Perhaps some instinct had warned me to be prepared for a shock, for I looked Madigan over without betraying the rush of thoughts with which my mind was seething. In a flash the whole of Brack’s scheming, from the time he had met Chanler in San Francisco to the present moment, was made plain. He had influenced Chanler to purchase the Wanderer and go north; he had engaged Madigan to hide away on board and play the wrecked miner at the proper moment; he had brought the Wanderer into the bay at night; and he was now starting out—for what?
I managed to smile as I glanced significantly at the rifles which both men carried.
“And are you going gold-digging now, Captain Brack?” said I. “I thought picks and shovels were the proper utensils for mining.”
“Much easier to let others use them,” said he. “Much more satisfactory to use this—” he patted his rifle—“after others have used the picks and shovels. As you soon shall see, Mr. Pitt.”
“I——”
He lifted his right hand as if for a signal. Quicker than any normal thought of mine, instinct whispered the imminence of danger.
I ducked and crouched low before Brack’s signal was completed, and a fist grazed the top of my head from behind and a hand—Garvin’s—caught hold of my left arm. Terror drove me to action.
As instinctively as any attacked animal whirls upon its assailant, I turned on Garvin, sweeping my arms around wildly. He had expected no resistance, and one of my fists thudded viciously into the middle of his throat. He gurgled in strange fashion, throwing his head far back, and I struck him again, struck with a strength which I had not dreamed that I possessed. I saw him staggering, and turned to run.
Madigan leaped nimbly to block me. I dodged back, but the captain was there, so I turned to Madigan. He was on me with a rush; we clinched, struggled, fell, and got up again. This continued for some time. Then a great weight seemed to drop on the back of my head and my knowledge of what was happening ceased suddenly.