The sailors might have fired again, only that they were afraid of attracting attention by the reports. Besides, seeing that Nick Carter had flung himself upon the first mate, they were for a moment uncertain what to do. The detective and Kennedy came together with a crash. Outlaws as they were, the sailors of the piratical yacht out there in the bay were inclined to let the duel between the two giants go on till one or the other had gained a victory. The seamen enjoyed a good fight, whether they were in it personally or not. This was a good thing for the detective now. He was perfectly aware that, if he won, they might get a chance to close in and overpower him. But, even with that, he would make a dash for freedom, to come back with reënforcements later. Letting his pistol fall to the sand, Nick went for his tall foe with his bare fists. Kennedy, being on the defensive, parried the detective’s straight lunge, and got a knee lock on his adversary. Nick, carried into close quarters as his opponent met his rush, started a long, slow, heartbreaking twist which was almost as grueling on himself as on Kennedy. The latter was in good condition physically--hard as nails and full of aggressiveness. If he had been weaker than Nick Carter, the detective could not have made such progress with his mode of attack. Carter’s supple form bent to every turn, and though Kennedy tried to crush him by main strength, his adversary could laugh at all his efforts. Then Nick took a new line--or, rather, an amplification of his first method of attack. Slowly he threw his powerful leg outward and twined it around that of the panting first mate. Kennedy fought hard to keep out of this lock. But he could not help himself. The hold the detective had on him was almost breaking his back, and he knew that if he relaxed for the slightest fraction of a moment, the awful pressure of Nick Carter’s steellike arms would crumple him up like a dried leaf in a hurricane. The crucial moment came. Kennedy was compelled to give way slightly, in the hope of relieving the pain in his breaking back. That was what Nick had been waiting for. Seizing the opening like lightning, his leg flew around to the position he had been seeking. Now he knew he had his man under control. Twisting with the suppleness and power of a boa constrictor, he ducked and heaved. As he did so, a gasp of involuntary admiration went up from the sailors. There was no alternative for the first mate now but to yield or break in two. The next instant he was sent flying over the detective’s head in a neat and scientific cross-buttock, landing upside down on the sand, where, with a groan, he lay without motion and “all in.” Although Nick Carter was well breathed by his exertions, and gasped hard as he sought to recover himself, there was plenty of fight left in him. The sailors came at him in a body.