# Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 57/Number 5/Hatching a Volcano/Chapter 15

pp. 49–52.

### CHAPTER XV.
#### THE GREATEST OF ALL.

TROUGH astounded eyes, Brant had taken in the whole of the dramatic scene staged upon the Flamingo's deck. His active mind had grasped the explanation, had pieced together the details left unspoken.
Korry's stowaways, marooned on a former trip and turned into savage animals by their suffering, had descended upon Thatcher's island home, stripped it of rations, struck down those who sought to interfere.
The Cuban brought up a steaming pot of coffee and a tray of sandwiches, and the chink runner, wholly undistressed, devoured his belated breakfast. He neither mentioned nor inquired after the man that had been taken below.
Meech appeared shortly, but seemed to prefer a cigarette to the food that was offered him. He leaned against the cabin roof, his eyes shuttling back and forward, taking in the length of the beach that extended in a wide crescent beyond the yacht.
A quarter of an hour passed with scarcely a word exchanged between the skipper and his crew. Then suddenly, galvanized into action, Meech bolted erect, his panicky voice startling his companions.
“Look! Look yonder!” he cried, pointing toward the shore.
Korry turned with a scowl; but apparently he saw nothing. “What's troubling you now?”
“Look! I seen 'em! The monkeys!”
The smuggler continued eating. “Bah! You're seeing things. Get some grub into you. You're going to need it.”
“There! Look! Three of 'em!” Meech cried again.
From his position on the deck opposite the men, Brant guardedly lifted his head, confident that for the moment he would not be under observation. What he saw, framed in the open space between the rails, sent his blood coursing swiftly and brought disturbing conjectures tumbling into his mind.
A half dozen, bare-headed and ragged Chinese were splashing out from shore toward the yacht, shouting as they advanced, their thin, naked arms waving, their distorted yellow faces gleaming in the vivid sunlight. Back of them, others appeared, until the water seemed filled with charging, gesticulating figures.
Meech uttered a frightened shout, jerked a revolver from his pocket and began firing. The nearest of the advancing horde screamed, flung up his hands and went out of sight; but others took his place, wading waist-deep in the suddenly crimson-dyed waters.
Korry turned upon the engineer with an oath and wrenched the smoking gun from Meech's hand. “None of that, you fool!”
Meech rolled over on the deck from the vicious impact of the smuggler's fist; lay there with twitching limbs and hands that clawed at the air. Rambo and the Cuban, undecided what to do, shrank back against the roof of the cabin.
The Chinamen came on like a remorseless flood, the water up to their shoulders, their gaunt faces fixed upon the man at the rail. Korry waved to them, called in a friendly tone. It had no effect. The yellow forms struggled nearer.
Korry blanched. The avenging creatures he had marooned and lied to seemed to have recognized him. He launched into blasphemy.
“They're crazy!” he gasped. “Keep 'em off!”
The smuggler began firing with a cool and deadly accuracy; yet while the water reddened with foam and bobbing heads went under, others seemed to take their places. The Chinese were swimming now, partly submerged and scattering as if resolved to surround the yacht. Korry continued to fire until his revolver jammed; then he snatched Rambo's weapon, ordering the man to go below for ammunition.
Brant watched the grim and terrifying scene, no longer considerate of his own predicament, but faced with dread consequences of a common fate. He struggled erect to his knees and jerked at the bounds that confined his wrists. They refused to part. A clammy perspiration enveloped him at that alarming discovery.
Either he was too weak to break the all but severed ropes, or Miss Newberry had failed to cut them deep enough. Breathless from his futile exertions, he ceased struggling and gazed about him. At that instant he saw Meech and realized-that a more deadly predicament confronted him.
The engineer had crawled to Brant's side of the deck, and seemed prepared to jump overboard, doubtless seeking to escape the fate that awaited his companions. Abruptly he saw Brant; saw that the prisoner was on his knees and struggling to free himself.
Meech stopped in his tracks. For a moment undecided, he whirled suddenly and picked up the revolver that Korry had knocked from his hand a few minutes before.
Instantly aware of the man's grim purpose, and spurred by desperation, Brant put forth all his strength. The ropes snapped. He flung himself headlong at the crouching engineer as the lifted revolver spouted flame. A hot, tearing agony numbed his shoulder; but unmindful of the pain he closed upon the man, bore him to the deck, hammered him with a blind, unreasoning ferocity; and when Meech at last lay quiet, his mashed and bleeding face upturned to the sun, Brant wrenched the revolver from his victim's limp fingers and staggered to his feet.
Already some of the frenzied Chinamen were climbing aboard the yacht and tumbling over the rails like gibbering monkeys. Korry was reloading his revolver. Rambo had picked up an oar and was swinging it mightily.
As Brant whirled to meet the yellow foe, a new sound reached his ears. From below deck came a roar of voices, a crash of splintering wood, shrill cries. He realized that the cargo of Chinese, alarmed by the noise and the shouts of their countrymen, had broken the door of their prison and were stampeding through the corridor.
Alive to the new danger, and prompt to frustrate it, Brant leaped across the deck to the companionway, slammed down the hatch and bolted it. Rambo screeched something in his ear; but Brant did not hear.
A half-naked coolie hurtled from the rail. Rambo swung at him with the oar, missed and sprawled helplessly upon the deck. Brant fired point-blank at the onrushing Chinaman, who screamed, animal-like, as he crumpled upon the cabin roof.
Almost instantly, it seemed, another yellow man loomed up and flung himself upon Brant. His revolver clicked on an empty chamber. Both men went down with a crash and rolled along the deck, clawing at one another until brought up against the rail.
There, finding himself uppermost, Brant used his revolver as a club and smashed the heavy butt against his foe's skull. Breathing thickly, his brain reeling, he got unsteadily upon his feet just in time to see Korry go down in the locked arms of a tall Chinaman. Yet before he could go to the smuggler's rescue, another of the yellow foe closed upon him.
Brant flung him off, but in the struggle, the revolver went spinning. Unable to find it, he tottered across the deck to where the fire extinguisher hung, tore it from its fastenings, and used it as a deadly cudgel upon the skull of the nearest enemy.
He heard Korry scream and staggered forward to where a powerful, infuriated Chinaman had the smuggler pinned upon the deck. Once more Brant swung his formidable weapon. The stout brass tube descended, flashing in the sun, and the yellow man crumpled without a sound.
Brant leaped back, prepared to meet another savage onrush, but none came. He glared about him in the silence, unable to account for the lull. Then he laughed weakly, foolishly, and fell against an overturned chair, a red mist curtaining his eyes. He felt weak and sick and tired.
A shout reached him as if from a great distance; and when he turned his head and fought down the giddiness that threatened to engulf him, he saw a dinghy, crowded with jackies, rowing frantically toward the yacht.
He lifted an arm and waved; then sank back again, wondering where the men had come from. Objects about him began to blur. He closed his eyes.
“Hello, there!” A voice floated to his ear, and a hand touched his shoulder. “Still alive, are you?”
Brant's eyes snapped open to see the deck with its crumpled figures, the bright sunlight, and a uniformed man who bent over him.
“Sure! I'm still alive,” he responded.
The officer from the cutter grinned admiringly. “Some battle—from the looks of things,” he remarked, turning from the fight-scarred survivor to scan the Flamingo deck. “Sorry we couldn't get here before.”
Brant passed a hand across his eyes as if to sweep away the mists that dimmed his vision. He seemed unable to account for the arrival of the newcomers.
“Where—where'd you drop from?” he asked, puzzled.
“From the cutter,” the other responded. “We couldn't follow you in here, but we managed to keep close to shore on the outside. We spotted Korry in this territory before and figured he'd repeat the performance. Good hunch, wasn't it? We must have been half a mile off when the shooting began. That was what guided us here.”
Brant's mind began to clarify. His roving eyes drifted to where several jackies had lifted Korry from the deck. The chink runner was growling and protesting, but seemed too weak to make much trouble.
“Guess Korry has handled his last cargo,” the officer remarked. “Seems a trifle battered; but he'll live to serve a few years of the sentence that's coming to him.”
“Don't let that engineer get away,” Brant spoke up quickly, pointing to where Meech, still groggy from his recent encounter, was attempting to crawl out of sight. “I've got something charged against him—something worse than running monkeys. A whole lot more to tell yet,” he added; “but it'll have to keep.”
“Plenty of time,” the other observed. “Sorry that the message from Miss Newberry was delayed. Didn't pick it up from headquarters until long after we'd passed the Flamingo yesterday. Of course we never suspected——”
Brant swayed to his feet with a choking exclamation that cut short the officer's sentence. “Miss Newberry! She's locked in a stateroom below! And all the chink cargo's loose. I—closed the hatch against them a few minutes ago.”
With the officer and half a dozen ready sailors behind him, Brant unlocked the hatch. The corridor below swarmed with Chinamen; but they were cowed and frightened now, cringing at the sight of the armed invaders.
Brant stumbled down the companionway, plunged through the quaking Celestials, reached the door of the stateroom and turned the key that had been left in the lock.
“You—you're all right? unhurt?” he cried anxiously, as the imprisoned girl met him with a tremulous exclamation.
Her arms were about him as he swayed. “Oh, you're hurt! Your shoulder! What was it? Those ghastly, screaming Chinamen——”
“Just—just a little rough-house on deck,” he answered, with a brave effort to smile and steady himself. “Sort of lively for a time. Meech got me—in the shoulder. Not bad. But I kept him from making a get-away. Boys from the cutter here now. Better not go up yet. It—it's rather bad.”
He sank down on the edge of the bunk, grateful for her supporting arms. He closed his eyes upon a swimming world and opened them a long time afterward, it seemed, to find the officer standing in the doorway.
“Miss Newberry? Quite all right, are you?” the man inquired solicitously. “Sorry your wireless was delayed. Might have avoided this unpleasant episode. But you are to be complimented. With your help we've put an end to Korry's activities. Means a great deal to us, I assure you.”
“It was Mr. Brant,” the girl protested softly. “I've done nothing.”
“Well, at least you furnished the means of setting the trap,” the officer returned gallantly. “We've rounded up the cargo. Twenty chinks! Biggest haul we've ever made. A fortunate thing you closed the hatch on them, Brant. If they had swarmed on deck to take a hand in the affair——” He broke off with an expressive shrug, as if hesitating to dwell upon the consequences.
“Singular thing,” the officer remarked in the silence that followed. “This is about the spot where we boarded Korry's boat a fortnight ago. Found he had dumped his stowaways ashore. Gave us the laugh then; but we're having it now. That batch of poor chaps he marooned helped to settle old scores.”
Brant heard but dimly, for his thoughts were elsewhere. “Say,” he murmured in a voice that was barely audible. “The stars were pretty much all right, weren't they?”
“What's that?” the officer queried, puzzled. “Stars? what's he referring to, Miss Newberry?”
The girl, however, did not answer. She held Brant closely and soothed his aching head, her radiant, tear-dimmed eyes fixed upon him with a new and greater meaning.
Brant smiled happily. Adventure and romance had not been denied him; and with them had come love, the greatest gift of all.