II
The cottage door began to open slowly, so slowly.
The boy could see the old foretop-man in the darkened passage. A hatchet was in his mouth; he was handling the door with one hand, and his chair with the other.
So easy for a whole man to open the door, so hard for the disabled seaman!
The Grenadier, hounding with huge strides, was already almost there.
"Man on your left, Piper!" the boy screamed.
"All right, sir!" mumbled the old seaman. "Give me cutlass room—all I ask!"
He put both hands to the wheels of his chair, and spun out into the open, hatchet in mouth.
As he did so, round the corner of the cottage swooped half a dozen yelling cut-throats.
"Take the Frenchman, sir!" roared the old man. "I'll tackle these—"
With a wrench, he slewed his chair, spun the wheels furiously, and shocked into the cloud of them.
The Grenadier launched at his back, bayonet at the charge.
"Coward!" gasped Kit, still five yards away, and flung his dirk.
It stuck in the ground at the man's feet, and tripped him. He plunged forward on hands and knees, and gathered himself as a wave about to break.
As he rose, Kit leapt on him, naked-handed.
The man was hurled through the open door, and brought up against the inner wall with an appalling shock.
For a moment man and boy hugged cheek to cheek.
Kit's legs were round the other's hips, his arms about the other's neck.
"Beast! don't bite!" he gurgled, as the man munched his shoulder; and the image of Gwen, who when hard-driven used her teeth effectively, rose before him.
The image faded. The man had the under-grip, and was squeezing his soul out. Another moment, and his ribs must go.
"Blob!" he choked.
A dark something shot through the door and shocked against the
Frenchman.
"Where'll Oi kill him?" asked a voice.
"Where you like," muttered Kit, swooning.
A hand rose and fell.
The man relaxed his grip. Kit could feel him fading and fading away, as the life oozed out of him. He was a-horse on Death.
"Assez," muttered the Frenchman sleepily, swayed and fell.
Dazed and dizzy, Kit staggered to his feet.
A shadow darkened the door; a strange voice cried in horrible triumph:
"Our'n!"
Two pistols lay on the table. Blindly the boy snatched both.
"Now!" he said, as one in a dream, and, shoving a pistol against the man's bare and shaggy bosom, fired.
Blindly he stepped over the fellow's body, and out into the open.
A man, on hands and knees, was crawling away round the corner of the cottage; another lay dead on his face across the way.
Before him he saw a little cloud of men, and the gleam of a silver head thrusting out moon-like from among them.
Blindly he fired into the brown, and blindly followed up.
One man fell; others slunk away, snarling.