I first left the cabin, and came here on deck, I honestly believed I could talk with you, Kirby, appeal to your better nature, and gain some consideration for those two girls.  Now I know better.  From the start this has been the working out of a deliberately planned plot.  You, and your confederate, have coolly robbed Beaucaire, and propose to get away with the spoils.  Perhaps you will, but that end will not be accomplished through any assistance of mine.  At first I only felt a slight interest in the affair, but from now on I am going to fight you fellows with every weapon I possess.”

Kirby chuckled, apparently greatly amused.

“Quite glad, I am sure, for the declaration of war.  Fighting has always agreed with me.  Might I ask the nature of those weapons?”

“That remains for you to discover,” I ejaculated sharply, exasperated by his evident contempt.  “Carver, take your dirty hands off of me.”

In spite of the fact of their threat, the ready pistol pressing against my ribs, the grip of Carver’s fingers at my throat, I did not anticipate any actual assault.  That either would really dare injure me seemed preposterous.  Indeed my impression was, that Kirby felt such indifference toward my attempt to block his plan, that he would permit me to pass without opposition—­certainly without the slightest resort to violence.  The action of the two was so swift, so concerted, as though to some secret signal, that, almost before I realized their purpose, they held me helplessly struggling, and had forced me back against the low rail.  Here I endeavored to break away, to shout an alarm, but was already too late.  Carver’s hands closed remorselessly on my throat, and, when I managed to strike out madly with one free fist, the butt of Kirby’s pistol descended on my head, so lacerating my scalp the dripping blood blinded my eyes.  The blow partially stunned me, and I half fell, clutching at the rail, yet dimly conscious that the two straining men were uplifting my useless body.  Carver swearing viciously as he helped to thrust me outward over the wooden bar.  The next instant I fell, the sneering cackle of Kirby’s laugh of triumph echoing in my ears until drowned in the splash as I struck the black water below.

I came back to the surface dazed and weakened, yet sufficiently conscious to make an intelligent struggle for life.  The over-hang of the rapidly passing boat still concealed me from the observation of those above on the deck, and the advantage of permitting them to believe that the blow on my head had resulted in drowning, together with the knowledge that I must swiftly get beyond the stroke of that deadly wheel, flashed instantly through my brain.  It was like a tonic, reviving every energy.  Waiting only to inhale one deep breath of air, I plunged back once