The Mucker by Edgar Rice Burroughs

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When he had come to man's estate he had defended himself
from the woman's brutal assaults as he would have defended
himself from another man--when she had struck, Billy had
struck back; the only thing to his credit being that he never
had struck her except in self-defense. Chastity in woman was
to him a thing to joke of--he did not believe that it existed;
for he judged other women by the one he knew best--his
mother. And as he hated her, so he hated them all. He had
doubly hated Barbara Harding since she not only was a
woman, but a woman of the class he loathed.

And so it was strange and inexplicable that the suggestion
of the girl's probable fate should have affected Billy Byrne as
it did. He did not stop to reason about it at all--he simply
knew that he felt a mad and unreasoning rage against the
creatures that had borne the girl away. Outwardly Billy
showed no indication of the turmoil that raged within his
breast.

"We gotta find her, bo," he said to Theriere. "We gotta
find the skirt."

Ordinarily Billy would have blustered about the terrible
things he would do to the objects of his wrath when once he
had them in his power; but now he was strangely quiet--only
the firm set of his strong chin, and the steely glitter of his gray
eyes gave token of the iron resolution within.

Theriere, who had been walking slowly to and fro about
the dead men, now called the others to him.

"Here's their trail," he said. "If it's as plain as that all the
way we won't be long in overhauling them. Come along."

Before he had the words half out of his mouth the mucker
was forging ahead through the jungle along the well-marked
spoor of the samurai.

"Wot kind of men do you suppose they are?" asked Red
Sanders.

"Malaysian head-hunters, unquestionably," replied Theriere.

Red Sanders shuddered inwardly. The appellation had a
most gruesome sound.

"Come on!" cried Theriere, and started off after the mucker,
who already was out of sight in the thick forest.

Red Sanders and Wison took a few steps after the Frenchman.
Theriere turned once to see that they were following
him, and then a turn in the trail hid them from his view. Red
Sanders stopped.

"Damme if I'm goin' to get my coconut hacked off on any
such wild-goose chase as this," he said to Wison.

"The girl's more'n likely dead long ago," said the other.

"Sure she is," returned Red Sanders, "an' if we go buttin'
into that there thicket we'll be dead too. Ugh! Poor Miller.
Poor Swenson. It's orful. Did you see wot they done to 'em
beside cuttin' off their heads?"

"Yes," whispered Wison, looking suddenly behind him.

Red Sanders gave a little start, peering in the direction that
his companion had looked.

"Wot was it?" he whimpered. "Wot did you do that fer?"

"I thought I seen something move there," replied Wison.
"Fer Gawd's sake let's get outen this," and without waiting
for a word of assent from his companion the sailor turned
and ran at breakneck speed along the little path toward the
spot where Divine, Blanco, and Bony Sawyer were stationed.
When they arrived Bony was just on the point of setting out
for the spring to fetch water, but at sight of the frightened,
breathless men he returned to hear their story.

"What's up?" shouted Divine. "You men look as though
you'd seen a ghost. Where are the others?"

"They're all murdered, and their heads cut off," cried Red
Sanders. "We found the bunch that got Miller, Swenson, and
the girl. They'd killed 'em all and was eatin' of 'em when we
jumps 'em. Before we knew wot had happened about a
thousand more of the devils came runnin' up. They got us
separated, and when we seen Theriere and Byrne kilt we jest
natch'rally beat it. Gawd, but it was orful."

"Do you think they will follow you?" asked Divine.

At the suggestion every head turned toward the trail down
which the two panic-stricken men had just come. At the same
moment a hoarse shout arose from the cove below and the
five looked down to see a scene of wild activity upon the
beach. The defection of Theriere's party had been discovered,
as well as the absence of the girl and the theft of the
provisions.

Skipper Simms was dancing about like a madman. His
bellowed oaths rolled up the cliffs like thunder. Presently
Ward caught a glimpse of the men at the top of the cliff
above him.

"There they are!" he cried.

Skipper Simms looked up.

"The swabs!" he shrieked. "A-stealin' of our grub, an'
abductin' of that there pore girl. The swabs! Lemme to 'em, I
say; jest lemme to 'em."

"We'd all better go to 'em," said Ward. "We've got a fight
on here sure. Gather up some rocks, men, an' come along.
Skipper, you're too fat to do any fightin' on that there hillside,
so you better stay here an' let one o' the men take your gun,"
for Ward knew so well the mettle of his superior that he much
preferred his absence to his presence in the face of real
fighting, and with the gun in the hands of a braver man it
would be vastly more effective.

Ward himself was no lover of a fight, but he saw now that
starvation might stare them in the face with their food gone,
and everything be lost with the loss of the girl. For food and
money a much more cowardly man than Bender Ward would
fight to the death.

Up the face of the cliff they hurried, expecting momentarily
to be either challenged or fired upon by those above them.
Divine and his party looked down with mixed emotions upon
those who were ascending in so threatening a manner. They
found themselves truly between the devil and the deep sea.

Ward and his men were halfway up the cliff, yet Divine had
made no move to repel them. He glanced timorously toward
the dark forest behind from which he momentarily expected to
see the savage, snarling faces of the head-hunters appear.

"Surrender! You swabs," called Ward from below, "or we'll
string the last mother's son of you to the yardarm."

For reply Blanco hurled a heavy fragment of rock at the
assaulters. It grazed perilously close to Ward, against whom
Blanco cherished a keen hatred. Instantly Ward's revolver
barked, the bullet whistling close by Divine's head. L.
Cortwrite Divine, cotillion leader, ducked behind Theriere's
breastwork, where he lay sprawled upon his belly, trembling in
terror.

Bony Sawyer and Red Sanders followed the example of
their commander. Blanco and Wison alone made any attempt
to repel the assault. The big Negro ran to Divine's side and
snatched the terror-stricken man's revolver from his belt. Then
turning he fired at Ward. The bullet, missing its intended
victim, pierced the heart of a sailor directly behind him, and as
the man crumpled to the ground, rolling down the steep
declivity, his fellows sought cover.

Wison followed up the advantage with a shower of well-aimed
missiles, and then hostilities ceased temporarily.

"Have they gone?" queried Divine, with trembling lips,
noticing the quiet that followed the shot.

"Gone nothin'," yo big cowahd," replied Blanco. "Do yo
done suppose dat two men is a-gwine to stan' off five? Ef yo
white-livered skunks 'ud git up an' fight we might have a
chanct. I'se a good min' to cut out yo cowahdly heart fer yo,
das wot I has--a-lyin' der on yo belly settin' dat kin' o'
example to yo men!"

Divine's terror had placed him beyond the reach of contumely
or reproach.

"What's the use of fighting them?" he whimpered. "We
should never have left them. It's all the fault of that fool
Theriere. What can we do against the savages of this awful
island if we divide our forces? They will pick us off a few at a
time just as they picked off Miller and Swenson, Theriere and
Byrne. We ought to tell Ward about it, and call this foolish
battle off."

"Now you're talkin'," cried Bony Sawyer. "I'm not a-goin'
to squat up here any longer with my friends a-shootin' at me
from below an' a lot of wild heathen creeping down on me
from above to cut off my bloomin' head."

"Same here!" chimed in Red Sanders.

Blanco looked toward Wison. For his own part the Negro
would not have been averse to returning to the fold could the
thing be accomplished without danger of reprisal on the part
of Skipper Simms and Ward; but he knew the men so well
that he feared to trust them even should they seemingly
acquiesce to any such proposal. On the other hand, he
reasoned, it would be as much to their advantage to have the
deserters return to them as it would to the deserters themselves,
for when they had heard the story told by Red Sanders
and Wison of the murder of the others of the party they too
would realize the necessity for maintaining the strength of the
little company to its fullest.

"I don't see that we're goin' to gain nothin' by fightin'
'em," said Wison. "There ain't nothin' in it any more nohow
for nobody since the girl's gorn. Let's chuck it, an' see wot
terms we can make with Squint Eye."

"Well," grumbled the Negro, "I can't fight 'em alone; What
yo doin' dere, Bony?"

During the conversation Bony Sawyer had been busy with
a stick and a piece of rag, and now as he turned toward his
companions once more they saw that he had rigged a white
flag of surrender. None interfered as he raised it above the
edge of the breastwork.

Immediately there was a hail from below. It was Ward's
voice.

"Surrenderin', eh? Comin' to your senses, are you?" he
shouted.

Divine, feeling that immediate danger from bullets was past,
raised his head above the edge of the earthwork.

"We have something to communicate, Mr. Ward," he called.

"Spit it out, then; I'm a-listenin'," called back the mate.

"Miss Harding, Mr. Theriere, Byrne, Miller, and Swenson
have been captured and killed by native head-hunters," said
Divine.

Ward's eyes went wide, and he blew out his cheeks in
surprise. Then his face went black with an angry scowl.

"You see what you done now, you blitherin' fools, you!"
he cried, "with your funny business? You gone an' killed the
goose what laid the golden eggs. Thought you'd get it all,
didn't you? and now nobody won't get nothin', unless it is the
halter. Nice lot o' numbskulls you be, an' whimperin' 'round
now expectin' of us to take you back--well, I reckon not, not
on your measly lives," and with that he raised his revolver to
fire again at Divine.

The society man toppled over backward into the pit behind
the breastwork before Ward had a chance to pull the trigger.

"Hol' on there mate!" cried Bony Sawyer; "there ain't no
call now fer gettin' excited. Wait until you hear all we gotta
say. You can't blame us pore sailormen. It was this here fool
dude and that scoundrel Theriere that put us up to it. They
told us that you an' Skipper Simms was a-fixin' to double-cross
us all an' leave us here to starve on this Gawd-forsaken
islan'. Theriere said that he was with you when you planned
it. That you wanted to git rid o' as many of us as you could
so that you'd have more of the ransom to divide. So all we
done was in self-defense, as it were.

"Why not let bygones be bygones, an' all of us join forces
ag'in' these murderin' heathen? There won't be any too many
of us at best--Red an' Wison seen more'n two thousan' of
the man-eatin' devils. They're a-creepin' up on us from behin'
right this minute, an' you can lay to that; an' the chances are
that they got some special kind o' route into that there cove,
an' maybe they're a-watchin' of you right now!"

Ward turned an apprehensive glance to either side. There
was logic in Bony's proposal. They couldn't spare a man now.
Later he could punish the offenders at his leisure--when he
didn't need them any further.

"Will you swear on the Book to do your duty by Skipper
Simms an' me if we take you back?" asked Ward.

"You bet," answered Bony Sawyer.

The others nodded their heads, and Divine sprang up and
started down toward Ward.

"Hol' on you!" commanded the mate. "This here arrangement
don' include you--it's jes' between Skipper Simms an'
his sailors. You're a rank outsider, an' you butts in an' starts
a mutiny. Ef you come back you gotta stand trial fer that--see?"
"You better duck, mister," advised Red Sanders; "they'll
hang you sure."

Divine went white. To face trial before two such men as
Simms and Ward meant death, of that he was positive. To flee
into the forest meant death, almost equally certain, and much
more horrible. The man went to his knees, lifting supplicating
hands to the mate.

"For God's sake, Mr. Ward," he cried, "be merciful. I was
led into this by Theriere. He lied to me just as he did to the
men. You can't kill me--it would be murder--they'd hang
you for it."

"We'll hang for this muss you got us into anyway, if we're
ever caught," growled the mate. "Ef you hadn't a-carried the
girl off to be murdered we might have had enough ransom
money to have got clear some way, but now you gone and
cooked the whole goose fer the lot of us."

"You can collect ransom on me," cried Divine, clutching at
a straw. "I'll pay a hundred thousand myself the day you set
me down in a civilized port, safe and free."

Ward laughed in his face.

"You ain't got a cent, you four-flusher," he cried. "Clinker
put us next to that long before we sailed from Frisco."

"Clinker lies," cried Divine. "He doesn't know anything
about it--I'm rich."

"Wot's de use ob chewin' de rag 'bout all dis," cried
Blanco, seeing where he might square himself with Ward and
Simms easily. "Does yo' take back all us sailormen, Mr. Ward,
an' promise not t' punish none o' us, ef we swear to stick by
yo' all in de future?"

"Yes," replied the mate.

Blanco took a step toward Divine.

"Den yo come along too as a prisoner, white man," and
the burly black grasped Divine by the scruff of the neck and
forced him before him down the steep trail toward the cove,
and so the mutineers returned to the command of Skipper
Simms, and L. Cortwrite Divine went with them as a prisoner,
charged with a crime the punishment for which has been
death since men sailed the seas.

CHAPTER XI

THE VILLAGE OF YOKA

FOR several minutes Barbara Harding lay where she had
collapsed after the keen short sword of the daimio had freed
her from the menace of his lust.

She was in a half-stupor that took cognizance only of a
freezing terror and exhaustion. Presently, however, she became
aware of her contact with the corpse beside her, and with a
stifled cry she shrank away from it.

Slowly the girl regained her self-control and with it came
the realization of the extremity of her danger. She rose to a
sitting posture and turned her wide eyes toward the doorway
to the adjoining room--the women and children seemed yet
wrapped in slumber. It was evident that the man's scream had
not disturbed them.

Barbara gained her feet and moved softly to the doorway.
She wondered if she could cross the intervening space to the
outer exit without detection. Once in the open she could flee
to the jungle, and then there was a chance at least that she
might find her way to the coast and Theriere.

She gripped the short sword which she still held, and took
a step into the larger room. One of the women turned and
half roused from sleep. The girl shrank back into the darkness
of the chamber she had just quitted. The woman sat up and
looked around. Then she rose and threw some sticks upon the
fire that burned at one side of the dwelling. She crossed to a
shelf and took down a cooking utensil. Barbara saw that she
was about to commence the preparation of breakfast.

All hope of escape was thus ended, and the girl cautiously
closed the door between the two rooms. Then she felt about
the smaller apartment for some heavy object with which to
barricade herself; but her search was fruitless. Finally she
bethought herself of the corpse. That would hold the door
against the accident of a child or dog pushing it open--it
would be better than nothing, but could she bring herself to
touch the loathsome thing?

The instinct of self-preservation will work wonders even
with a frail and delicate woman. Barbara Harding steeled
herself to the task, and after several moments of effort she
succeeded in rolling the dead man against the door. The
scraping sound of the body as she dragged it into position
had sent cold shivers running up her spine.

She had removed the man's long sword and armor before
attempting to move him, and now she crouched beside the
corpse with both the swords beside her--she would sell her
life dearly. Theriere's words came back to her now as they
had when she was struggling in the water after the wreck of
the Halfmoon: "but, by George, I intend to go down fighting."
Well, she could do no less.

She could hear the movement of several persons in the next
room now. The voices of women and children came to her
distinctly. Many of the words were Japanese, but others were
of a tongue with which she was not familiar.

Presently her own chamber began to lighten. She looked
over her shoulder and saw the first faint rays of dawn showing
through a small aperture near the roof and at the opposite
end of the room. She rose and moved quickly toward it. By
standing on tiptoe and pulling herself up a trifle with her
hands upon the sill she was able to raise her eyes above the
bottom of the window frame.

Beyond she saw the forest, not a hundred yards away; but
when she attempted to crawl through the opening she discovered
to her chagrin that it was too small to permit the passage
of her body. And then there came a knocking on the door
she had just quitted, and a woman's voice calling her lord and
master to his morning meal.

Barbara ran quickly across the chamber to the door, the
long sword raised above her head in both hands. Again the
woman knocked, this time much louder, and raised her voice
as she called again upon Oda Yorimoto to come out.

The girl within was panic-stricken. What should she do?
With but a little respite she might enlarge the window sufficiently
to permit her to escape into the forest, but the woman
at the door evidently would not be denied. Suddenly an
inspiration came to her. It was a forlorn hope, but well worth
putting to the test.

"Hush!" she hissed through the closed door. "Oda Yorimoto
sleeps. It is his wish that he be not disturbed."

For a moment there was silence beyond the door, and then
the woman grunted, and Barbara heard her turn back, muttering
to herself. The girl breathed a deep sigh of relief--she
had received a brief reprieve from death.

Again she turned to the window, where, with the short
sword, she commenced her labor of enlarging it to permit the
passage of her body. The work was necessarily slow because
of the fact that it must proceed with utter noiselessness.

For an hour she worked, and then again came an interruption
at the door. This time it was a man.

"Oda Yorimoto still sleeps," whispered the girl. "Go away
and do not disturb him. He will be very angry if you awaken
him."

But the man would not be put off so easily as had the
woman. He still insisted.

"The daimio has ordered that there shall be a great hunt
today for the heads of the sei-yo-jin who have landed upon
Yoka," persisted the man. "He will be angry indeed if we do
not call him in time to accomplish the task today. Let me
speak with him, woman. I do not believe that Oda Yorimoto
still sleeps. Why should I believe one of the sei-yo-jin? It may
be that you have bewitched the daimio," and with that he
pushed against the door.

The corpse gave a little, and the man glued his eyes to the
aperture. Barbara held the sword behind her, and with her
shoulder against the door attempted to reclose it.

"Go away!" she cried. "I shall be killed if you awaken Oda
Yorimoto, and, if you enter, you, too, shall be killed."

The man stepped back from the door, and Barbara could
hear him in low converse with some of the women of the
household. A moment later he returned, and without a word
of warning threw his whole weight against the portal. The
corpse slipped back enough to permit the entrance of the
man's body, and as he stumbled into the room the long sword
of the Lord of Yoka fell full and keen across the back of his
brown neck.

Without a sound he lunged to the floor, dead; but the
women without had caught a fleeting glimpse of what had
taken place within the little chamber, even before Barbara
Harding could slam the door again, and with shrieks of
rage and fright they rushed into the main street of the village
shouting at the tops of their voices that Oda Yorimoto and
Hawa Nisho had been slain by the woman of the sei-yo-jin.

Instantly, the village swarmed with samurai, women, children,
and dogs. They rushed toward the hut of Oda Yorimoto, filling
the outer chamber where they jabbered excitedly for
several minutes, the warriors attempting to obtain a coherent
story from the moaning women of the daimio's household.

Barbara Harding crouched close to the door, listening. She
knew that the crucial moment was at hand; that there were at
best but a few moments for her to live. A silent prayer rose
from her parted lips. She placed the sharp point of Oda
Yorimoto's short sword against her breast, and waited--
waited for the coming of the men from the room beyond,
snatching a few brief seconds from eternity ere she drove the
weapon into her heart.

Theriere plunged through the jungle at a run for several
minutes before he caught sight of the mucker.

"Are you still on the trail?" he called to the man before
him.

"Sure," replied Byrne. "It's dead easy. They must o' been at
least a dozen of 'em. Even a mutt like me couldn't miss it."

"We want to go carefully, Byrne," cautioned Theriere. "I've
had experience with these fellows before, and I can tell you
that you never know when one of 'em is near you till you feel
a spear in your back, unless you're almighty watchful. We've
got to make all the haste we can, of course, but it won't help
Miss Harding any if we rush into an ambush and get our
heads lopped off."

Byrne saw the wisdom of his companion's advice and tried
to profit by it; but something which seemed to dominate him
today carried him ahead at reckless, breakneck speed--the
flight of an eagle would have been all too slow to meet the
requirements of his unaccountable haste.

Once he found himself wondering why he was risking his
life to avenge or rescue this girl whom he hated so. He tried
to think that it was for the ransom--yes, that was it, the
ransom. If he found her alive, and rescued her he should
claim the lion's share of the booty.

Theriere too wondered why Byrne, of all the other men
upon the Halfmoon the last that he should have expected to
risk a thing for the sake of Miss Harding, should be the
foremost in pursuit of her captors.

"I wonder how far behind Sanders and Wison are," he
remarked to Byrne after they had been on the trail for the
better part of an hour. "Hadn't we better wait for them to
catch up with us? Four can do a whole lot more than two."

"Not wen Billy Byrne's one of de two," replied the mucker,
and continued doggedly along the trail.

Another half-hour brought them suddenly in sight of a
native village, and Billy Byrne was for dashing straight into
the center of it and "cleaning it up," as he put it, but
Theriere put his foot down firmly on that proposition, and
finally Byrne saw that the other was right.

"The trail leads straight toward that place," said Theriere,
"so I suppose here is where they brought her, but which of
the huts she's in now we ought to try to determine before we
make any attempt to rescue her. Well, by George! Now
what do you think of that?"

"Tink o' wot?" asked the mucker. "Wot's eatin' yeh?"

"See those three men down there in the village, Byrne?"
asked the Frenchman. "They're no more aboriginal headhunters
than I am--they're Japs, man. There must be something wrong
with our trailing, for it's as certain as fate itself
that Japs are not head-hunters."

"There ain't been nothin' fony about our trailin', bo,"
insisted Byrne, "an' whether Japs are bean collectors or not
here's where de ginks dat copped de doll hiked fer, an if dey
ain't dere now it's because dey went t'rough an' out de odder
side, see."

"Hush, Byrne," whispered Theriere. "Drop down behind
this bush. Someone is coming along this other trail to the right
of us," and as he spoke he dragged the mucker down beside
him.

For a moment they crouched, breathless and expectant, and
then the slim figure of an almost nude boy emerged from the
foliage close beside and entered the trail toward the village.
Upon his head he bore a bundle of firewood.

When he was directly opposite the watchers Theriere sprang
suddenly upon him, clapping a silencing hand over the boy's
mouth. In Japanese he whispered a command for silence.

"We shall not harm you if you keep still," he said, "and
answer our questions truthfully. What village is that?"

"It is the chief city of Oda Yorimoto, Lord of Yoka,"
replied the youth. "I am Oda Iseka, his son."

"And the large hut in the center of the village street is the
palace of Oda Yorimoto?" guessed Theriere shrewdly.

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