With one big black hand he gripped her blanket cloak and whirled her away into the mist, and came plunging at Wulfrey, who stood with poised axe and eyes that watched his every movement.
The mate played round him for an opening. Out of the corner of his eye he saw The Girl groping about for the oar. He rushed in to end it with one crushing blow.
But Wulf was ready for him and he was the cooler man. As the mate's axe came swooshing down straight for his shoulder and neck, his own swung round, caught the other full in the blade with its own stout back, and with a ringing click sent it flying, with such a shock to the arm that had held it that the mate believed it was broken. He ducked with an oath and disappeared into the fog.
The Girl came panting up, her face all sanded with her fall, her eyes ablaze. "Did it reach you?"
"Not at all. I'm all right."
"The brute! I feared he would kill you."
"He did his worst.... What were you going to do with that?"—the oar she had picked up.
"I was going to smash him on the head with it, but I couldn't find it at first."
"Two to one!"
"I don't care. I'd have killed him if I could."