Hardrock got home to the wind with one direct punch that sent Hughie Dunlevy two steps backward and brought down his hands--drove in another that rocked him, and then set himself deliberately for the finish. His feet shifting perfectly to keep balance, he now put over a light tap to the mouth, and then laughed. “How d’ye like it, Hughie? Come and get it, boy, come and get it--” With a gasping bellow of anguished fury, the other obeyed, rushed blindly into the blow that Hardrock smashed in with full force--a perfect solar-plexus knockout. Dunlevy simply doubled up and rolled to the ground. Two leaps took Hardrock to the boat. As he splashed through the water, wild yells chorused up behind him, and he glanced around to see dark figures bounding after him. He set himself against the heavy bow of the boat and shoved--vainly. He could not budge her. Desperate, he gave up the attempt and with a leap was dragging himself over her rail. Too late! They were upon him, three of them; that effort to shove her off had lost him his fighting chance. Mad with battlelust and moonshine whisky, they dragged him back and bore him down, all three hurtling in upon him bodily, careless of his blows, so that only they might land blows upon him. Slipping on the stones, he lost balance, went down, was stamped into the knee-deep water-- That was all he knew, for a time. Presently, half strangled and exhausted, Hardrock came to himself again. This time he found ankles and arms fast lashed by men who knew how to handle ropes. Beside him lay one of the Greeks, dark features masked by blood, beaten senseless and bound; the other Greek lay farther away, muttering low curses. Hardrock realized that some terrible sound had dragged him to life, and now it came once more--a low scream of agony. His head cleared slowly, as he visualized the scene before him. In the circle of firelight lay Hughie Dunlevy, still unconscious, and by him sat his brother Connie, weak and white and rather drunk, his arm all swathed in crimsoned bandages. The other four men, by the fire, held the frantically struggling figure of Marks, and were shoving his feet into the red embers. From the man broke another scream, this time rising shrill with pain and horror. “Quit it! Quit it! I’ll tell!” “Then talk, ye domned murderer,” growled Jimmy Basset. “Pull him out and give him a drink to make him talk, lads--” The groaning Marks waited for no drink. “It was them Greeks done it!” he cried desperately. “I wasn’t along with ’em, I tell ye! It was them two done it!” “All right,” snapped Bassett, lurching a little as he glared down at the captive. “And what about this Hardrock felly? Is he your boss?” “I don’t know him,” returned the unfortunate Marks. “Shove him in again, lads--” Marks screamed and twisted terribly. “No, no! Yes, he’s my boss. Sure he is.”