They were men of the same type as Tsao Ming’s motley horde, nor did Waldo Emerson need inquire their vocation—thief and murderer were writ upon every countenance. They jabbered questions at Nadara and Thandar in an assortment of dialects which neither could understand, and it was only after the craft had been anchored into the little bay and the party had waded to shore that Thandar tried speaking with them in pidgin English. Several among them understood him, and he was not long in making it plain to them that they would be paid well if they carried him and Nadara to a civilized port.
The leader, who seemed to be a full blooded negro, laughed at him, ridiculing the idea that an almost naked man could pay for his liberty. At the same time the fellow cast such greedy glances at Nadara that Thandar became convinced that the fellow, for reasons of his own, preferred not to believe that they could pay in money for their liberty.
It seemed that the party had been about to embark for another portion of the western coast of the island where the main body of the horde lay. They had but been waiting for three of their crew who had gone inland hunting, when they had seen the canoe and put out to capture its occupants. Now they returned to the little harbor to pick up their fellows and continue toward the main camp.
The black was for dispatching Thandar at once as their boat was already overcrowded, but there were others who counseled him against it, reminding him of the probably anger of their chief, who saw only in a dead prisoner the loss of a possible ransom.
At last the hunters returned and all embarked. Soon the boat had passed out of the bay and was making its way south along the west coast of the island. It was almost dark when her nose was turned toward shore and the long sweeps brought into play as the sail sagged to the foot of the mast.
Between two small, overlapping points that hid what lay behind, they passed into a landlocked harbor. As the boat breasted the end of the inner point, Thandar sprang to his feet with a cry of joy and amazement. Now a hundred yards away, riding quietly on the mirror-like surface of the water, lay the Priscilla.
The pirates looked at their prisoner in astonishment. The black rose with clenched fists as though prepared to strike him.
“Priscilla ahoy!” shrieked Waldo Emerson. “Help! Help!”
The negro grinned. There was no response from the white yacht. Then the men told Thandar that they had captured the vessel several weeks before, and were holding her crew prisoners upon land awaiting the return of the chief who had been unaccountably absent for a long time. When Waldo Emerson told them that the yacht belong to his father the black was glad that he had not killed him, for he should bring a fat ransom.
It as dark when they landed, and Thandar and Nadara were forced into the squalid huts that lay side by side with several others just above the beach. For a long time the man could not sleep. His mind was occupied with doubts as to the fate of his father and mother. Nadara had told him that both had been aboard the Priscilla. She had said nothing of the treatment accorded her by Mrs. Smith-Jones, but Waldo had guess near the truth, and he had seen that the sight of the Priscilla had awakened not enthusiasm or happiness in the girl.
After awhile he dozed only to be awakened by the sound of movement outside his hut. There was something sinister in the stealthiness of the sound. Silently Thandar rose and crept to the door. The pirates had made no attempt to secure their prisoners—there was no possibility of their escaping from the island.
Thandar put his head out into the lesser darkness of the night. He muttered a little growl of rage and fear, for what he saw was the huge, dark bulk of a man crawling into Nadara’s hut. Instantly the American followed. At the door of the girl’s shelter he paused to listen. Within he hear a sudden exclamation of right and the sound of a scuffle. Then he was within the darkness, and a moment later stumbled against a man. Thandar’s fingers sought the throat. He made no sound. The other wheeled upon him with a knife. Thandar had expected it. His forearm warded the first blow, and running down the forearm of the other found the knife wrist. Then commenced the struggle within the Stygian blackness of the interior of the hut. Back and forth across the mud floor the two staggered and reeled—the one attempting to wrench free the hand that held the knife—the other seeking a hold upon the throat of his antagonist while he stroke to maintain his grip on the other’s wrist. The heavy breathing of the two rose and fell upon the silence of the night—that and the scuffling of their feet were the only sounds of combat. Nadara could not assist Thandar—she knew that it was he who had come to her rescue though she could not see him.
At last, with superhuman effort, the night prowler broke away from Thandar. For a moment silence reigned in the hut. None of the three could see the other. From beneath his panther skin Thandar drew the long pistol that Tsao Ming had given him, but he dared not fire for fear of hitting Nadara, nor dared he ask her to speak that he might know her position, for them he would have divulged his own to his antagonist.
For minutes that seemed like hours the three stood in utter silence, endeavoring to stifle their breathing. Then Thandar heard a cautious movement upon the opposite side of the room. Was it his foe, or Nadara. He raised his pistol level with a man’s breast, and then very cautiously he too moved to one side. At the sound of his movement there came a sudden flash and deafening roar from across the hut—the enemy had fired, and in the flash of his gun all within the interior was lighted for an instant, and to the man’s left stood Nadara, safe from a shot from Thandar’s pistol.
The black, not knowing that Thandar was armed, had not guessed that his chance shot was to prove his own death messenger. The instant that the flash of the other’s gun revealed his whereabouts Thandar’s pistol gave an answering roar, and simultaneously Thandar leaped to one side, running swiftly to grapple with the black from the other side; but when he came to him, instead of meeting with ferocious resistance as he had expected, he stumbled over his dead body.
But now the whole camp was awake. The pirates were running hither and thither shouting questions and order in their many tongues. Confusion reigned supreme, and in the midst of it Thandar grasped Nadara’s hand and ran from the hut. Back of the other huts he ran until he had passed the end of the camp. Then he turned down toward the water. It was his intention to reach a boat and make his way to the Priscilla.
Behind them the confusion of the camp grew as the pirates searched the huts for an explanation of the two shots—there could have been no better opportunity for escape. Drawn up on the beach was one of the Priscilla’s own boats. Together Thandar and Nadara pushed it off, and a moment later were rowing rapidly toward the yacht.
It was with a feeling of unbounded security and elation that Waldo Emerson clambered over the side and drew Nadara after him; but his elation was short lived for scarcely had he set foot upon the deck than he was seized from behind by half a dozen brawny villains who had been upon guard on board the Priscilla and had seen the two put off from shore, watched their flight toward the yacht and lain in wait for them as they clambered over the side.
The balance of the night they were kept prisoners upon the Priscilla; but early the next morning they were taken ashore. There they found all the pirates congregated outside one of the huts. Within were the passengers and crew of the Priscilla. As Thandar and Nadara approached they were seized and hustled toward the doorway—with an accompaniment of oriental oaths they were pushed into the interior.
Standing about in disconsolate and unhappy groups were the crew of the Priscilla. Captain Burlinghame and Mr. And Mrs. Smith-Jones. As his eyes fell upon the last, Waldo Emerson ran to her with outstretched arms.