Page:Weird Tales volume 30 number 06.djvu/64

714 She was there, a slim, shrinking, boyish figure in her wet slacks and sweater. A stocky, simian, red-headed man of thirty with hard blue eyes and a button-nosed, craggy face, was holding her struggling form with one arm. He was shaking his other fist at the crowd and roaring belligerently, "I say this girl is mine! I found her there in the forest and if anyone else wants her, he can fight me for her, here and now."

silence descended on the mob at the redhead's roaring challenge. Von Hausman muttered in David's ear, "It's Red O'Riley—a gun-runner whose schooner ran ashore here ten years ago. He's the toughest customer on the island."

But David wasn't listening. Flaming with rage, he had burst from the crowd and, with a savage twist, tore O'Riley's arm away from Christa and sent the redhead sprawling.

He gritted, "Damn you, this girl isn't for you or anyone else here. She's my wife."

Christa clung to his arm, sobbing with relief. "David, I was afraid you were dead! I went to try to find help and was caught"

O'Riley had got to his feet, in a dead silence of stunned amazement on the part of the crowd. The gun-runner's craggy face split in a wide, menacing grin at David.

"So she's your wife, is she?" the red-headed man mocked harshly. "That's a good one! She may have been your wife by law outside, but there's devil a law on this cursed island except what the strongest man makes. I'm going to tear you apart and then take her."

The stocky gun-runner was savagely peeling off his raggdragged [sic] coat and shirt as he spoke, and stood now with gorilla-like, hairy chest bare, his great fists balled, advancing slowly on David.

David thrust the white-faced Christa back to von Hausman and Husper, at the edge of the crowd. The ragged mob was shouting now with increased excitement.

"Kill him, Red—tear the young squirt apart!" exultant voices bawled.

Von Hausman told David swiftly, "Try to finish him before he gets to you, or you won't have a chance."

David stepped out to meet the grimly advancing O'Riley. As he looked at the redhead's huge shoulders, barrel chest and simian arms, David's heart sank within him. He was still half exhausted from the battle through the waves an hour before, and he knew that even in the best of condition he would be no match for O'Riley. Yet if he were killed, Christa's possible fate in this weird, brutal place—the thought filled him with a wild, desperate frenzy.

He suddenly rushed, his left fist driving out with every ounce of his strength. It smashed against O'Riley's craggy jaw, and the Irishman rocked for a moment. David leaped in and smashed with right and left at the redhead's face with everything he had, and his enemy clawed for balance.

A wild howl went up from the mob, but David's heart was cold with knowledge that he had hit O'Riley with everything he had—and had failed to knock him down. With a bear-like snarl of rage, shaking his head as though to clear his eyes, the redhead rushed forward. David tried to sidestep but his foot slipped on the loose gravel. Then something hit him a terrific blow on the mouth, and everything was in a red mist, and he was dimly aware that his back was lying on the damp ground and that something hot and sticky was running on his lips. And O'Riley was standing there, snarling down at him.