His attack was the last straw. Unable, with their ignorant brains, to comprehend the apparently invulnerable nature of their two foes; awed, moreover, by the baronet’s firearms, the wolf-men turned, leapt the rail, and dashed across the beach in a frenzy of fear, with the hounds snarling savagely at their heels. Scarcely had the last left the deck, ere the scientist and his two friends were aboard. “It was magnificent!” Mervyn exclaimed, “magnificent! Never have I witnessed such a fight. You should have been a soldier, Seymour.” The baronet laughed as he removed his heavy helmet, and mopped his brow with a handkerchief borrowed from the Yankee. “The War Office might object to my fighting in chain mail,” he remarked. “Steady there!”--as Wilson made a move for the turret--“Nordhu must be below there somewhere. We must go slow, or the brute will be blowing the boat up.” “But he may be murdering Garth,” the engineer cried, “while we stand here talking.” At that moment the priest appeared at the door of the wheelhouse. Probably the cessation of hostilities had brought him on deck; but he had evidently never expected to see the vessel in possession of the men whom he had left without weapons upon the beach. No doubt he thought his savages would be able to repel all attacks of the unarmed white strangers and their gigantic friend. How bitter was his chagrin, the expression of his face showed. Even then, however, trapped though he appeared to be, he made one last bid for life. Like a flash he darted across the deck, no trace of a limp apparent in his movements. Past Haverly and Mervyn--both of whom were standing somewhat apart from the rest--he dashed; but unwilling to let him escape, the scientist grabbed at his robe. Like the wolf he was at heart, Nordhu swung round, and a weapon flashed from beneath his mantle. With a hoarse cry of warning, the Yankee leapt forward. The next instant the report of a revolver rang out, and Haverly dropped with a sob, the blood welling up from a wound in his breast. The priest, with diabolical cunning, had discovered the secret of the fire-weapons, and had used it to some purpose. But it was his last effort. His time had come! With a bound Chenobi was upon him; his weapon was hurled over the rail, and the mailed hand of the Ayuti gripped his neck. An effort of the king’s mighty muscles, hardened to steel by the lust for vengeance which gripped him, and the head of the priest was bent backward. A scream of agony burst from Nordhu’s lips, but the merciless pressure was continued until, like a rotten stick, his neck snapped, and he dropped lifeless to the deck. Chenobi’s brother was avenged! But though the priest was dead, his fell work remained. The plucky American, who had saved Mervyn’s life by risking his own, lay bleeding and unconscious where he had fallen, and at first glance there seemed little hope of his recovery. Badly wounded he was, without a doubt, whether mortally or not remained to be seen.