Part 26 (2/2)

”Three minutes are up, swamper. So yuh've decided to be tough, eh?”

”Whatta yo' wanna know?” Jeems' question was silly but it held their attention.

”We have told you several times,” answered the Boss, his temper beginning to fray visibly. ”What is the trick of getting into that house?”

”Well,” Jeems raised his hand to rub his ear, ”yo' turn to the left--”

So he agreed with the listener. Val was to take the Boss on his left. He gathered his feet under him for the leap which he hoped would land him full upon the invader.

”Yes?” prompted the man impatiently as Jeems hesitated. At that moment Val sprang.

But his game leg betrayed him again. Instead of landing cleanly upon the other, he came down draggingly across the Boss' shoulders. The gun roared and then the attacked man lashed back a vicious blow which split the skin over Val's cheek-bone.

For the next three minutes Val was more than occupied. His opponent was a dirty fighter, and when he had recovered from his surprise he was more than the boy could handle. Val's club was twisted out of his hands, and he found himself fighting wildly to keep the man's clawing fingers from his eyes. They were both rolling on the ground, flailing out at each other. Twice Val tasted his own blood when one of the enemy's vicious jabs glanced along his face. Either blow would have finished Val had it landed clean.

Then in a sudden turn the Boss caught him in a deadly body-lock which left him half-stunned and panting, at his mercy. And there was no mercy in the man. When Val looked up into that flushed, snarling face, he knew that he was as hopeless as a trapped animal. The man could--and would--finish him at his leisure.

”This way, Rupert! Sam!” the cry reached even Val's dulled ears.

The man above him stirred. The boy saw the blood-l.u.s.t fade from his eyes and apprehension take its place. He got to his feet, launching a last bruising kick at Val's ribs before he limped across the clearing. On his way he hauled Red to his feet. They were going, not toward the path from the bayou, but around the house on the trail that Jeems had followed.

Val struggled up and looked around. The turf was torn and gouged. In the dust lay his club and Red's revolver.

And by the steps lay something else, a slight brown figure. Painfully the boy got to his feet and lurched across to Jeems.

CHAPTER XII

THE RALESTONES BRING HOME A RELUCTANT GUEST

The swamper was lying on his back, his eyes closed. From a great purple welt across his forehead the blood oozed sluggishly. When Val touched him he moaned faintly.

”Val! Are you hurt? What's the matter?” Ricky was upon them like a whirlwind out of the bush.

”Jeems stopped a nasty one,” her brother panted.

”Is he--” She dropped down in the dust beside them.

”He's knocked out, and he'll have a bad headache for some time, but I don't think it's any worse than that.”

Ricky had pulled out a microscopic bit of handkerchief and was dabbing at the blood in an amateurish way. Jeems moaned and turned his head as if to get away from her ministrations.

”Where's Rupert--and Sam?” Val looked toward the path. ”They were with you, weren't they?”

Ricky shook her head. ”No. That was just what you call creating a diversion. For all I know, they're busy at home.”

Her brother straightened. ”Then we've got to get out of here--fast.

Those two left because they were rattled, but when they have had a chance to cool off they'll be back.”

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