ARRELL'S right shot out and reached the point of a shadowy chin with a crack which lifted the Jap off his feet and sent him whirling backward out of the circle. Almost with the same movement, it seemed, he planted his left between a pair of blinking eyes, and another man plowed a furrow in the sand with his head and shoulders. This brought no respite; instantly the gaps were filled, and the circle closed in.
A slight, muscular figure flung itself forward like a diver taking the surf, and Darrell felt two arms gripping his right leg tenaciously, while eager hands clutched him on every side. A fierce kick ended in the crunch of leather against flesh. There was a gasping grunt, and the clinging hold relaxed. The secret-service agent grasped a wrist, and, with a practiced twist, a heave of his splendid shoulder muscles and taut biceps, he sent another little man spinning through the air to land a dozen feet away with a dull, bone-cracking thud.
Still those who were left persisted doggedly in the effort to overpower him, and the almost utter silence with which they fought was awesome. There were no shouts or yells or shrill cries. The silence was broken only by the thud of pounding feet, the hissing intake of swift-drawn breaths, the smothered gasps which followed a blow striking home.
A fierce, joyous lust of battle was throbbing in Darrell's veins, gleaming in his eyes, and adding strength to every well-directed blow. His knuckles were raw and bleeding, his face and neck were torn by clutching hands, his breath began to come in uneven gasps; but the smarting pain and weariness were swallowed up in the savage thrill of combat.
Suddenly from behind Bellamy's panting changed to a stifled gasp of dismay, and Darrell knew intuitively that his friend was being dragged down. A swift, heavy body blow sent the sole remaining Jap who faced the secret-service agent toppling back into the mist, and, whirling, he saw Bellamy prone on the ground, struggling desperately against the weight and clutching hold of four wiry brown men.
Two of these instantly relinquished the fallen man and sprang up to face the government agent. As they leaped forward, Darrell met them halfway, and for the fraction of a second the three seemed closed in an indistinguishable embrace. Then, one after another, the Japs, beaten at their own favorite jujutsu, whirled through the air, struck the sand heavily, rolled over for a turn or two, and lay temporarily stunned.
The two remaining assailants, seeing that they had no chance, started to run, but they were too late. Bellamy had the presence of mind to grip one by the ankle, while Darrell caught the other by the neck, and in an instant both were hors de combat.
Even now there was no time to pause for breath. From the plateau had come the sound of shouts, and a clatter of rolling stones told Darrell that a fresh squad of Japanese were swarming to the scene. With a swift, swooping motion, he caught Bellamy under the arms and dragged him to his feet. Supporting the dazed and panting Californian, he whirled toward the beach at a staggering run.
“Don't bother—with me, Jack,” Bellamy gasped presently. “I'm—all—in.”
“Only winded, aren't you?”
“Yes; but—you'd better”
“Shut up, and save your breath!”
Bellamy relapsed into silence, because of something in his friend's voice which dominated him. The mist was very thick, and they ran blindly, sometimes on hard sand, sometimes splashing through the frothy, lapping water they could not even see. Gradually the Californian got his second wind, and, with the dragging handicap of his weight removed from Darrell's shoulders, they made slightly better speed. Behind them the sounds of pursuit seemed to increase with every stride they took.
“Where” gasped Bellamy at last.
“The yacht,” panted his companion. “It's a slim chance, but—the only one. The wireless. If I can only get in touch—with La Paz—put them wise and”
They stumbled on. Presently they realized, with an odd sort of shock, that they were passing the row of houses which formed the little settlement. Only the vaguest outlines showed through the mist, with here and there the dim, diffused glow of a lighted window. As they padded silently along the beach, they heard the drawling murmur of voices, punctuated by the intermittent tinkle of a mandolin. Evidently their absence, which must have been discovered by this time, was causing the Mexicans no uneasiness. Doubtless they had known from the beginning, Darrell thought grimly, that the two gringos would not be allowed to go far.
“How are we going to get aboard?” Bellamy asked, as they felt the planking of the dock under their feet, and hurried out upon it.