All the water seemed faintly hued with crimson now, and he knew that his first blow must have worked considerable damage. The shark had dashed off until he could only see it dimly—a monster shadow that darted smoothly but erratically about in the distant depths, as if working itself up to a greater fury. Then it swung about in one wide sweep, and began to grow plainer as it came down upon him.
Its speed was appalling. During his instant of waiting, Mart's courage almost failed him; it seemed impossible that he could strike and leap back in time to avoid the flashing tail!
Nor could he, as it proved. The monster fish drove in upon him, turning as it came, its bulk seeming to fill all the space above and to crush him back upon the wreck; then Mart, never giving an inch, shoved his flame-bladed kris forward, saw it go home to the hilt in the gaping mouth of the Pirate Shark, and then was swept from his feet.
He went down with a rush in the tremendous swirl of waters, being drawn along the side of the wreck for a little space; but the fall proved to be his salvation. As he struggled feebly and vainly to gain his feet, he could see that everything was gone crimson around him. Through the bloodstained waters lashed the whiplike tail of the Pirate Shark, beating with terrific force against the wreck; the fish, blinded by its own lifeblood, was trying to find its enemy, and a single stroke from that tail would have finished Mart forever.
He lay quiet, huddled against the wreck, but now there was little fear of the Pirate Shark in his heart. Whatever the results of that final blow had been, nothing now mattered except the terrible pains that had come upon him. The air in his helmet seemed to poison him, his throat and lungs were on fire, and he knew that he was bleeding at the nose.
"By golly, this is awful!" he muttered thickly.
He determined not to give up without a last struggle, however. He still had his sheath knife, and he could cut away his weights and shoot up. Though it would be dangerous, both because of the pressure and because of the Pirate Shark, he spent no more thought on it but drew his knife and tried to rise.
This was no easy matter, so evenly was his weight adjusted, but he finally managed to get up, leaning weakly against the side of the wreck. His head was buzzing madly, and it was difficult for him to see anything because of the cloud of blood and stirred-up slime that filled the water.
He could see nothing of the Pirate Shark, but that did not matter now. Managing to get out his knife, he tried to stoop over and cut away his shoes. To his terror, he lost balance again and fell weakly forward, unable to stop himself. He was gasping and fighting for breath now, but there was no good air for him to breathe. He felt dimly that he was gone.
He had no strength; still he fought up to his feet once more, savagely determined not to give in to the suffocation, trying vainly to rid himself of the helmet. But he had dropped his knife, and dared not stoop for it for fear he could not regain his balance.