“Abe--Allen!” he screamed, and bounded back against the gunwale, lifting the ax as he rose. One swift blow, shortened and cramped by his position, was all he had time to deliver. Then his adversary was upon him with great, smothering paws that gripped his wrists and almost cracked the bones. The ax dropped from his hand, but he continued to struggle, kicking, twisting, fighting for time. And when he looked up he saw the moon flash on the white, grinning teeth of Congo, the deaf-mute. There was a roar and a crash in the fore part of the boat. Abe was in the fight. He had laid hold of a four-foot oak log and was swinging it at the end of his long, powerful arms like a cudgel. “Allen, bring the guns!” he yelled, and leaped forward, tiger-like, upon the attackers. Two of them went down under his rain of blows. Three others closed on him savagely, striking with fists and knives, and for a second Tad could see only a struggling tangle of bodies on the landing. Then Abe rolled free and bounded to his feet once more. He was still swinging the great club, and he put all his sinewy young strength into every smashing blow. His wrath was terrible to see. Never in his life had he fought as he was fighting now. The black marauders broke and fled, stumbling, before that onslaught, and Abe followed, giving them no quarter. All these events had taken place in the space of a few seconds. Still gripping Tad by the wrists, Congo had watched the swift, decisive battle between his confederates and the tall white boy. As they gave ground, he bared his teeth in a hideous snarl of fury. But he had his own work to do. The instant the landing was clear, the giant African seized Tad about the middle, swung him up under one huge arm, and sprang for the shoreward side of the boat. Locked in a death struggle with still another negro, Allen could give him no assistance. The boy caught at the gunwale as they went up, and clinging desperately with hands and feet, held his captor back for a second or two. Then his grip was wrenched loose, and the big black scaled the landing and started with him across the levee. They were almost in the edge of the cane when Tad heard a thud of feet behind them. With a hoarse indrawing of breath, Congo turned at bay. Still clutching his prisoner with his left hand, the deaf-mute raised his tremendous right arm to demolish the pursuer. It must have been a long time before he used that arm again. Abe, coming in on the run, struck downward swiftly, savagely, with the great oak cudgel. Under that crushing impact the bones parted with a dull crack, and Congo staggered, dropped Tad, and scuttled into the cane, the broken arm dangling horribly at his side. The breath had been squeezed half out of the boy, but as he rose he managed to gasp “Allen!” and pushed Abe in the direction of the boat.