“Not very pretty to look at, is he?” asked Ralph, indicating by a nod the huge Chinaman who had slipped noiselessly past them on his way to the galley.

“He isn’t exactly a beauty,” assented Tom, looking after the retreating figure, “but then what Chinaman is? Besides he didn’t sign as an Adonis, but as an assistant cook. What do you expect to get for your twelve dollars a month and found?”

“Well, I’d hate to meet him up an alley on a dark night, especially if he had a knife,” persisted Ralph. “If ever villainy looked out from a fellow’s face it does from his.”

“Don’t wake him up, he is dreaming,” laughed Bert.

quoted Dick.

“Come out of your trance, Ralph, and look at these two junks just coming out from that point of land over there,” rallied Tom. “Those fellows handle them smartly, don’t they?”

It was a glorious evening off the China coast. The Fearless had hoisted anchor and turned her prow toward home. Every revolution of the screws was bringing them nearer to the land of the Stars and Stripes. The sea was like quicksilver, there was a following wind, the powerful engines were moving like clockwork, and everything indicated a fast and prosperous voyage.

The boys were gathered at the rail, and, as Tom spoke, they gazed with interest at the two long narrow junks that were drawing swiftly toward them. All sails were set and they slipped with surprising celerity through the water.

“They both seem to be going in the same direction,” said Ralph. “It almost looks as though they were racing. I’ll bet on the—What was that?”

The ship shook from stem to stern as though her machinery had been suddenly thrown out of place.

The captain rushed down from the bridge and the mates came running forward. The boys had leaped to their feet and looked at each other in dismay. Then, with one accord, they plunged down in the direction of the engine-room. Before they reached it they could hear the hoarse shouts of MacGregor and his assistants as they shut off the steam, and the ship losing headway tossed helplessly up and down.

“What is it Mr. MacGregor?” asked the captain.

“I canna’ tell yet,” answered Mac. “Something must have dropped into the machinery. And yet I’ll swear there was nothing lying around loose. But I’ll find out.”

A minute or two passed and then with a snarl and an oath, he held up a heavy wrench.

“Here’s the thing that did it,” he yelled, “and it didn’t get there by accident either. I ken every tool aboard this ship and I never set eyes on this before. Somebody threw it there to wreck the engines.”

“To wreck the engines,” repeated Captain Manning. “Why? Who’d want to do anything like that?”

“I dinna’ ken,” said Mac stubbornly. “I only know some one must ha’. I’d like to get these twa hands of mine on his throat.”

“Has any one been here except you and your men?” asked the captain.

“No one—leastwise nane but the Chink. He stopped to say——”

Bert jumped as though he had been shot. The Chinaman of the villainous face—those junks putting out from land! Like a flash he was up the ladder and out on the deserted deck. His heart stood still as he looked astern.

The two junks were seething with activity and excitement. The decks were packed with men. All pretense of secrecy was abandoned. The stopping of the ship had evidently been the signal they were expecting. All sails were bent to catch every breath of air, and long sweeps darted suddenly from the sides. The prows threw up fountains of water on each side as the junks made for the crippled ship like wolves leaping on the flanks of a wounded deer.

Bert took this in at a single glance. He saw it all—the Chinese accomplice, the carefully prepared plan, the wrecking of the machinery. His voice rang out like a trumpet:

“Pirates! Pirates! All hands on deck!”

Then, while the officers and crew came tumbling up from below, he rushed to the wireless room and pressed the spark key. The blue flames sputtered, as up and down the China coast and far out to sea his message flashed:

“Attacked by pirates. Help. Quick.”

Then followed the latitude and longitude. He could not wait for a reply. Three times at intervals of a few seconds he sent the call, and then he sprang from his seat.

“Here, Howland,” he shouted, as his assistant appeared at the door. “Keep sending right along. It’s a matter of life and death. Let me know if an answer comes.”

Then he grabbed his .45 and rushed on deck. A fight was coming—a fight against fearful odds. And his blood grew hot with the lust of battle.

Short sharp words of command ran over the ship. The officers and crew were at their places. The women passengers had been sent below and an incipient panic had been quelled at the start. The officers had their revolvers loaded and ready and the crew were armed with capstan bars and marlinspikes beside the sheath knives that they all carried. There was no cannon, except a small signal gun on board the ship, and this the pirates knew. The battle must be hand to hand. The odds were heavy. The decks of the enemy swarmed with yelling devils naked to the waist and armed to the teeth. They were at least five to one and had the advantage of the attack and the surprise.

The boys were grouped together at the stern toward which the junks were pulling. All had revolvers, and heavy bars lay near by to be grabbed when they should come to hand-grips with the pirates. They looked into each others eyes and each rejoiced at what he saw there. Together they had faced death before and won out; to-day, they were facing it again, and the chances were against their winning. Yet they never quailed or flinched. The spirit of ’76 was there—the spirit of 1812—the spirit of ’61. They came of a fighting stock; a race that could face and whip the world or die in the trying. They glanced at Old Glory floating serenely above their heads, and each swore to himself that if he died defeated he would not die disgraced. Their fingers tightened on the butts of their weapons, their teeth clinched and their eyes grew hard.

The captain, cool and stern, as he always was in a crisis, had divided his forces into two equal parts. He himself commanded on the port side, while Mr. Collins took charge of the starboard. A long line of hose had been connected with the boiling water of the engine room, and two sailors held the nozzle as it writhed and twisted on the rail. Had there been but one junk, this might have proved decisive, but, in the nature of things, it could only defend one side of the ship. The pirates were proceeding on the plan of “divide and conquer.” As they drew rapidly nearer, they separated, and while one dashed at the port side of the ship, the other swept around under the starboard quarter. Then a horde of half-naked yellow fiends with knives held between their teeth swarmed up the sides, grabbed at the rails and sought to obtain a foothold. A volley of bullets swept the first of them away, but their places were instantly taken by others. The boiling water rushed in a torrent over the port side, and the scalded scoundrels fell back. But it was only for a moment and still they kept coming with unabated fury.

Bert and his comrades fought shoulder to shoulder. Their revolvers barked again and again and the snarling yellow faces were so near that they could not miss. Many fell back dead and wounded, but they never quit; and when the revolvers were emptied, a number of the pirates got over the rail, while the boys were reloading. Then followed a savage hand-to-hand fight. Iron bars came down with sickening crashes; knives flashed and fell and rose and fell again. The pirates were gaining a foothold and the little band of defenders was hard pressed. But just then reinforcements came in the form of MacGregor and his husky stokers and engineers. They had been trying desperately to repair the engines, but the sounds of the fight above had been too much for them to stand, and now they came headlong into the fight, their brawny arms swinging iron bars like flails. They turned the tide at that critical moment and the pirates were driven back over the sides. They dropped sullenly into the junks and drew away from the ship until they were out of range of bullets. Then they stopped and took breath before renewing the attack. They had suffered terribly, but they still vastly outnumbered the defenders.

The boys reloaded their revolvers, watching the enemy narrowly.

“I wonder if they have enough,” said Dick as he bound a handkerchief around a slight flesh wound in his left arm.

“I don’t think so,” answered Bert, “their blood is up and they know how few we are as compared with themselves. They certainly fought like wildcats.”

“They’re live wires sure enough,” agreed Tom. “They—why Bert, what’s the matter?” he exclaimed as Bert sprang to his feet excitedly.

But Bert had rushed to the captain and was eagerly laying before him the plan that Tom’s words had unwittingly suggested.

The captain listened intently and an immense relief spread over his features. He issued his orders promptly. Great coils of heavy wire were brought from the storeroom and under Bert’s supervision were wound in parallel rows about the stern of the ship. At first sight it looked as though they were inviting the pirates to grasp them and thus easily reach the deck. It seemed like committing suicide. The work was carried on with feverish energy and by the time the pirates swung their boats around and again headed for the ship, there was a treble row of wires about a foot apart on both the port and starboard side.

The revolvers had all been reloaded and every man stood ready. But the tenseness of a few minutes before was lacking. For the first time since the fight began Captain Manning smiled contentedly.

“Don’t fire, men, unless I give the word. Stand well back from the rail and wait for orders.”

On came the pirates yelling exultantly. The silence of the defenders was so strange and unnatural that it might well have daunted a more imaginative or less determined foe. Not a shot was fired, not a man stirred. They might have been dream men on a dream ship for any sign of life and movement. The crowded junks bore down on either side of the ship, and as though with a single movement, a score of pirates leaped at the rails and grasped the wires to pull themselves aboard.

Then a wonderful thing happened. From below came the buzz of the great dynamo and through the wires surged the tremendous power of the electric current. It was appalling, overwhelming, irresistible. It killed as lightning kills. There was not even time for a cry. They hung there for one awful moment with limbs twisted and contorted, while an odor of burning flesh filled the air. Then they dropped into the sea. Their comrades petrified with horror saw them fall and then with frantic shrieks bent to the sweeps and fled for their lives.

And so it befell that when the good ship Fearless drew up to the dock at San Francisco, the young wireless operator, much to his surprise as well as distaste, found that his quick wit and unfailing courage had made of him a popular hero. But he steadfastly disclaimed having done anything unusual. If he had fought a good fight and “kept the faith,” it was, after all, only his duty.

“Well, yes, but admitting all that,” said Dick, “it’s so unusual for a fellow to do even that, that when it does happen the world insists on crowning it. You know.

“‘The path of duty is the road to glory.’”

Neither knew at the moment how much of prophecy there was in that quotation. For Glory beckoned, though unseen, and Bert in the near future was destined to win fresh laurels. How gallantly he fought for them, how splendidly he won them and how gracefully he wore them will be told in

“Bert Wilson, Marathon Winner.”

THE END