He succeeded in drawing his sword just in time to parry a slashing blow which Frank aimed at him with the commander’s sword; but a second later the lad had closed with him, and the lieutenant’s sword was practically useless.
The appearance of the apparition from over the side of the Alto, and its sudden dash into the center of the firing squad, had taken the cruiser’s officers by surprise. But now Captain Johnson pulled himself together, and his voice and Lieutenant Taylor’s rang out at the same time with an order to the firing squad:
“Shoot him!”
But one man was in a position to obey the command without fear of accidentally shooting the lieutenant.
Quickly he brought his rifle to bear, and his finger tightened upon the trigger. There was a sharp crack. But Frank did not fall. The cartridge in the rifle had been a blank.
Now the struggling combatants scuffled and twisted so rapidly that it was impossible for any of the sailors to shoot Frank without imminent risk of hitting Lieutenant Taylor, while the latter, realizing for the first time just how near death he was, put forth his utmost strength to free himself, but in vain.
Suddenly the lad released his hold and threw both his arms around the lieutenant, the sword still grasped in his right hand. Then his left hand gripped the naked blade, and, with a quick snap, broke it off a foot from the hilt.
Once more releasing the lieutenant from his close embrace, he took a backward step, following instantly by a quick lunge forward again, which sent his shortened sword straight and true into the traitor lieutenant’s breast.
Lieutenant Taylor slid gently to the deck, gave a single convulsive sob and lay still.
Without one look at the girl whose life he had saved at the imminent risk of his own, Frank stepped up to Captain Johnson, saluted, and exclaimed: