|IN making their escape from the steamer, Tex Connor and the Manila Kid seized one of the small boats, manning, one at either end, the tackle-falls. Connor was quick, rough, profane. The Kid, breathless with excitement, hesitant, glancing back over the rail for a thinly girlish face that did not, then, appear, worked with ten thumbs at the ropes. Connor's end, the boat, fell first, a short way, nearly pitching him out. He cursed this futile man, his jackal, roundly; then clung to the tackle as the stern fell.... The Kid moaned with pain as the slipping hemp burned the skin off his fingers, but held it just short of disaster. Hot red flames licked out overhead as the boat jerkily dropped. The women were screaming up there. A white man, the second mate, leaned over, swearing vigorously at them. They passed an open freight gangway, where bodies lay. “Ready, now!” cried Connor. “Let go with me!” “Wait a minute, can't you?” whined the Kid. He was peering into the dark interior of the steamer; grasping a moment more; wrapping a handkerchief about his left hand. “My God! Can't a fellow tie up his hand.” A thin blue figure appeared, stepped lightly over into the boat and dropped on a middle thwart. “Dixie!” cried the Kid in falsetto. She wore a cap, and carried an oddly lady-like shopping bag. “Where'd you come from?” growled Connor. “I saw you start,” said the girl casually. “Come on--let's get away.” Connor stared at her; then turned back to his work. The boat struck the water and drifted rapidly away down-stream. Connor, roaring angrily at the Kid, got out an oar. “What are you doing?” asked Miss Carmichael very quietly. “Going ashore?” said Connor. “Oh, come, Tex!” said she. “Use your head.” He looked sharply, inquiringly, doubtingly at her. “You two better row straight down-stream as hard as you can,” she added. “You can bet Tom Sung and that gang aren't going to show themselves at Kiu Kiang. They've stopped somewhere below here.” The Kid, who was nursing his hand, looked up; wrinkled his low forehead that was hatless, and then softly whistled. Connor made no remark, but continued studying the girl with his one eye. Finally, with an effort at reasserting his authority, he growled: “Take an oar, Jim!” “But my hands! My God, that rope took all the--” “Do you expect me to do the rowing, Jim?” said Miss Carmichael. The Kid yielded then. The girl settled herself comfortably in the stem, looking back at the fire. Soon they were out of the circle of light. Suddenly Connor drew in his oar; stowed it away. “Dixie,” he remarked. “You've made up your mind to go through with this business, eh?” “Certainly,” she replied. “You'll have to come across if you want my help. I won't go it blind.” Miss Carmichael glanced back at the red glow in the sky, then out toward the slightly paling East. “I'll tell you by sunrise,” she said. “The thing won't keep much longer than that, anyhow. It'll have to be fairly quick work.”