“No one hit you, Mr. Byrne,” she said. “You were struck by a spear and are badly wounded.” Billy Byrne opened his eyes a little wider, turning them until they rested on the beautiful face of the girl so close to his. “MR. Byrne!” he ejaculated in disgust. “Forget it. Wot do youse tink I am, one of dose paper-collar dudes?” Then he sat up. Blood was flowing from a wound in his chest, saturating his shirt, and running slowly to the earth floor. There were two flesh wounds upon his head--one above the right eye and the other extending entirely across the left cheek from below the eye to the lobe of the ear--but these he had received earlier in the fracas. From crown to heel the man was a mass of blood. Through his crimson mask he looked at the pile of bodies in the far end of the room, and a broad grin cracked the dried blood about his mouth. “Wot we done to dem Chinks was sure a plenty, kiddo,” he remarked to Miss Harding, and then he came to his feet, seemingly as strong as ever, shaking himself like a great bull. “But I guess it's lucky youse butted in when you did, old pot,” he added, turning toward Theriere; “dey jest about had me down fer de long count.” Barbara Harding was looking at the man in wide-eyed amazement. A moment before she had been expecting him, momentarily, to breathe his last--now he was standing before her talking as unconcernedly as though he had not received a scratch--he seemed totally unaware of his wounds. At least he was entirely indifferent to them. “You're pretty badly hurt, old man,” said Theriere. “Do you feel able to make the attempt to get to the jungle? The Japs will be back in a moment.” “Sure!” cried Billy Byrne. “Come ahead,” and he sprang for the window. “Pass de kid up to me. Quick! Dey're comin' from in back.” Theriere lifted Barbara Harding to the mucker who drew her through the opening. Then Billy extended a hand to the Frenchman, and a moment later the three stood together outside the hut. A dozen samurai were running toward them from around the end of the “Palace.” The jungle lay a hundred yards across the clearing. There was no time to be lost. “You go first with Miss Harding,” cried Theriere. “I'll cover our retreat with my revolver, following close behind you.” The mucker caught the girl in his arms, throwing her across his shoulder. The blood from his wounds smeared her hands and clothing. “Hang tight, kiddo,” he cried, and started at a brisk trot toward the forest. Theriere kept close behind the two, reserving his fire until it could be effectively delivered. With savage yells the samurai leaped after their escaping quarry. The natives all carried the long, sharp spears of the aboriginal head-hunters. Their swords swung in their harness, and their ancient armor clanked as they ran.