“Come on,” said I. “Let’s go!”
They came. I perceived, by the grace of another flash of lightning, that they were unarmed. Perhaps they feared to arouse the neighborhood by firing at me and then again perhaps they wanted me with a whole skin.
I had no time to dwell upon the subject. I heard the swift pat of a foot on the hard wet ground before me and my right fist lashed out into the darkness. Ah! My knuckles sunk, with a satisfying bite, into the cheek of one of my assailants and he went rolling into the muck of the garden.
“One down!” I howled above the noises of the gathering storm.
The other two charged at me in determined fashion. A heavy fist caught me behind the ear and the force of the blow spun me around like a top. I kept my feet and shook the cobwebs out of my brain. Then I lowered my chin behind my left shoulder and drove a terrific blow into the face of a huge man who arose at me out of the darkness. He folded up like one of those old-style opera hats and I booted him out of the way savagely.
The fellow I had knocked into the garden returned to the fray. Two against one. It was not hopeless. The man I had smashed in the face would fight no more this night. He was done.
We stalked each other in the dark. One of the thugs worked his way behind me and before I could turn on him he hurled himself at my legs. Down we went into the mud in a tangle of flying arms. I managed to grasp one of my opponent’s arms, locked my leg about it and began to slowly twist his wrist. It was a wrestling bold and a torturous one.
“Quit kicking, you fool,” I growled. “I’ll break your arm in two.”
My victim groaned.
“Hey, Alf,” he called in an agonized voice, “drive a knife into this devil. He’s killing me.”
“Can’t,” said Alf laconically out of the dark. “Hold on. I’ll get him in a minute.”
With a farewell twist that sent a shudder through the body of the man on the ground, I released him and hopped to my feet. I would have a better chance there.
“Now, Alf, my boy,” said I. “Let me get my hands on you and this fight is over.”
“Think so?” he sneered. “You may find that I’m not so easy as those two bums. You’ll have to prescribe for yourself when I get through working on you.”
With that he charged at me with both arms swinging. I sidestepped him quickly and dug two vicious blows into his ribs.
“Not bad,” commented Alf as he swung around and charged again. “Not half bad for a bloomin’ pill roller.”
Another streak of lightning shot across the angry sky and I got a momentary glimpse of our battle-field. There was the man called Alf, a heavy, hulking beetle-browed ruffian. The victim of my wrestling hold was getting to his trembling legs and in the mud of the garden the unconscious villain lay face downward.
The flare had no sooner faded than Alf’s big fist crashed into my chin and I slid to the ground. Badly shaken, I struggled to my feet and evaded him until my head cleared. Then we closed in.
“Might as well settle this now as to fight all night,” I snarled.
“Sure,” said Alf amiably as he swung and missed a fierce right to my head.
I shifted him into position, passed my arm around his face and locked my fingers. It was now or never with me. I must either injure Alf so badly as to put him out of commission or come out loser, for it was plain to me that I lacked the stamina to batter such a brute down in a finish fight.
Throwing every ounce of strength I possessed into the effort, I hurled him from his feet and we landed heavily on the ground, my arm still locked around his head. Then I began to tighten my hold, and though he kicked and struggled mightily, I managed to retain my grasp. I gripped him until I thought my arm would break upon his hard skull.
His struggles became weaker and weaker. Now was the time to drop him and flee for my life. That would be the wiser course, I decided, but before I could act the back door of the house banged open and a square patch of light fell into the yard. The man with the injured arm had gone for help and the rescue crew, composed of six or seven hefty fellows, was running toward me. All of them were carrying clubs and knives.
It was all up with me. That was plain. I tightened my hold viciously, I would make my friend Alf feel like he had thrust his head into a vise.
Now the crowd was upon me. I dropped Alf and lumbered to my feet waiting dourly for the attack. The first man who leaped at me got a solid punch in the eye and he fell back with an exclamation of pain.
“Well, by God, if it isn’t the demon doctor himself!”
The huge youth was speaking and I whirled to confront him. A final swing at his square chin would not be amiss.
Then a blow from a club knocked me to my knees. Another blow and I was down. They swarmed over me.
Now I was being carried away, floating easily between many dark figures. Faintly I heard the complaining voice of Alf.
“Blake,” said my late opponent with a string of oaths, “is a damned liar. He said this guy was a sawbones who couldn’t lick anybody. I’ll say this bimbo can trim any three men in the crowd.”
I laughed insanely.
And after that I knew nothing.
Chapter VIII
The Chief Buccaneer
There was the smell of damp stones mixed with the savory odor of cooking. Also there was the swirling sound of running water. A man laughed boisterously and the measured tread of many feet intruded upon my bewildered senses.
Then I realized that I was lying upon a bed and I sat up. As I did so, I turned sick and dizzy and the strange place began to reel before my eyes. My hand went to my head and came away covered with blood, my hair was matted and my face felt stiff and swollen.
I got to my feet and looked about me. I was in a small room with stone walls and one heavily barred window. It was furnished with a narrow bed, a pine table, a chair and a candle. Over it all hung the heavy atmosphere of disuse.
I staggered to the window and looked out upon the river. It was daylight, early morning I judged, for the cold mists were just rising from the waters. I must be on one of the several little islands which dotted the surface of the stream just below the city.
My prison appeared to be an old null. I looked at the bars and smiled grimly. They were new. Blake and his crew must have anticipated my visit or the place had been used to hold others who did not fit in with his schemes.
Close beside my prison and separated from it only by a small courtyard was another building of stone. It, too, had barred windows and a heavy door. Another jail? I was looking at it rather unsteadily when the door swung open and the girl in the green dress stepped out.
She wore a dark cloak about her shoulders, but her head was bare and her dark hair shone in the gray light. Walking swiftly to the river’s edge, she suddenly flung herself to her knees and raised her eyes in supplication to the sky.
She was praying and as her lips moved, the tears coursed down her cheeks and fell upon the cold stones. Then she suddenly buried her face in her arms and her shoulders shook as she sobbed.
I paced the room in agitation and dismay. What new turn of events was this? Why did this self-possessed young woman now weep her heart out? I returned to the window and tried to call to her, but my voice was but a dismal croak. Feeling cold and sick I lurched to the door and, much to my surprise, found that it was open.
Clinging to the banister for support I made my way down the stairs to a hallway on the first floor. There were no windows here, and I paused for a moment until my eyes were accustomed to the gloom. Then I began feeling along the wall for the doorway which would let me into the courtyard where the girl lay weeping.