and business associate, Rob Martin. With Rob came his second wife, Kale, a reformed courtesan who was a stunning beauty, with violet eyes and long blue-black hair gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck.

They drank glasses of sherry before supper, and Kale dominated the conversation. "You don't know," she said, "how fortunate we are to be living in the American West, where people are taking advantage of the trend toward women's suffrage."

"You're right, Kale. State universities are opening their doors to women now," Cindy said. "Eventually the movement may spread all over the country."

"The success of women's suffrage is so great it can't be reversed," Kale said. "People like Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Lucy Stone— who has flatly refused to take her husband's name of Blackwell—are leading what has become a positive crusade."

"How far do you expect women to carry their crusade?" Toby asked.

"The frontiers are unlimited," Kale replied. "Once women start being educated on an equal basis with men, they'll enter the professions. There'll be lady doctors and lady lawyers, as well as teachers. In various states here in the West, women can already vote on such matters as local bond issues and local taxation. Laugh if you want to, but I predict that the day isn't that far distant when we'll have universal female suffrage."

"I'm in favor of it," Toby said. "The way I see this thing is that any woman who wants to can learn

as much about national and international issues as any man."

"Hear, hear!" his wife said.

"You're being awfully quiet, Rob," Kale said. "Do you disagree with us?"

Tall, red-haired Rob Martin swirled his glass of sherry, seemingly lost in thought. At last he replied, "It's not that I disagree with what you're all saying. It's just that you, Kale, have come a long way. You have traveled a hard road in order to win acceptance from the people of Portland, and I hate to see you setting yourself back. Some men have no use for women's suffrage, and I hate to see them taking out their anger on you."

"If they do," Kale said with spirit, "it's because they're shortsighted and ignorant of what's at stake. It isn't accidental, you know, that I've become a champion of women's suffrage. When I was a girl I was terribly ambitious, and my family had nothing—no money and no influence. I knew of only one path I could follow to become relatively well off financially and attain a measure of power, if not prestige. I became a prostitute. Oh, I hated myself whenever I stopped to think about it, but my goal remained steady and unvarying. Obviously, I didn't obtain real peace of mind until I left my profession and married, but I'm damned if I want my stepdaughter—or anyone else's daughter—to suffer because she's a female. If we're really living in the land of the free—and I believe we are—let's prove it by giving our daughters every opportunity that we offer to our sons!"

"You put it so well, Kale," Cindy said in admiration, "that you leave nothing for Clarissa or me to add. I'm glad I'm a woman, and I'm glad I am living in a time when we'll see the results of our fight for suffrage bear fruit."

"All I ask," Rob told her, "is that you do nothing to jeopardize the acceptance that you've struggled so hard to win."

"I agree to that," Kale said, "provided I do nothing to injure my self-respect. That comes first."

Her husband agreed, and everyone present thought the issue was resolved. No one had any idea of the problems that would face Kale in the months that stretched out ahead.

The following day, Toby left for San Francisco. The stagecoach ride from Portland was long and tiresome. Finally arriving he checked into his hotel and for once got a night's sleep after days on the road. Early the following day, he sat in the wood-paneled, richly furnished office of the millionaire Chet Harris, explaining all about the documents that incriminated Kung Lee's tong and that had been sent on to General Blake. Also present at the meeting was Chet's partner, Wong Ke. The big, somewhat overweight Chet and the slight, ascetic-looking, elderly Chinese man made a strange pair. They had met years earlier during the California gold rush, had made a fortune together, and had become close friends as well as business partners.

Their offices were located on the heights over-

looking San Francisco Bay, and as Toby listened to Ke, he looked at the magnificent panorama spread out below him.

"American society," Ke was saying, "is becoming increasingly industrialized and therefore more complex, so it stands to reason that as immigrants from other lands come here, they cling to old ways, many of them bad, as forms of self-protection. This is certainly true of the Chinese, who have transferred their powerful tongs, or secret protective societies, from Canton and Shanghai to the shores of North America."

"Have they always been as vicious as they are here?" Toby asked.

Wong Ke shook his head. "No," he said. "They began as secret patriotic societies during the Opium Wars with European powers. As our Chinese cities were occupied, the patriots went underground and opposed the rule of the foreign devils in private. Unfortunately, by the time the tongs spread across the Pacific, they were already involved in illegal activities and were using terrorist tactics to control people. The vicious beating they recently administered to me in Portland is typical of their methods. They have no place in America and serve no useful function in American society. I'm opposed to them and to their methods."

"Do they specialize in any types of illegal activity?" Toby asked.

The elderly Chinese man shook his head. "The

modern tong reaches out its tentacles into every phase of Chinese society in the United States. Nothing is immune to them, nothing escapes their interest. They earn large sums of money from the importation of opium and from illegal immigration. They collect extortion money from local merchants, and they have a stranglehold on prostitution and gambling in every Chinatown in America. They hound restaurant owners, and they try to intimidate businessmen like me. Unfortunately for them, I have a tough old hide, and I don't scare easily."

"What can you tell me," Toby asked, "about individual tongs?"

"There are several with headquarters in Canton and branches in such cities as Shanghai and Hong Kong, the British colony. Several have successfully managed the leap across the Pacific Ocean so far, but there is one that has most of the power, wealth, and influence in the United States. Its name is a closely guarded secret, and I don't think that the name matters much to outsiders. However, what matters is that the authorities now have in their possession the documents that were being delivered to General Blake, documents that could help implicate the tong in illegal activities. As you've learned, the head of the organization is a man named Kung Lee. We can tell you where to locate him—we have our own sources of information—but let me say that if and when you meet him for the first time, you'll be impressed by him as a cultured, witty, and sophisti-

cated gentleman. But don't let his surface manner fool you. He has his delicate fingers in crimes of every sort, from illegal immigration to gambling and prostitution. He rules his empire with an iron hand. It's said that he's as powerful in his way as the dowager empress is in China, and to call the organization that he rules an empire is no exaggeration."

"He must indeed control a great fortune," Toby said.

Wong Ke nodded emphatically as he pressed his fingertips together. "That which Kung Lee rules," he said, "is truly an empire and worth many millions of dollars. No one knows exactly what its real worth is, just as no one really knows how extensive its roots extend beneath the surface of American society. All I know for certain is that Kung Lee's tong cannot be eradicated overnight. That's an impossible achievement."

Chet entered the conversation for the first time. "In order to better understand the makeup of the tong hierarchy," he said, "you've got to know that Kung Lee, like any absolute ruler, is surrounded by advisers, aides, bodyguards, and hatchet men. His person is regarded as almost sacred, and he has layers of helpers who shield him not only from the general public but from his enemies."

"Let me tell you, Toby, about Ho Tai, who is just one of Kung Lee's bodyguards," Ke said. "He's a burly, short, squat man, hideously ugly, and is the most dangerous of foes. I happen to know that he

underwent long training as an assassin in Canton and in Hong Kong. He is responsible to no one but Kung Lee, and his one aim in life is do the bidding of his employer."

"I don't know whether Ho Tai has earned his notorious reputation," Chet interjected, "but he is said to be the most dangerous of hatchet men and the deadliest of knife throwers. He's allegedly killed many opponents. No one knows the exact number, and the stories are undoubtedly exaggerated. Nevertheless, he's a killer with a long list of victims."

"If his misdeeds are so well known," Toby said, "I'm surprised the authorities don't have him picked up and sent to prison."

"It has been impossible," Wong Ke said, "to gather any substantial evidence against the man. Witnesses are afraid to testify, and no one will speak up against him. He is known to enjoy the complete confidence and protection of Kung Lee, and that is all that he needs in order to do as he pleases."

"I can see where Mr. Kung Lee and I are headed on a collision course," Toby said, smiling grimly. "First, you were attacked, then my sister was attacked, and so was I. I think the time has come for me to meet Mr. Kung Lee face to face and exchange a few words with him."

Chet sighed. "I could close my eyes," he said, "and swear that I hear Whip Holt speaking. I thought he was the only man on earth who didn't know the meaning of fear and was prepared to step into a lion's

den at a moment's notice, but he wasn't the only one. He has a son who is exactly like him, who also doesn't know the meaning of fear. I hate violence, and I shudder to think of what may happen when you and Kung Lee come face to face."

"I don't know if anyone has ever had the courage to tell him what people think of him," Toby said, "but we'll find out soon enough what happens when he's forced to listen to the truth!"

It was a typical morning in the Chinatown curio shop. Earlier, several tourists from the East Coast had visited the establishment and made predictable purchases of carved chopsticks and of pseudo-temple bells.

Quiet had reigned for an hour or two, and now a lone visitor wandered into the shop. Certainly he did not look like a tourist. In his late twenties and heavily bronzed as a result of spending the better part of his life outdoors, he was tall and sinewy. His broad-brimmed western hat rode on the back of his head, and his attire, from open-throated shirt to trousers stuffed into leather boots, indicated that he was a working westerner who probably lived on a ranch.

The handles of two knives protruded from his belt, which was filled with bullets. Two Colt .44 repeating pistols were hanging in their holsters. The weapons were not new, and it was apparent from a glance at the handles that they had seen much use.

Instead of examining the many objects for sale

piled up on the shelves in the shop, the stranger glanced around the place and then approached the old man who was ostensibly the proprietor. The Chinese man found himself looking into the palest blue eyes he had ever seen. They had a mesmeric quality and seemed to bore into him.

"I am here," Toby Holt announced, "to see Kung Lee."

The old man was stunned, and while he gestured feebly, his young companion raced out and hurried off up the stairs.

Toby, guessing the young man's destination, appeared in no hurry. He strolled around the shop, seeming completely at ease.

After a few minutes' wait, a short, squat Chinese man, his ugly face covered with scars, appeared in the door. "What you want?" he demanded.

Toby's expression did not change. "You must be Ho Tai," he said mildly.

The Chinese bodyguards eyes gleamed malevolently, but he made no reply.

"I didn't come here to see you," Toby said, his tone still civil. "I made it very clear that the purpose of my visit is to see Kung Lee. Will you be good enough to tell him I'm here, please?"

Still saying nothing, Ho Tai flexed his fingers.

Toby remained pleasant, but a firm note crept into his voice. "I know that Kung Lee makes his headquarters in this building," he said. "I've also gone to the trouble of finding out that he's in town,

so the chances are good that he's under this roof at this moment. I have no quarrel with you, nor with anyone, but I intend to see him. Be good enough to tell him that Toby Holt is here." His hands dropped to the butts'of his pistols. "Tell him now," he suggested, a hint of urgency in his voice.

The old man backed away nervously and put a table laden with curios between himself and the other two men. He was ready to duck down to the floor in the event that a shooting match developed.

Ho Tai was in no way intimidated by Toby, but he was under standing instructions to preserve the facade of peace, if not peace itself. "I find out if Kung Lee see you," he announced, his tone surly, and without further ado he whirled and made his way up the stairs.

Watching him, Toby noted that the bodyguard was exceptionally light on his feet.

After a very brief wait, Ho Tai reappeared at the landing on the second floor. "You come now," he said.

Toby mounted the stairs under the bodyguard's watchful, alert gaze.

"You give me guns and knife," Ho Tai commanded, extending a hand.

Toby looked at him and laughed. "There is no way that I'll surrender my weapons," he said. "Wherever I go, they go."

Ho Tai backed down and continued to practice peace. Shrugging, he led the way down a narrow corridor on creaking floorboards and then stood aside

when they came to a closed door at the end of the hallway. He knocked and, opening the door, rested one hand on the hilt of a light but deadly throwing knife that he carried in his belt.

Toby knew the bodyguard was ready to intervene instantly if it should prove necessary, but he paid no further attention to the man. Instead he concentrated on the Chinese man, apparently about sixty years of age, who sat behind a large desk. Attired in black mandarin robes, Kung Lee was smiling, his expression revealing none of his hatred for this unwanted visitor. He waved Toby to a chair opposite where he himself sat.

Keeping one hand on the hilt of his knife, Ho Tai moved to a convenient corner and stood within full view of the visitor's chair.

"Thank you for receiving me on such short notice, Mr. Kung," Toby said politely.

"Not at all," the tong leader said, maintaining an air of great civility. "I am honored that a man of your reputation should visit my humble office."

Toby discounted the compliment but nevertheless was gratified that Kung Lee had heard of him. Perhaps his reputation would make his present task somewhat easier.

"I've been looking forward to this meeting with you, Mr. Kung," he said. "I believe that a meeting of the minds will solve a number of potential problems."

"I am aware of no problems, Mr. Holt," Kung replied, and folded his hands.

"I try to take the long view," Toby said blandly.

"My father was partly responsible for the settlement of the West, and I've followed in his footsteps by taking a hand in its development. Therefore, anything that happens in this part of America—for better or for worse—is of interest to me. You might say I make it my business."

"So?" Kung commented politely, and waited for his visitor to continue.

"I'm very fond of the team of financiers, Chet Harris and Wong Ke," he said. "Not only are they old family friends, but it so happens they manage some property that I own. I was naturally quite distressed when Mr. Wong was severely injured in a brutal attack during a recent visit to Portland."

"I heard of the incident," Kung replied blandly. "It was very distressing."

"I wonder," Toby said pleasantly, "if perhaps your distress was caused by the fact that Mr. Wong was merely beaten half to death rather than killed. If he'd been killed outright, there would have been no way to track his attacker. As it happened, the blame for the assault on him is laid completely at your doorstep, Mr. Kung."

The tong leader showed no animosity. "I am sure you realize, Mr. Holt," he said, "that you'd have an exceptionally difficult time proving your allegation in a court of law. Evidence to convict me or my tong is totally lacking."

"You're speaking of evidence presented in the law courts, Mr. Kung, but as you know every bit as well as I do, the West has found it impossible to wait

for the long arm of justice to catch up with the development of the country. Again and again we of the West have been forced to take the law into our own hands rather than wait for the courts to act."

"To be sure," Kung Lee replied. "And it is for precisely such reasons that we of the West have found it necessary to defend ourselves. Vigilante justice is all well and good, but those who are falsely accused must be able to stand up in their own defense and drive off their persecutors."

"One of the most fascinating pastimes in this part of the country," Toby replied, "is that of determining who is the persecutor in any given situation. I'm sure that Wong Ke, who almost lost his life as the result of a completely unjustified beating, would insist that he had been the victim, and I must say I agree wholeheartedly."

Kung remained silent.

"There's a more recent case that I find equally fascinating," Toby continued, carefully regarding Kung. "A courier employed by the United States government was shot to death near my Oregon ranch while in the process of delivering some documents intended for my stepfather, General Blake, the commander of the Army of the West. The killer—or someone closely associated with him—subsequently tried to attack my sister and then me in vain attempts to gain control of those documents, which implicate the tong headed by you with the smuggling of opium as well as human beings. For your information, Mr. Kung, those papers have been read by various officials and are

now safely in General Blake's headquarters at Fort Vancouver."

Kung Lee stared hard at Toby. "You accuse my subordinates and me of murder and of attempted murder, Mr. Holt. These are exceptionally grave charges. Can you substantiate them?"

Toby smiled lazily. "As I've already told you, Mr. Kung, I have no interest in substantiating them in a law court. I'm not an attorney, and I don't know the legalities involved. Let me just say that I'm satisfied in my own mind that you and your tong are guilty, and that's good enough for me. You started this war. I didn't, but I intend to finish it. Either you'll back off and leave well enough alone, or you're in this for a fight to the finish. I wanted to give you fair warning and to find out for my own satisfaction exactly where you stand. As for your toady yonder," he continued, nodding in the direction of Ho Tai, "I urge you to call him off, or he'll find that he's taken a larger bite than he's capable of digesting."

"You go too far, Holt, and you try my patience." For the first time, a semblance of stridency crept into Kung Lee's voice. "I have tried hard to deal civilly and politely with you. I have tried to warn you to stay within the law, to confine your interests to matters that are truly of concern to you, and to steer clear of affairs that are none of your concern. But you have persisted. You have believed the glowing publicity you've acquired as a result of your fights with savage Indians and with stupid criminals on the frontier. You are prying into serious matters that are

none of your business. Very well, if you insist on playing with fire, you'll be burned. You have been warned, Holt, so be on your guard from this time forward." He rose to his feet.

Toby stood at the same moment, and they bowed to each other formally.

Ho Tai's hand closed over the hilt of the knife he carried in his hand. Before he had time to draw it, however, Toby struck with lightning speed. He pulled his knife from his belt, and in the same instant, he threw it with dazzling accuracy. It landed in the wooden paneling of the wall no more than a quarter of an inch from Ho Tai's head.

In the same split second, another knife appeared in his hand, and he threw it with equal speed and force. It cut into the arm of Kung Lee's chair and quivered there.

"There's no need to return those knives, gentlemen," Toby said mildly. "I have plenty of others where they came from. Keep them as souvenirs, and whenever you look at them, think of me." He smiled slightly.

The two Chinese men stared at him in amazement.

Bowing again, Toby deliberately turned his back on the pair and took his leave, walking slowly out of the room. He knew he was taking a terrible risk, and the hair on the back of his head bristled when he realized that a knife well might land in his back at any moment. At the same time, however, he knew of

no better way to show his contempt for men who relied on terror and threats to operate their empire.

His gamble paid off. Both Kung Lee and Ho Tai were so stunned that they were incapable of taking advantage of the opportunity that Toby contemptuously handed them as he left the room, descended the stairs, and walked into the street.

But the battle lines had been drawn, the unequal feud had been moved into the open, and the next time the principals met, they would fight to the finish.

Tommie Harding was weary as she maintained her lonely, dangerous vigil in the street outside Dugald s Bar. But she grew alert when Captain Kayross and several of his loyal crew members appeared in a dilapidated cart pulled by a workhorse, and she drew farther back into the shadows. Robin Hood still sat on her shoulder, not understanding what was happening and clinging to her as someone who was familiar to him in a strange world.

Meanwhile, both Edward Blackstone and the other male victim lay unconscious, bound and gagged on the cellar floor. Millicent Randall, still propped against the wall, was terrified as she heard Kellerman and Kayross come down the rickety stairs and begin discussing her.

"Here's a fine kettle of fish," Kellerman said. "Yonder is a wench with whom I was having an affair. She got nosy, and her curiosity led her to find out too damned much about me and my business, so

I had to immobilize her several hours ago. I wonder if you have any use for her."

"We'll soon find out," the sea captain said. Approaching her, he held up a lighted candle to get a better look. Millicent would have pulled away from him but was incapable of movement.

Tearing her blouse open with his free hand, Kayross looked at her breasts intently, prodding them as though she were cattle. Then he reached out and gropingly felt her buttocks.

"She's rather dirty and smudged at the moment," he said, "but she looks as though when she's cleaned and properly made up, she can be quite handsome."

"That's right," Kellerman said. "She's a real beauty."

"Her figure is good, and that's important," the captain declared.

"What do you have in mind?" Kellerman asked.

"The imperial viceroy in Canton," Captain Kayross said, "keeps a large harem in his palace there. He's especially partial to white-skinned girls, but they're much more difficult for him to obtain than are Orientals, as you can imagine. Once he hears that this wench is available, he'll pay any price for her. You and I can share a fortune."

'That solves the problem very nicely," Kellerman said.

The captain was lost in thought for a moment or two. "We'll also have to make certain," he finally said, "that she will be cooperative when I present

her to the viceroy. She'll have to learn some Eastern customs, like how and when to kowtow."

"She's very bright," Kellerman said sarcastically. "I'm sure she has the ability to learn whatever will be required of her."

"She'll have the entire Pacific crossing to learn," Kayross replied, "and I have just the right instructor for her. If it's all right with you, we'll transfer her to the Diana along with the new indentured seamen, and she can begin taking lessons immediately."

"The sooner the better," Kellerman said indifferently. He and the captain mounted the steps, and when they closed the trapdoor behind them, blackness once again enveloped the interior of the cellar.

Mortification, fear, and violent anger suffused Millicent. She had been stupid beyond belief. First she had become involved with Luis de Cordova, and as if she had not suffered enough in that relationship, she had taken up with Karl Kellerman, who was even more brutal and callous in his treatment of her. The prospect of becoming part of a harem filled her with horror and loathing, but she was helpless, unable to escape what appeared to be her certain destiny. Only the remnants of her shredded pride prevented her from weeping, and as she leaned against the cold, damp stones of the cellar wall, she wished that she would awaken and discover that she had merely dreamed the dreadful situation in which she found herself.

Before long, Kayross and Kellerman returned with the Greek members of the ships crew. Aided

by Kellerman's two henchmen, they carried the unconscious bodies of the men, along with Millicent Randall, up the stairs and piled them into the horse-drawn cart. A tarpaulin concealed the captives from the gaze of any stray passersby who might be abroad at this very early hour.

The cart, driven by one of Captain Kayross's crew members, creaked as it moved off through the silent city. The captain and his remaining men followed on foot close behind it and kept a wary watch that proved unnecessary. The streets remained silent and deserted.

Only Tommie Harding was aware of what was happening. Following the cart at a distance, she was careful to stay in the shadows at all times. As she walked, she kept looking for a constable, but no policemen appeared, nor did anyone else.

The cart rumbled down the cobblestones, and the thumping of the workhorse's hooves seemed to obliterate the pounding of Tommie's heart. After walking for what seemed like a considerable distance, Tommie marveled at what she had done so far. She felt certain that her luck would run out at any time and that her presence would be discovered.

A huge shape loomed up ahead in the murky night, and although Tommie was thoroughly familiar with waterfront districts, she was so tired that it took her several seconds to realize that they had arrived at the docks and that the bulk was that of a steam-propelled freighter.

The workhorse halted beside a gangway that was

lowered from the main deck of the vessel to the wharf, and crew members immediately transferred the captives to the ship.

If Tommie had been thinking clearly, she would have marked the name and the exact location of the ship and would have gone off in search of the police. But her long nights vigil had dulled her mind, and she could think only that she had to follow Edward at all costs and know where he was being concealed. Awaiting her opportunity, she sneaked on board and crept behind a mound of cargo lashed to the deck. Looking out from this vantage point, she searched in vain for Edward.

She had no way of knowing that Millicent had been taken to one of the cabins on the upper deck that was reserved for passengers while Edward and the other male prisoner had been taken below to the hold, where they would remain until they regained consciousness. But Tommie knew enough about ships to realize that she could not wander where she pleased in search of Edward. At any moment she could unexpectedly come face to face with one of the officers or seamen.

All at once, a terrible sense of panic assailed her. She had been concentrating so hard on her problem of finding Edward that everything else had been obliterated from her mind, and only now did it occur to her that Robin Hood was no longer perched on her shoulder. The little monkey had vanished since coming on board the freighter.

When Edward Blackstone finally awakened, he was instantly alert. Smelling the stale air and feeling the hard deck beneath his prone body, he knew at once that he was in grave danger. He confirmed this impression when he discovered that his wrists and ankles were bound. An ache at the back of his skull told him that he had probably succumbed to a sharp blow. It was dark in the hold, but the smell of the sea and the slight motion told Edward that he was on board a vessel. He knew also that Karl Kellerman was responsible for his predicament.

Edward found that he had limited mobility but could move his hands up and down several inches. Thus he was able to reach into the hip pocket of his trousers and was infinitely relieved to discover that he still had possession of the small knife that he always kept hidden.

. Wedging the open-bladed knife into a crack between two floorboards in the deck, Edward began to press and rub his wrist bonds against the sharp blade.

Suddenly he was startled when something soft landed on his legs, and he looked down to see a small monkey dressed in green perching there. Robin Hood began to chatter delightedly.

Edward had no time to wonder how Robin Hood had gotten there. Moving his wrists up and down against the knife, he continued to saw frantically. Soon the strands of rope began to part, and ultimately they fell away and Edward's arms came free. Quickly removing his gag and untying his legs, Edward picked up the knife and cautioned the monkey

to remain silent. Then he looked around. Seeing the other man now awake and cursing as he found himself in the same predicament as Edward's, he cut away his bonds. The man thanked him profusely and said his name was Sam. Edward introduced himself. Meanwhile, Robin Hood leaped up to his accustomed perch on Edward's shoulder.

Neither Edward nor the man he liberated knew why they had been brought to this place, but they were determined to find out. With Edward in the lead, they opened a heavy metal door and found themselves in front of a mammoth furnace, where Wallace Dugald and three other unfortunate wretches were shoveling coal into the open maw of a blazing boiler. All four were chained.

Experimenting swiftly, Edward managed to strike a link on each man's chain with the sharp blade of a heavy metal coal shovel, using such force that the link parted. Thereafter, it was relatively easy to pry the two ends apart and set the imprisoned men free.

Rivers of perspiration cut through the grime of coal dust on Wallace's face and torso as he said in a voice so choked with emotion that it was barely audible, "Thanks be to the Almighty for this deliverance. I thank you, Lord, for hearing my prayer and giving me the chance to even the score with Karl Kellerman. You may hold me to my bargain, Lord: I don't care what becomes of me once I've had the chance to kill him in a way that will repay him for the terrible misery he has caused me. I swear to you, Lord, I won't rest. I'll work day and night until I've

obtained vengeance against this evil Kellerman, who is a blot on all that is good, for your sake and in your name. Amen."

Even though it was blazing hot in front of the big furnace, a cold chill crept up Edward's spine as he heard the words of the enraged Scotsman.

Millicent had been shoved into a cabin that at first glance was both spacious and comfortable. It had two portholes that overlooked the Mississippi River and was furnished with a large, bare-mattressed bed, a dressing table amply stocked with cosmetics and perfumes, a table, several chairs, and a chest of drawers.

A Greek crew member had escorted her into the cabin. On his heels was a short Malay woman, slender but wiry, whose age was almost impossible to guess. She was brown-skinned, with dark eyes, and she was dressed in a simple, knee-length gar-» ment that stressed her scrawniness. She wore no shoes but seemed to enjoy oversized jewelry, for she had on large hoop earrings, and several massive bracelets. Her head was wrapped in a turban. In her belt she carried a long kris, a sword with a razor-sharp, weighty blade, and in one hand she carried a wooden rod that was about a yard long.

Captain Kayross now appeared and spoke to the woman at length, glancing frequently at Millicent and gesturing toward her as he explained her identity and what he had in mind for her teacher. Listening intently, the Malay woman nodded from time to

time. Her eyes gleamed, and a hint of a smile appeared at the corners of her thin lips.

When the captain left, the woman moved swiftly. She took the gag from Millicent's mouth and cut the bonds that tied her ankles together, but left her hands still bound. "You sit!" she commanded, and pointed to the dressing-table stool.

Millicent moved to the seat and sank onto it gratefully. She was extremely weary after her long night of tension and captivity.

The woman went to a cabinet, took a jug from it, and removed the stopper. She lifted the container to her mouth and, after taking a large swallow of the contents, wiped her mouth with the back of her free hand. Then she held the jug up to the prisoner's mouth. "You drink now!" she said. The contents had a nauseating odor, and Millicent's stomach turned over. Unable to use her hands to get rid of the offending jug, she averted her face.

The woman lost patience. Grabbing Millicent's hair, she tugged fiercely, forcing her mouth open, and poured the liquid into her.

Millicent's mouth felt bruised, and the liquid soaked the front of her clothes, but she had to admit that the beverage, whatever it was, gave her a measure of renewed strength.

The Malay woman jerked the prisoner around to face her and began applying makeup. She paused briefly when she was almost finished, and Millicent was stunned when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her lips were painted dark red, her eyes

were almond-shaped, and her high cheekbones were emphasized with rouge. The overall effect was to give her a distinctly Oriental appearance.

Chuckling to herself, the woman removed her kris from her belt and, slashing with it, cut Millicent's clothes from her body from head to toe. Her attire fell away, leaving her completely naked, and the woman even took her shoes and threw them out the nearest porthole into the Mississippi River.

Then, after deliberately cutting the bonds at Millicent's wrists, the woman stood, went to the cabin door, and unlocked it. "I no keep you tied and locked up here," she said. "You go any time you want go. Many men on board. They catch you and fix plenty good." She exploded in laughter.

Millicent knew that the woman spoke the truth. If she appeared on deck, naked or otherwise, the sailors would be certain to catch and rape her. She was confined to the cabin as surely as she would have been had she still been bound hand and foot and had the door been secured.

The woman stood in front of her with arms folded, the wooden rod in one hand. "You be slave to viceroy," she said. "Now we practice. You be slave, I be viceroy. You kowtow!" She indicated that Millicent was to make physical obeisance before her. Startled and uncertain as to what was expected of her, Millicent started to move slowly.

The Malay woman prodded her viciously with the rod, then began to beat her unmercifully across the buttocks with it. The pain was excruciating. Mil-

licent had no choice but to stretch herself out on the floor and press her face and body close to the dirty, foul-smelling rug.

The woman hit her again and again with the rod. "You kowtow more!" she cried. "More!"

Writhing in pain, Millicent tried to press herself still deeper into the rug. At last the beating stopped, and the woman motioned for her to rise.

Her backside throbbing, her whole body aching, Millicent got to her feet. To her dismay, the Malay woman again directed her to sit at the dressing table and submit to having additional makeup put on to repair the damage where perspiration and contact with the rug on the floor had smudged and wiped away some of the cosmetics.

Suddenly the woman jarred her by slapping her hard across the face. "No move!" she commanded.

Somehow Millicent was able to force herself to sit very quietly while she submitted to the crude ministrations. Finally satisfied with what she had done to the captives face, the woman chuckled coarsely as she daubed rouge on Millicent's nipples. Standing back to study the effect, she pinched the nipples and then prodded her victim with the rod. "Now," she said, "you practice kowtow."

Millicent seethed in impotent rage. As she stretched out on the dirty rug, making her obeisances and once again being forced to submit to a beating, she was filled with a desire to attack and kill her tormentress. But she knew that her physical strength was far inferior to that of the Malay woman,

and there was nothing she could do but to keep herself prostrate and accept the punishment.

After a time, the woman grew tired of her sport and pointed her rod to the foot of the bed. "Now you sleep," she ordered.

Millicent was so exhausted that she obeyed and soon fell into a troubled sleep.

The woman moved to the head of the bed, rearranged the pillows there to her satisfaction, and, leaning against them, sat cross-legged as she kept a close watch on her charge.

Robin Kayross paced up and down the bridge of the Diana and stared out toward the warehouses of the New Orleans waterfront district, which were barely visible in the early morning darkness. Soon dawn would be breaking, and he had a major decision to make.

He was playing a dangerous game, but he was ahead, and he intended to stay ahead. Realizing there was only one way he could ensure his own safety and that of his ship, he summoned his first mate to the bridge.

"We face a potentially dangerous situation," the captain said. "We have a number of shanghaied American citizens on board, and now we also have an American woman, whom we're going to sell to the viceroy in Canton. The American authorities are inclined to be ruthless in the protection of their citizens, and if they should come on board and inspect the ship, we could be in terrible trouble."

"I've been thinking about the problem, too, and I agree with you, sir," the mate replied. "You and I could be held responsible and spend long terms in jail."

"It seems to me," Captain Kayross said, "that the Diana is in too prominent a place for our good. If any one of our captives should manage to get loose on the deck and make a scene, dozens of people on shore might become aware of the commotion and notify the police. We need privacy between now and the time that we set sail for Canton and Hong Kong."

The mate nodded vigorously. "That's my thinking exactly, sir," he said.

"Very well." The captain became crisp. "I've got to go ashore on some urgent personal matters. I want you to move the Diana immediately. We have made enough money on the aliens, opium, and cargo we brought here to make a profitable trip back to the Orient, so we can leave this dock permanently. And we have plenty of coal on board. Sail the ship to the delta country of the Mississippi River south of New Orleans. I'm sure you remember the place in the bayous where we anchored last year after we had that trouble with the authorities."

The mate nodded eagerly. "Of course, sir! I'll never forget it. That'll be a perfect spot for us now. The prisoners can shout their heads off there, and the only ones who will hear them will be the alligators and snakes."

"Take no unnecessary risks," Captain Kayross told him. "You'll find the charts for the bavous in the

chart room, and I want you to follow them without deviation. I'll join you later in the day, after you've anchored."

"Very good, sir," the mate replied.

"Fortunately," the captain said, "we've kept up the fire in the furnace so we have a head of steam worked up. There's no reason to delay."

"I'll weigh anchor and cast off at once, sir," the mate told him. "Don't you worry, we'll be anchored in the bayou waiting for you whenever you show up.

Deep in the hold of the Diana, Edward Black-stone heard the stories of Wallace Dugald and the other men who had been kidnapped and spirited aboard the Greek freighter. At last, the whole picture was clear. Karl Kellerman had abducted the unfortunate men after putting knockout drops in their drinks at Dugald's Bar and then had turned them over to the ship's personnel. The captain of the vessel was intending to utilize the services of these unfortunates as slave labor.

Now that Edward had freed himself as well as the others, however, the picture had changed drastically. There were six desperate men in the hold, including Edward, and all of them were determined to regain their freedom, no matter what the cost.

"We can't just lash out indiscriminately," Edward told the group, having completely forgotten the presence of Robin Hood. "We've got to plan our moves carefully and act accordingly. Our worst handi-

cap is our lack of weapons. All we have among us are a number of metal shovels, various lengths of chain, and my one small knife."

"The Greeks carry pistols," one of the men replied, "and their officers have swords, too."

"How many of them are there in all?" Edward asked crisply.

The others conferred among themselves and finally decided that they had about a dozen active enemies including the captain. They had no way of knowing that Kayross was not on board at the present time.

"Most of the remaining crew," one burly man said, "are either Malays or Lascars. I suspect that they came on board the same way we did and were shanghaied from their homes. They've not only been sympathetic to us, but I have me a hunch they'll desert ship without hesitation. One thing is sure— they won't join in any fight against us."

His comrades agreed heartily.

Edward accepted their word. "That reduces the odds against us appreciably, but we're still handicapped by a lack of weapons. What we'll have to do is lay ambushes for our enemies, one by one, until we gain control of enough weapons to fight on equal terms. What we've got to do right now is to plot the best way to get our hands on some pistols and swords."

They conferred quietly, several of them making impractical suggestions that Edward vetoed. All at

once, they became aware of the throbbing of the engine and of tremors in the deck beneath their feet.

"The ship is moving!" Wallace said bitterly. "We must be putting out to sea!"

"Maybe, but maybe not," a thin, tall man declared. "I know every inch of the waters around New Orleans. Come with me, Dugald, and we'll see for ourselves." He and Wallace crept away while the rest remained in the hold.

After a wait that seemed interminable, the party heard soft footsteps approaching the hold. Firm grips were taken on shovels and chains.

"Who's there?" Edward called softly.

"We're back!" said one of the returning pair, and the others breathed more easily as the two men came into the room.

"The freighter," the man who knew the Mississippi said, "sure isn't following the main channel that empties into the Gulf of Mexico, so wherever we're headed, we aren't going very far. Most of the other channels end in swamps or feed into lakes in the bayou country."

The rest of the group felt vastly relieved that the freighter was moving into a sparsely settled region of the Mississippi delta rather than out to sea.

All the same, Edward reasoned, it would be wrong to delay. The group's greatest natural advantage, that of surprise, would be lost if they waited too long. His comrades agreed to initiate action as soon as possible.

Although Edward was unfamiliar with the partic-

ulars of this vessel's layout, he knew enough about ships in general to make a rough plan, and the others agreed to it without discussion. Only Wallace commented.

"If Karl Kellerman is on board," he said, "he's mine. I don't want anybody else killing or injuring him by accident. I reserve the right to end his life myself!"

One of the first party to have been shanghaied led the group to a passageway that extended from the hatch to the entrance of the furnace room. "Sooner or later," he said, "they're sure to send a couple of men down to make certain that we're feeding the furnace."

Edward silently stationed his comrades on both sides of the narrow passageway, cautioning each of them to maintain absolute quiet until the signal was given that they could talk. Tensely they settled down to await the arrival of foes. Their inability to see clearly in the dark passageway, combined with the vibration of the moving ship, contributed to the mounting tension.

The vigil seemed unending. For what felt like a very long time, the freighter kept up a somewhat better than moderate speed. Then the engine slowed down, and the vibrations eased up. Shortly thereafter, a lighted lantern moved down the passageway, and voices were heard in the distance.

"The coal stokers," one voice said in disgust, "are the laziest swine who have ever sailed the seven seas."

"If they've allowed the fire in the furnace to die down," the other said, "they'll deserve a beating. And they shall have it. I'll personally whip every last mother's son of them."

The footsteps came closer, and the light in the passageway edged steadily nearer.

The victims of abduction scarcely dared to breathe for fear that the slightest sound or motion would reveal their presence prematurely.

Crouching between two large crates of cargo on the main deck of the Diana, Tommie was stiff, sore, hungry, and weary. She realized she had made a major mistake in blindly following Edward when he had been carried, unconscious, aboard the freighter, and now she was trapped. She assumed that at least one guard was on duty to keep watch on the cargo, and if she stood upright or moved, she would be seen and would meet Edward's fate. Somehow their futures were bound together.

All of a sudden, something landed on Tommie's shoulder, startling her, and she looked up quickly to see Robin Hood perched there. Delighted that he had returned safely to her, she patted him, and he began to chatter quickly.

At the same time, the ship's engine was turned on, and the whole freighter vibrated. The sound, fortunately, was loud enough that it obliterated the soft noises made by the little monkey.

Suddenly Tommie noted that there was a smudge

of coal dust on the animal's little coat and another on his feathered hat.

Carefully brushing off the garments, she murmured, "Where on earth have you been, Robin? Oh, if you could only talk!" The monkey appeared to be shaking, and the thought occurred to the young woman that he might be frightened.

Now, to Tommies horror, the ship had moved from the dock into the open Mississippi River and headed slowly downstream. The first thought that occurred to her was that the vessel had started a voyage to some distant port. In consternation, she knew that her presence on board surely would be discovered after a day or two at sea. She had done nothing to help Edward, who was still a prisoner of the ships crew. All she had succeeded in doing was to ensure that she, too, would be captured.

Ultimately, Tommie's familiarity with riverboats restored her common sense, and she grew calmer. Peering through a narrow space between the crates, she could see that the freighter was no longer navigating on the principal route of the Mississippi River but had turned into a small channel. Dwellings and other signs of human habitation disappeared from the banks of the river, and the countryside became increasingly desolate. From what she knew of the geography of the region, Tommie reasoned that the ship was moving into the remote and uninhabitable swampy country known as the bayous.

It was a relief to realize that the ship's master was not putting out to sea. At the same time, Tom-

mie knew that the freighter was leaving civilization behind and that wherever it might he going, she would have to rely on herself to come to Edward's aid.

The insistent prodding of the wooden rod awakened Millicent, and she instantly became aware, too, of the ship's motion, but she had no chance to think about the fact that the ship was under way. The Malay woman, sitting cross-legged at the opposite end of the bed, was reclining against pillows and grinning evilly at her.

"You practice kowtow! Now!" the woman commanded.

Half-asleep, Millicent dragged herself off the bed and made an obeisance. She had anticipated a blow with the rod, but nevertheless it was a shock when the woman struck her hard. Her rage mounting with each blow she received, Millicent was nevertheless compelled to endure the torment until the Malay woman stopped because her arm was growing tired.

"Now you sleep!" she commanded.

Tired, battered, and bruised, Millicent painfully climbed back into bed and soon fell asleep again.

Too late, a length of chain clanked its dismal warning as Edward brought it down full force onto the head of the unsuspecting ship's officer. The man staggered forward a step or two and crumpled to the deck, dying without making a sound.

Wallace accorded the same treatment to the other mate, and he, too, died silently. There was no need for any assistance from the other shanghaied men.

The refugees obtained a rich harvest of weapons. The two officers had been carrying three pistols and two swords, which the shanghaied men eagerly appropriated. In addition, they took the lantern, which would prove useful to them in the critical time ahead.

Edward was the only member of the group who knew how to use a sword, so he helped himself to one of the blades. The other he gave to Wallace, who took it but insisted on keeping his chain, also. "I'll be able to do double damage," he muttered, his anger unassuaged by the action he had already seen.

Believing that the arms they had acquired helped to equalize the odds that had been so much against them, the group surged upward. They came to a closed hatch directly overhead, accessible by means of a ladder attached to a bulkhead. Edward halted beneath the hatch and beckoned his comrades to gather closely around him. "When we move into the open, lads," he said, "don't bunch together. You'll make too tempting and too good a target. Spread out and take cover wherever you find it. We'll move quickly, with the men who've acquired arms leading the way. Wherever you see an opponent, cut him down quickly and without mercy. Then, make certain you help yourselves to any weapons he may be carrying and share them with your companions. I'll

do my best to keep all of you within sight, and as our fight develops, I'll try to issue any additional instructions that might be needed." Without further ado, he climbed the ladder and cautiously pushed the hatch open. None of the ship's personnel appeared to be within sight, and the entire group scrambled into the open behind him without being detected.

Edward discovered that they were far aft on a deck that contained boxes and cases of cargo. He waved his companions to port and starboard. As they started to advance cautiously toward the prow of the freighter, two Greek seamen and a pair of Malay sailors—who were about to prove themselves loyal to Captain Kayross—appeared in the open.

It was unnecessary for Edward to order an attack. He and his men surged forward, making the quartet the objects of their hatred and frustration. Wielding chains and shovels with abandon, they assaulted the startled seamen. The pistols were ready for instant use when circumstances made their use feasible.

No force could have contained Wallace, who was endowed with a maniacal strength as he hacked wildly with his sword and wielded his chain with equal abandon. His rage was so great it shook him to the core, almost consuming him. He was determined to even the score with every last one of his tormentors.

Edward was equally outraged, but he relied on his skills developed over a period of years rather than on brute strength. The sword he had acquired became an extension of his right arm as he slashed and cut with it, wielding it with such grace and

rapidity that it was almost impossible for the men at whom its aim was directed to halt it.

A thrust aimed at an opponent's throat found its target, and another blow almost decapitated one of the Malays. In all, Edward accounted for three of the enemy in a matter of seconds, while Wallace clumsily but effectively disposed of the fourth.

Edward took another pair of pistols from the dead men, which he gave to two of his comrades. Then, leaving the bodies of the dead where they had fallen, he waved his group forward. The brief encounter had created more of a commotion than Edward and his men realized, and other seamen and officers began to gather amidships. Somewhat to Edward's surprise, there were a number of Malays and Lascars in this group as well, along with the Greeks. He had been wrong to believe that the Malays and Lascars would automatically fall in with his own group; obviously their loyalty was with Captain Kayross because he paid their wages.

In almost no time, a battle was raging. The shanghaied men ducked behind crates and boxes in order to protect themselves from the pistols of their foes, and the crew members did the same.

Edward knew it was imperative that his men maintain the momentum they had achieved. "Keep moving, lads. Keep moving forward!"

The shanghaied men, inspired by his example and thirsting for revenge, continued to press, step by step, toward the prow of the ship. The air was filled with bullets now as shots were freely exchanged.

Edward's colleagues were strangers from different walks of life. They were united only by the fact that they had suffered a common personal catastrophe, but their anger at their treatment had given them the courage of lions. They responded like military veterans to Edward's orders to keep their heads down in order to avoid enemy sniper fire, and they carefully conserved their ammunition, firing their pistols only when they had clear targets.

There was a brief lull in the exchange of gunfire, and to Edward's astonished dismay, a blond head appeared above the tops of the crates that separated the two forces. Tommie Harding stood upright with Robin Hood clinging to one shoulder.

Edward had no idea how she happened to be on board the freighter, and although now he knew why the little monkey had appeared out of nowhere, this was not the time to ask for explanations. "Tommie!" he called. "Get down and stay down! Don't expose yourself to crossfire!"

She obeyed at once, smiling broadly when she heard his voice. She remained hidden between two crates, rejoicing because she knew Edward was safe.

Edward's voice reached her again. "We're moving past your position," he called. "Make no attempt to follow us—stay in concealment. I'll let you know when it's safe for you to come out into the open."

Again, pistol shots were exchanged by the two forces, and the little monkey on Tommies shoulder began to tremble violently. She stroked him reassuringly. "Don't worry, Robin," she whispered. "Edward

has taken charge, so everything is going to be all right."

Raving and cursing as he advanced, Wallace continued to press forward, waving his sword and seemingly impervious to enemy bullets. His ferocity and anger served to goad the other shanghaied men, and they pressed forward, too. At Edward's insistence, their advance was cautious. He was taking no chances.

As he dashed from one row of crates to the next, Edward unexpectedly came upon two men, a Malay and a Lascar, who were crouching behind the nearest box. With his sword he quickly disposed of them.

He found that the pair had been carrying clumsy, British-made weapons that were copies of Colt repeating pistols. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the acquisition of still more firearms, and he kept the pistols for his own use. By this time, every member of the little band carried arms, and Edward was convinced that they could look after themselves.

A bullet plowed up a furrow in the planking of the deck only inches from the spot where Edward was crouching. The enemy's aim was far too accurate for comfort, and he searched for his foe.

All at once, he saw that the Greek first mate of the Diana was standing on the bridge of the ship and taking aim at him again. Sighting the officer down the barrel of the cumbersome pistol, Edward pulled the trigger.

Ordinarily he was a superb shot, but the weapon was faulty, and his bullet lodged in the mate's shoulder. However, the officer dropped his pistol to

the deck and grasped his shoulder. He shouted out something to the crew that Edward could not make out.

Just then, the young Englishman realized that a retreat was under way. The mate and the other Greeks who formed the nucleus of the crew raced to the starboard side of the vessel, where they lowered the ship's gig into the water and hastily climbed down a rope ladder hanging over the side of the vessel into the boat.

As Edward and his companions ran to the railing on the starboard side of the freighter, the Malays and Lascars, including both those who had been loyal to Captain Kayross and those who wanted no part in the combat, leaped to the rail and plunged into the swampy waters of the cove, where the vessel was now riding at anchor.

The ship's gig made steady progress toward the shore, as the Greek crew members bent over the oars. While Edward and Wallace stood side by side at the rail, watching in fascinated horror, alligators materialized from several parts of the cove and began to bear down on the men who were swimming with all their strength toward the shore. The huge creatures resembled half-submerged logs as they drew nearer to the fleeing seamen.

The alligators opened their huge jaws, and the waters became bloody as they went after arms and legs. The air was filled with the screams of the helpless, dying men. As the churning, foaming waters turned red, a slow chill ascended Edward's spine,

and he rubbed his arms vigorously. "May God have mercy on their souls," he muttered.

At his direction, Wallace led their comrades in search of another ship's boat, which they found near the stern. They lowered it with difficulty into the waters of the bayou, and when that task was completed, Edward called to Tommie that it was safe for her now to reappear. She stood and moved toward him slowly, her gait unsteady.

As Edward reached for her and took her into his arms, Robin Hood jumped from her shoulder to his, chattering wildly. As the monkey continued to express his opinion of all that had happened, Edward and Tommie, oblivious to the presence of the remaining men, embraced and kissed.

Millicent Randall was prodded awake frequently and ordered by the Malay woman, "Now you kowtow!" Regardless of whether she moved rapidly or slowly, she was beaten for her pains and was forced to suffer still another beating as she kowtowed. The cruelty of the woman was unbearable.

One time when Millicent was awakened, she distinctly heard the sounds of pistol fire and shouts on the deck. She looked across at the Malay woman, but her captor seemed to be paying no attention to the commotion. Suddenly Millicent froze.

The woman was dozing on the pillows at the head of the bed. She had slumped on them, and her kris had fallen out of her belt and was lying beside her.

Scarcely aware of what she was doing, yet at the same time realizing that she was being given an unexpected opportunity to escape, Millicent reached out and grasped the handle of the sword.

At that instant the Malay woman opened her eyes. Instantly wide awake, she reached with both hands for the length of steel, unmindful of the fact that the double-edged blade was razor sharp.

The kris sliced into the palms of her hands and the insides of her fingers, causing her to bleed profusely, but she tightened her hold.

Seeing the pain and the hatred in the woman's glittering eyes, Millicent instinctively tightened her hold and pulled harder. The woman responded by tightening her own grip, causing her hands to bleed still more heavily as she tried to wrest the deadly blade from her captive. The pain that the woman suffered was excruciating, but she withstood it in silence, and her grip firm, she exerted all her strength as she continued to pull the deadly sword toward her. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, and rivulets ran down her face, but she ignored them, just as she ignored the blood spurting from her hands.

Struggling with all of her inferior might, Millicent noted that the point of the kris's blade was aimed directly at the body of her tormentor and was on her left side in the middle of her chest. It was about a half-inch from her body. Suddenly a horrible idea occurred to Millicent, and she knew she had to utilize it. She, who had never committed any deed that had caused physical injury to another human

being, no longer had a choice. If she failed to act immediately, she would be made to pay dearly.

The rage that had been building within her decided the issue, and without giving the matter further consideration, she released her grip on the handle.

The Malay woman had been tugging at the blade with all of her might, and she could not lighten her efforts in that split second after Millicent released her hold. The woman's force behind her deadly grip plunged the blade deep within her own body. Collapsing over the kris, she fell dead onto the bed.

Millicent gasped. Never had she seen death so close. As for the Malay woman herself, Millicent felt neither compassion nor pity. The woman had chosen to live violently, and now she had died violently.

Of more immediate concern was Millicent's need to escape. She went over to the Malay woman and hastily began to unwind the turban, which was made of soft silk. She was gratified to discover that there was yard after yard of it, long enough, she knew, to be wrapped in some way around her body. First, however, she had to get out of the cabin. Hastening to the door, Millicent listened carefully and could hear the sounds of the battle raging on deck. Not knowing what was taking place but fearful she would get into more difficulty if she exposed herself, she opened the door cautiously and crept to a pile of crates. Finding that one was partially empty, she hid herself in it, prepared to bide her time until it was safe to come out.

* * *

It was the urgent desire of the entire company to put as much distance between themselves and the Diana as possible, but there was one thing they still had to do: find Millient Randall, since Tommie was sure she had also been brought onto the ship. But after splitting up and searching the entire vessel, Edward and his men found no trace of her, only the cut-up body of the Malay woman, whose death was a total mystery. There was nothing more they could do and so two of the men descended into the ship's boat, which they held steady while Tommie slowly went down to it, going hand over hand down the rope ladder. Edward Blackstone was the last member of the group to reach the boat, and as he picked up a pair of oars, his comrades did the same. Tommie sat in the prow with her back to it, the monkey perched on her shoulder as the men rowed toward the shore. The vessel cut through the water, and to the relief of everyone present, the alligators kept their distance.

At last the shore loomed directly ahead, and several of the men leaped from the boat onto dry land, then pulled the craft after them. The boat the Greek crew members had used to make their escape was beached nearby on the shore, but there was no sign of the men. No doubt they had fled in the direction of New Orleans.

Edward stepped ashore, then picked up Tommie and deposited her on the ground. "If my sense of direction hasn't failed me," he said to the assem-

bled group, "New Orleans is due north of here. But I'm afraid we have a walk of a considerable distance before we get back into the city."

"That's all right," Tommie replied. "We're safe and we're together, and nothing else matters."

With one accord, the group headed toward New Orleans. They reached the waterfront district shortly after noon and went directly to Dugald's Bar, which, as Edward had anticipated, was closed and locked for the day. There was no sign of Captain Kayross or Kellerman or, more importantly, Millicent.

"I suggest that all of us go home," Wallace said, "and that we plan to meet back here later this evening, say around midnight. We have a score to settle with Kellerman, and I'm not abdicating my right to be the first to put a bullet into him!"

"Not until he tells us what has become of my cousin," Edward put in.

They went their separate ways, with Edward and Tommie heading for their hotel. When they reached it, they found no sign of Jim Randall or Randy Savage, and they went to their rooms and changed their clothes, then had a meal in the dining room, the first food they had eaten in almost twenty-four hours. Then they went upstairs again. By this time, the couple had exchanged information fully, with Tommie explaining how she had happened to be on board the freighter when the fight erupted.

"Didn't you realize the risks involved?" Edward demanded. "Didn't you know you were taking a terrible chance with your own life?"

"You were in danger," she replied, "and I didn't stop to think of anything else."

When they reached their rooms, they found that Jim and Randy were still out. Robin Hood, whom they had left in the parlor of the suite while they dined, was exhausted and sound asleep on the sofa. They left some fruit that they had obtained from the dining room on a small table next to the sofa. Then they stood for a moment or two, looking at each other. "I'll have quite a story," Edward Said, "to pass on to our children and grandchildren."

"I was so concerned about you," Tommie replied, "that I didn't stop to think of myself or of the danger I might be in until bullets started flying. But I guess I acted stupidly," she went on. "I wanted to help, and I tried to help, but I succeeded only in getting in the way and then making your job more difficult. I should have had faith in you and known that you'd be able to escape."

"The fact was," Edward began slowly, "that you cared about my welfare more than your own." He put his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. "We've been betrothed long enough. It's time we get married."

"I agree," Tommie said, "but we can't marry unless my father gives us his blessing. I have no doubt he will, but unless we can intercept him by telegram, we would have to wait until he reached the headwaters of the Missouri River, turned the Big Muddy around, and sailed back to St. Louis. So,

tomorrow, we'll start trying to reach him at one of the regular stops."

"You get into such trouble when you're left to your own devices," he said, "that it's very difficult to wait. Unfortunately, I agree with you, however, and we won't be married until your father comes back to St. Louis and then, I hope, to New Orleans. The moment he gets here, you're going to become my wife."

There was no need for words, and Tommie just nodded. They continued to look at each other, and suddenly their patience snapped. They were wrapped in each other's arms, and their kiss became increasingly passionate, increasingly demanding.

They wanted each other badly, and that aphrodisiac overcame the exhaustion and the uncertainties that they had suffered the last twenty-four hours. Out of consideration for Tommie's father, they could not be married until he formally gave them his blessing and was present for the ceremony, but they had succeeded in winning their gamble with death and felt there was only one way they could celebrate their victory.

They moved to Tommie's bedchamber, where they quickly undressed and embraced again on the bed. Now they felt only an overwhelming desire that swept all else to one side, and their lovemaking became increasingly frenzied. With the absolute honesty of two people in love, they cast aside all pretense and freely gave of themselves.

When Edward took Tommie, she clung to him,

and they soared to a mutual climax that seemed to last forever and that left both of them utterly limp, totally exhausted and spent. The events of the previous night had taken a heavier toll than they knew, and they fell sound asleep in each other's arms.

When Jim and Randy returned to the suite that day, having gone out looking for the missing Edward and Tommie, they were greeted by an excited Robin Hood. The monkey chattered at the two men long and rapidly. They soon discovered that Tommie and Edward had returned safely from their adventure, and they curbed their curiosity until the following morning, when the couple awakened in time for breakfast and a conference, at which Jim and Randy were told the entire story.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Millicent realized that all sounds of the battle had ceased. She opened the lid of the crate, and seeing no one, she crept out, carrying the long turban cloth in her hand.

The ship seemed deserted, but suddenly she halted and gasped. The body of a dead Malay seaman was crumpled a short distance from her down the deck. In the next few minutes, Millicent discovered two more bodies on the decks, and her brain reeling, she decided that the freighter was a death ship. She searched in vain for a boat that would take her ashore, and it finally dawned on her that the boats had disappeared when the living had fled.

She was not particularly superstitious, but the

stench of death was in her nostrils and contributed to her feeling of hysteria. Looking across the expanse of water toward the trees that lined the shore, she knew only that she had to leave the Diana or lose her mind.

She was an excellent swimmer, thanks to the childhood summers she had spent on the shores of Chesapeake Bay. Quickly wrapping the turban around her head, to keep the material from getting wet, she climbed down the rope ladder and dived into the bayou, striking out for the shore, her strokes long and powerful.

Only when she was able to stand in knee-deep water and was making her way ashore did she glance over her shoulder, and not until she saw two half-submerged "logs" drifting rapidly toward her did she realize the danger she was in. Those logs were mammoth alligators, and in her panic, she fled up to the shore and retreated a considerable distance into the woods before she paused for breath. To her infinite relief, the alligators had not followed her, and she knew she was safe.

At last she was able to devote her attention to her appearance. She removed the turban from her head and then wound it loosely around her body, beginning at the calves of her legs and working upward. After winding it several times around her breasts, she brought it up over her shoulders and was relieved to find that it even covered the upper portion of her arms. Millicent's feet were still bare, but she had no way of obtaining shoes.

Now a much greater problem faced her. She had no idea where she was or how she would get back to New Orleans. She would just have to trudge through the jungles of the bayou country until she found someone or something that would show her the way.

Still, her luck had been good so far: She was free of the Malay woman's torture, and she had escaped a fate as a concubine in the harem of an Oriental potentate. She would find the strength to walk barefooted all the way back to New Orleans, even if it took her many days.

A cool breeze blew through the open sides of the stone gazebo in the spacious rear yard behind the sedate New Orleans home. In the gazebo was a large reclining chair with a small table set up on either side of it. On each table a game of dominoes was in progress. The middle-aged Domino, his color restored to a normal, healthy hue, a small bandage on his head, sat in the chair, playing dominoes with two of his associates simultaneously.

"These bones," he said, "are doing exactly what I want them to do today." He turned from one table to the other, picking up the oblongs of ivory and manipulating them with ease as he moved first against one and then the other of his associates. The gang members, at best bored by the game, played dutifully. Both of them knew that Domino was cheating, but they also knew better than to complain.

Conversation was limited to the requirements of the game. Occasionally one or another player would

155

call "Go!" and his opponent would immediately take up the challenge. Eventually the convalescing man would cry "Domino!" and that particular game would end in another victory for him.

He did not mind in the least that his cheating enabled him to win. Victory for its own sake was his goal, and his triumphant "Domino!" was the only talk that mattered.

Eventually Domino grew tired of the game. Taking a thick watch from a waistcoat pocket, he glanced at it, then turned to his underlings. "I'm expecting a visit," he said, "from a wench who works in one of our brothels. Send her in to me when she gets here, please."

The pair exchanged a quick look. "Oh, she's been here for some time," one of the men replied. "We've been waiting until we finished playing before telling you."

Domino lost his temper. "When will you boys ever learn that time is money?" he demanded. "Send her out to me right now! And stay around. We'll play a few more games after I'm finished with her."

The pair exchanged another look as one of them quickly rose to his feet and hurried off to the main house. Apparently they had been mistaken in their assumption of the purpose for which their employer wanted the prostitute.

The man reappeared shortly, leading across the lawn a heavily made-up blonde. Her skirt fitted her so tightly that her hips rolled as she walked, and every male within eyesight, including several guards

stationed on the premises, watched her with obvious pleasure. "I thought you forgot all about me, honey," she said to Domino, a hint of complaint in her voice.

He shook his head, then growled at her, "I was just now told you were here. Sit down!"

She sat in a chair that one of the men had vacated, and a slit appeared at one side of her skirt to display a svelte leg encased in a black lace stocking.

"You know who I am?" Domino demanded.

"Sure," she replied. "All the girls in the house know that you're the big boss."

"Do you know why you're here?"

She was surprised. "Well, no, not exactly, but I thought—"

"Leave the thinking to me," Domino told her brutally. "You'll stay out of trouble that way. All right, my dear, let's take a look at you."

The woman knew what was expected of her. She rose to her feet, slowly ran her hands down the front of her body, then raised her skirt high above her knees and lowered it again, inch by inch.

"You'll do," Domino said candidly, and waved her back to her chair. "I expect you know how to get a man interested in you."

"I've yet to meet one who will run away," she replied confidently.

Domino liked her. He grinned, and she returned his smile boldly. "I have a job for you," he said, "a very simple job. Do you know a man named Karl Kellerman?"

She shook her head. "No, sir."

"He's tall, and he isn't bad looking, and he thinks he's irresistible to women."

"I know the type," she said, her distaste evident in her voice.

"I want you to snag him, take him to an apartment that I'll have set up for you, and then go to bed with him. That's all there is to it. Some of my boys will show up, and the instant they appear, you're to grab your clothes and get out. That's the end of it."

The blonde was astonished. "That's all you want me to do?"

Domino was maddeningly calm. "That's all," he assured her with a steady smile.

The woman was confused. "But why—"

"No questions, please!" Domino said sharply. "The less you know, the fewer questions you'll have to answer and the safer you'll be. I hope I make myself clear."

There was a long pause in the conversation while the woman pondered his words. "Very clear," she said at last.

He removed several bills from a large wad that he carried in a pocket. "Here's one hundred dollars," he said. "Come back after you've done the job, and there'll be another hundred waiting for you. In the meantime, get it into your head that you've never come near this place, you've never set eyes on me, and you've never held a conversation with me. '

The woman took the money, folded it, and raising her skirt, deposited it in the top of her stocking.

"I'm glad to see you at last, honey," she said sweetly. "I've never met you before, but it's a real pleasure."

Domino chuckled appreciatively. "Eddie," he said to one of his underlings, "take her to Charlie. He'll give her the key to the apartment and will fill her in on the details of where she can make contact with Kellerman."

Watching the swivel-hipped woman as she made her way to the main house with his subordinate, Domino nodded his head in pleasant anticipation. His men would trap Kellerman in the apartment and then slowly, brutally put him to death. It was time for Kellerman to suffer the tortures of the damned for what he had done.

Karl Kellerman's streak of good luck seemed unending. That night at his favorite gaming and dining club, he had more than quadrupled his original evening's wager. Knowing nothing of the events aboard the Diana earlier in the day, he was looking forward to meeting Captain Robin Kayross later that night for the last time and collecting the balance of the money for the shanghaied recruits, whom he had delivered to the Greek sea captain in the early hours of the morning. In the meantime, he had not only rid himself permanently of Millicent Randall but would be paid a great deal of money for her after she was turned over to the Chinese viceroy in Canton. Now the blonde he had met earlier in the evening, the woman who had brought him good luck by sitting beside him at the gaming table, had invited him back

to her apartment with her that evening, an invitation he had accepted with alacrity.

Now, he studied her over the rim of his wineglass. "If you knew me better," he said, "you might have thought twice about that invitation."

The blonde moved closer to him and pressed her leg against him. "Why is that?" she asked demurely.

He smiled faintly. "Although I'm fairly new in town," he said, "I've already acquired a reputation that does a lady's name no good."

"I'm willing to risk it," she replied, flirting with him over the top of her glass.

He drained his wine, picked up the bottle, and refilled both their glasses.

As the blonde raised her glass, returning his silent toast, she reflected that she had never earned the enormous sum of two hundred dollars so easily. It had been a simple matter to meet Kellerman and to arouse his interest in her. Now he had accepted her invitation to accompany her to the apartment, and the rest of the evening would be sure to go according to plan, too. Then she would be paid the second hundred dollars. She had no idea whether Domino merely planned to embarrass Kellerman or whether his intent was more sinister, but she had no intention of finding out. Several of the girls at the brothel had assured her that Domino was the most important gang leader in New Orleans and that his influence was as widespread as his reputation for ruthless behavior. He was treating her fairly, with

great generosity, and she wanted to return the favor, to do as good a job as she possibly could for him.

After they finished their light supper, Kellerman hesitated for a moment at the gaming tables.

His companion took his arm. "Don't play again/' she murmured. 'Your luck has been too good tonight and might change."

He nodded. Her advice made sense.

"Besides," she went on in a still lower, sexy tone, "I think we have things to do that will be far more exciting than gambling."

He thrilled to the promise in her voice and, turning away, accompanied her down the stairs.

Kellerman hired a closed carriage and driver, and he and the blonde sat close together on the plush seat, kissing whenever the carriage moved through a park or down a particularly dark thoroughfare. At last the driver deposited them in front of the building in which the woman allegedly occupied the apartment on the second floor, a suite of rooms that had a large balcony overlooking a parklike area. As she searched in her handbag for the key to the flat, she caught a glimpse of several dark figures loitering behind a clump of bushes growing across the street. Domino's men were already in place, waiting for her signal, which would bring them hurrying to the apartment.

When the couple reached the apartment, which the woman had visited previously, she mixed Kellerman a stiff drink of whiskey before disappearing into the bedroom to change into a negligee and high-

heeled slippers. Following her detailed instructions to the letter, she placed her own attire in a neat pile near the door so she could snatch her clothes, change quickly, and leave the place at once when the time came for her to vanish.

Kellerman was reclining on a divan in the living room; he had drained his drink, and his boots were resting on the floor beside him.

The woman refilled his glass, then stood in front of him until he took the hint and swept her into his arms. She allowed her negligee to fall open, and she let him caress her nude body as he pleased. When she was certain that he was aroused, she murmured the suggestion that they adjourn to the bedchamber.

As Kellerman turned away, accepting her invitation, she clutched her robe together and stepped out onto the balcony for a moment, where she yawned and stretched. This was her signal to Domino's accomplices, notifying them that she and their victim were now going to bed and that they could break in.

When she joined him in the bedchamber, she saw that he was still dressed except for his boots and that he was glaring at her suspiciously.

"What the hell was the meaning of that?" he demanded roughly. "What the hell were you doing?"

A sudden fear gripping her, she shrank from him. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."

"When you went out to that balcony just now, you were signaling to somebody, I swear it."

A vice of terror gripped her heart. "I don't know

what you're talking about," she repeated. "You're imagining things."

"Like hell I am," he replied. "I've got a lot of enemies, and the way I confound them is by staying one step ahead of them. Either tell me the truth— fast—or suffer the consequences."

She was so frightened she could say nothing. Kellerman reached out and caught hold of her by one wrist. As he did, he heard the front door of the apartment open cautiously. His suspicions were confirmed!

Not wasting an instant, he reached into his belt, where he carried a double-edged knife, and with no feeling whatever, he slashed the woman's throat with it, cutting her from ear to ear. As she toppled backward onto the bed, he stooped down, picked up his boots with his free hand, and still clutching the knife, raced out onto the balcony.

Knowing he had no choice, he leaped off the balcony into a clump of bushes below. He landed with a jarring jolt that caused him to drop his knife, but he picked it up instantly. Wiping the blood from it onto the ground and putting it back into his belt, he sprinted in his stockinged feet toward the trees that beckoned at the far side of the yard. When he gained the temporary sanctuary, he pulled on his boots, reasoning that the death of the woman in the apartment should give him a brief respite. But he knew that within seconds, the chase would be on.

He beat a hasty, blind retreat across the yard and through alleyways between houses, ignoring the

barking of watchdogs and the cries of people who were aroused by their pets. Eventually he came to a busy thoroughfare, and hailing a passing carriage, he sank into it after first giving the driver the address of Dugald's Bar, where he was supposed to meet Captain Kayross anyway.

His luck, he decided, was still good. Once again he had escaped intact, and he had repaid the treacherous woman in her own coin. He felt no remorse for what he had found it necessary to do to her; she had deserved her fate. He wondered who could have hired her to set him up. Perhaps he would never know.

As the carriage entered the streets of the working man's district, Kellerman reflected that what he had told the blonde was true. He was tough and resilient, he had plenty of money, and he managed to stay one step ahead of his enemies.

When they reached Dugald's Bar, Kellerman paid the driver, tipping him generously. Then he unlocked the tavern door and entered the building, which was eerily quiet. The sign in the window said Closed, and that was how Kellerman wanted it, for his meeting with Kayross was to be in private.

He didn't have long to wait before the breathless, nervous-looking Robin Kayross, accompanied by three of his crew members, showed up. Refusing Keller-man's offer of a drink to calm him down, the Greek ship's captain launched into an account of all that had taken place earlier that day on the Diana, which he had learned about when his surviving crew members

joined him in New Orleans. "I think we're done for," the captain said. "I don't dare go back to the ship. We lost nearly the entire crew when those shanghaied men got loose. They're going to be after us, and I'm sure by now the authorities are swarming about my abandoned ship."

Taking out a cigar and lighting it, Kellerman listened quietly, managing to appear calm, though inside he was agitated. Perhaps his luck was turning for the worse after all. With the damned Englishman Edward Blackstone now on the loose again, Kellerman was not going to have an easy time of it. Could it have even been Blackstone who had attempted to waylay him with the blonde in her apartment?

Kellerman at last replied. "Well, now. This certainly calls for a change in plans. I suggest the first thing we do is get out of here before we're found."

Suddenly Kayross heard something. Reaching out, he grasped the other man's arm. "What's that?" he demanded roughly.

Kellerman had heard the same sound. His cigar forgotten in a saucer, he was already on his feet, beckoning sharply. Together, they moved the short distance to the back of the establishment, where Kellerman swiftly and silently opened a window, then climbed through it and dropped to an alleyway outside. Kayross and his men were on his heels.

At the front of the saloon, Edward Blackstone and Wallace Dugald, accompanied by the other men who had been shanghaied, halted while Wallace lighted the gas jets that ordinarily illuminated the

bar. Dugald wondered why the sign said Closed and yet the door was unlocked. They searched the empty place quickly as they made their way to the rear.

"Look yonder," Dugald muttered as he waved his pistol at Kellerman's still burning cigar.

Edward saw the open window, raced to it, and peered out into the dark night. The alleyway was empty. "Our bird," he said, "has flown."

Wallace raised a fist, brandished it in the air, and brought it down on the table with a crash. "I swear to you in the name of all that's holy," he cried, "that I'm going to find Karl Kellerman if it's the last thing I do on this earth! And when I get my hands on him, I'm going to repay him in full for the misery he's caused me, so help me God!"

Domino disliked the taste of rice and wasn't fond of boiled chicken either, but the doctor had ordered him to continue eating bland foods, and his discipline was so great that he did precisely what he was told. He discovered that by waiting until late evening, when his resistance was lowered, it was far easier for him to down an unpalatable meal, so he rarely ate supper before midnight.

He sat now in solitary splendor, eating the foods that he disliked so intensely, shoveling them into his mouth, then chewing them rapidly and swallowing them. He was lost in thought, his one purpose that of finishing the unappetizing meal as rapidly as possible.

A bodyguard came into the dining room. "Excuse

me for interrupting," he said, "but some of the boys have come back from the Kellerman job."

Domino brightened immediately, and even the unflavored boiled chicken and rice dish tasted much better to him. "What are you waiting for?" he demanded jovially. "Send them right in I" He sat back in his chair and grinned expectantly.

Two burly young men in their late twenties, both of them heavily armed, entered the room.

"Don't keep me in suspense," Domino said and chuckled. "Tell me you nailed his hide to the wall and slowly tortured him to death."

The pair exchanged a quick glance, and then the shorter of them spoke. "The girl is dead," he said. "Everything went off fine until the very end, and then when we broke into the bedroom, we found that Kellerman had cut her throat from ear to ear."

"She was still bleeding," his companion said, "so it had just happened."

"We ran out to the balcony," the first thug went on, "but by then it was too late. We could tell from the way the bushes down below were squashed that Kellerman had jumped from the balcony, and by the time we got outside, he was gone. We scoured the neighborhood, but it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. We even went to that bar you told us he owns, but the place was empty. It looked like someone had been there earlier, but we couldn't find any sign of Kellerman."

As always, Domino exerted great willpower in an emergency. The color drained from his face, but

sitting unmoving, he asked quietly, "How did he discover that we'd set an ambush for him?"

The pair shrugged. "Damned if we know," the taller of the thugs declared. "But whatever it was that happened, it must have been awful sudden. The girl died without putting up a struggle."

"What's happened to her body?" Domino demanded.

"The other boys were going to dispose of it after they got the apartment cleaned up. Everything happened so quietly that the neighbors were left undisturbed, and there's no danger of the constabulary being called in."

"It's a shame we lost the girl," Domino said. "She seemed smarter than most, and we could have used her on all sorts of jobs. Oh, well." He sat in silence for a moment. "What are you doing about trying to locate Kellerman?"

"All the boys have been alerted," the shorter of the pair replied, "and they're searching the whole town for him. Eventually they'll catch up with him."

"And then what?" Domino asked sarcastically. "Are they going to shoot him on sight so that he dies without suffering, without being in agony? That's not the way I want to pay him back. What's more, your little posse is sure to bring the constabulary down on our necks. This is a civilized community, you know, and there's a law here against wanton killing. No. I want strict orders issued to every member of the organization. I am to be notified the moment Karl Kellerman is located, but under no circumstances is

any member of the organization to lift a finger against him without getting specific orders from me first. Keilerman is too clever, and he's done us quite enough damage. When we find out where he's staying, I'll have to devote some serious thought to finding a foolproof method of eliminating him once and for all, and doing it so that he feels the pain and agony he caused me to suffer."

After much hesitation and self-doubt, Kale Martin finally concluded that the time was right for her to enter Oregon's state politics. Thus she announced her candidacy for the board of trustees of Oregon State College, a position that required a majority vote throughout the state. Newspapers everywhere printed the story.

That same night, Kale and her husband Rob were entertaining Cindy Holt and Clarissa, whose husband had not yet returned from the assignment that took him to San Francisco. As Rob carved the roast, Kale added vegetables to the plates and passed them around the table.

"You certainly touched a nerve when you decided to run for office, Kale," Clarissa said. "I've never read such an excited stir in all the papers."

Rob grinned at her, feeling enormous pride in his wife. "That's because, as luck would have it, Kale's going up against Frank Colwyn, who's running for reelection as a trustee."

"I read about this Colwyn in the paper," Clarissa

said, "but I don't see anything particularly significant in the fact that Kale's running against him."

"It's very significant, I'm afraid," Kale said. "It's rumored that Colwyn has been pocketing money that has been appropriated for the college's use byjthe state legislature. If so, he and the people he's paying off will fight like fury to get him reelected and keep the cash flowing into their pockets." Kale noticeably stiffened. "So that gives me all the more reason," she continued, "to try to win the election myself!"

"Good for you," Cindy told her. "It makes me furious when I think of the men who are ready to take advantage of a new state and trade on the political inexperience of that state's people. What's more, a woman has every bit as much right as a man to be elected to a position of trust in Oregon. According to the stories I've heard from my mother—and from my father, too—women contributed as much as men to the founding of this state. They suffered equally on the first wagon train that crossed North America, and they fought just as hard against the elements and savages and all the other dangers of travel in those days. I'll work hard for your election, Kale!"

"So will I," Clarissa said. "What's more, I know at least a dozen women who will gladly go from door to door persuading people to vote for you."

"I don't care what kind of pressure Frank Colwyn uses!" Cindy cried. "You're going to win this election!"

Rob exchanged a quick glance with Kale. Both of them knew the difficulties she faced, but at the same time they also believed that there was at least a

chance that Kale would succeed in bringing off the unexpected and winning the election.

Over the next few days, Kale and Cindy worked out the schedules for the women who were volunteering in large numbers to help Kale in the coming election. Clarissa was busily engaged drumming up the support of still more women.

"The response has been marvelous," Kale said. "I've heard from women all over Oregon—hundreds of them. There are more of them who want to help than there are jobs to be done."

"Don't you believe it," Cindy told her. "We face an uphill struggle all the way. The men who have been obtaining graft at the taxpayers' expense aren't going to give up without putting up a tremendous fight, and we'll need all the help we can get!"

There was a tap at the front door, and Kale admitted two well-dressed men of early middle age, who introduced themselves as Jeremiah Bates and Tod Caspar. She politely invited them to come in and sit down and presented them to Cindy.

"I'm glad you're here with Mrs. Martin, Miss Holt," Bates said. "This simplifies our task, so to speak."

"We represent a bipartisan group," Caspar said, "that's been formed to ensure the reelection of Frank Colwyn as a trustee of the college. We're calling on you, Mrs. Martin, in the hope that we can persuade you to withdraw as a candidate for the board."

"We realize, Mrs. Martin," his companion said, "that you regard the election as something of a lark,

but we're here to assure you that Mr. Colwyn thinks of his reelection in the most solemn manner and that he's deeply concerned about the issues that the board faces."

A flintlike quality crept into Kale's voice. "What gives you the impression that I regard the election as a lark, gentlemen?" she asked softly.

Bates shrugged and grinned. "Well, you know how it is, Mrs. Martin," he said with a slight laugh. "After all, you're a married woman, and you have a child now. I assume that there'll be others on the way to join it. All of these interests take precedence over the affairs of the college."

"They're personal interests as opposed to business interests," Kale said succinctly, "but I wouldn't say they take precedence. Quite the contrary. As it happens, Miss Holt is an undergraduate at the college, and the education she receives is of very great interest to me. So are the business affairs of the school that she attends."

"As a student at the college," Cindy interjected, "I know that Mrs. Martin has my best interests at heart. Furthermore, my classmates and colleagues feel exactly as I do." Not mentioning the rumor that Kale's opponent was pilfering state funds, Cindy went on, "We have nothing against Frank Colwyn, but we have no idea where he stands on the subject of education, even though he's been a trustee for several years."

There was a moment's pause, and Caspar turned

back to Kale. "You're the daughter-in-law of Dr. Robert Martin, if my information is correct."

"It's correct," Kale said flatly.

The man smiled. "He's practiced medicine here since he arrived as a member of the first wagon train, and he's achieved enormous popularity in the state. We'd hate to think of anyone trading on his standing in order to win the election."

"I make no mention in my campaign of my relationship to Dr. Martin, and I have no intention of bringing it up," Kale said tartly. "I believe in standing on my own feet. What's more, sir, I resent your innuendo that I intend to rely on my father-in-law's name to help me win an election."

Caspar chuckled softly, but Bates, a big man with heavy jowls, bristled and glowered at the young woman. "We know how to take a hint," he said, "and how to deal with those who are stubborn. Frank Colwyn is going to be reelected, and anyone who stands in his path will be trampled. We've gone to some pains to look up your background, Mrs. Martin, and I wonder if the voters of Oregon will approve of your past."

"I'm not ashamed of my background, Mr. Bates," Kale said in a tense voice. "I've traveled a long path in my lifetime, and I've made many mistakes, but I've overcome them, and I haven't repeated them. So you can do your damnedest, sir, and both you and your candidate have my permission to go straight to hell!" She rose to her feet, went to the door, and

opened it. "I'll bid you good day, gentlemen. You've outstayed your welcome."

The pair looked at each other, then rose.

"You're making a serious mistake, Mrs. Martin," Caspar said in the doorway. "We don't want to be unpleasant, and we have no desire to drag you through the mud, but if you force our hand, we'll have to act accordingly. We'll just have to see whether the voters of Oregon will elect a retired prostitute as a trustee of their state college!"

Kale continued to face them defiantly, her back straight, her chin outthrust as they climbed into their carriage and drove off. Then suddenly she crumpled. "They weren't making idle talk when they threatened me," she said, her eyes filling with tears. "They meant every word!"

"Don't give in to them, Kale," Cindy said fiercely. "We'll beat them yet! They've declared open war on us, and we're going to fight them with their own weapons!"

Kale usually followed the same routine in her public appearances for her campaign to win a seat on the board of the state college. She accepted all offers of speaking engagements and was always accompanied by Rob, who was present to act as a buffer between her and any in her audience who might cause trouble. Kale had told her husband all about her meeting with Jeremiah Bates and Tod Caspar, and Rob had successfully consoled her, telling her he

would let nothing harm her or get in her way as she ran for office.

So Kale went about her business, and in the main, she found that most audiences were sympathetic and friendly. To be sure, some people came to hear her only because they were curious about a woman's running for public office, but it was unusual when anyone was actually hostile.

The crowd that gathered to hear her on Sunday afternoon in a large church located in an as yet unnamed, growing suburb of Portland was bigger than usual. The audience was friendly, applauding her warmly, and the questions they asked were sufficiently sympathetic that she had no trouble in answering them.

The meeting ended at dusk, and as always, Kale's departure was delayed by several members of the audience, who stayed behind to speak to her. Night was falling by the time that she and Rob followed the last of the crowd out to the hitching post in front of the church, where their horses awaited them.

Standing outside the entrance were two men who were handing out leaflets to those who were emerging from the church. They didn't see Kale until she gasped, and then they turned away hurriedly.

Kale caught hold of her husband's arm and clutched it so hard that her nails dug through the fabric of his coat. "Rob," she murmured in alarm, "those two are Bates and Caspar, the pair from Frank Colwyn's headquarters who called on me and threatened me!"

Rob responded instantly. Stepping forward, he called out, "Not so fast, you two. You're handing out some papers there. Let me have one."

Jeremiah Bates reluctantly handed him a single sheet of paper.

Rob glanced at it in the light of the nearest street lamp, and a headline in heavy black type immediately caught his attention: "DO YOU WANT A WHORE IN CHARGE OF YOUR CHILDREN'S EDUCATION?"

Rob instantly crumpled the paper and threw it away, hoping that his wife had not seen it. But Kale's gasp of dismay and anger told him otherwise. She was standing beside him, staring down at the ground, her whole body trembling, and her eyes filled with tears.

Rob saw red, and before he quite realized it, he had drawn his Colt six-shooter and cocked the hammer with his thumb.

"We didn't start anything," Caspar complained in a high, whining voice. "We were just following Frank Colwyn's orders." His partner, too frightened to speak, could only nod his head in vigorous assent.

"Save your breath!" Rob told them, his tone savage. "I don't care to hear your flimsy excuses."

Both of them, staring into the muzzle of the gun, started to speak simultaneously. Rob gestured, and they fell silent.

"I'm only going to say this once," he told them harshly, "so listen carefully. If I ever catch you passing out such filth about my wife again, I'll terminate

your miserable lives instantly by putting bullets into your hearts. I'm not joking, so I warn you—don't tempt me! As for your employer, that rotten worm Colwyn, tell him from me that he'd better keep out of my sight. If I ever set eyes on him, his wife will become a widow in a hurry!"

Badly frightened, the pair could only nod.

"My trigger finger is beginning to itch," Rob went on, "so you'd better get out of my sight fast, before I relieve it by pulling the trigger. Get moving!"

Bates and Caspar raced to their waiting mounts, vaulted into their saddles, and spurring the unfortunate beasts, went galloping off down the road at breakneck speed, both crouched low in the saddle to avoid being hit if Martin changed his mind and decided to fire at them.

His narrowed eyes cold, Rob watched them as they raced off. "Scum!" he said, pronouncing final sentence on them. Then, all at once, his manner changed. He put his arm around the still-trembling Kale and said softly, "Put them out of your mind, honey. I give you my word, this incident won't be repeated."

"Frank Colwyn and his cronies made good their threat against me," she said miserably. "Somehow I thought they were bluffing, that they wouldn't have the audacity to attack below the belt like this." Suddenly all her self-control snapped, and the tears flowed freely.

"Cohvyn has a rude shock waiting for him," Rob replied, holding her tightly. "He's going to find that

vicious personal attacks are counterproductive and create sympathy for you."

She looked up at him, shaking her head and starting to protest.

"Hear me out," Rob said, "and heed what I say. I know what I'm talking about. Every dirty trick like this that Colwyn tries to pull creates that many more votes for you. Don't give him another thought. Just keep on running your own campaign in your own way."

Looking into her husbands eyes, Kale felt great reassurance. They had both known that it was going to be difficult for Kale to be the first woman in Oregon to run for a statewide office, but Rob had never waivered in his support of his wife, and Kale was damned if she was going to let him—or herself— down now. She would fight to the bitter end!

Willie Rowe, generally acknowledged as the best newspaper reporter on the Pacific Coast, sat in his shirt-sleeves in the cavernous city room of the Oregon News. Stocky, with tousled, dirty-blond hair and an open, friendly face, the newspaperman studied his guest. It was his business to know something about prominent people in the state, so it came as no surprise to him that the young woman opposite him was the daughter of the fabled Whip Holt and the stepdaughter of Major General Leland Blake. What he found completely unexpected was her intensity, which crackled like lightning in a storm, and her remarkably attractive appearance. It seemed to him

that her natural beauty would rival that of the actresses from New York who appeared on the stage of the Portland Theater.

"Give me the facts once more, Miss Holt," Willie said. "I want to be sure that I have them straight."

"It's been rumored," Cindy said patiently, "that Frank Colwyn has been stealing state funds intended for the college. I've tried to find out more on the subject, but I can't get a thing on him."

"Why have you come to me?" Willie Rowe asked.

"If anyone can prove that Frank Colwyn is dipping his hand into public funds, you're the fellow who can do it," Cindy said. "Your record has been marvelous, and you've proved you're not afraid of anyone."

"Thanks very much," he said modestly. "It's nice to be appreciated."

"It'll be nicer still to get a headline story on Colwyn," Cindy said.

"Why are you so eager to expose him?" Willie asked, looking at her intently.

"Because I hate to see Kale Martin deliberately smeared with filth. Her background is no secret. She's never tried to hide the fact that she was once a prostitute, but to have Colwyn's supporters threaten to expose her past and to make an issue of it is quite another matter."

His interest was aroused. "Who threatened her?"

"Two men named Jeremiah Bates and Tod Caspar. I was right there and heard them myself. And their threats weren't idle. A few days later they

went out and started distributing handbills full of filth about Kale. Her husband, Rob Martin, had a little run-in with Bates and Caspar, but I don't think they're through playing dirty politics."

"This becomes more involved and still more fascinating," Willie said. "Caspar and Bates are fellow trustees at the state college. Apparently they're afraid their own power will diminish if Colwyn loses the election to Mrs. Martin."

"Apparently so."

"You're sure that everything you've said to me is true?"

She met his gaze without flinching. "Dead sure."

"Are you willing to take a risk that'll mean serious trouble for you if you're caught?" he asked.

"I'm willing to do anything that's necessary to expose Frank Colwyn as a crook and to keep him from winning the election," Cindy said.

Willie Rowe snapped the pencil into two parts, threw the broken halves into a wicker wastebasket, and grinned at her. "That's what I like to hear! You have the soul of a true reporter. Have supper with me at a place I know that serves the best salmon in Oregon, and then we'll drop in on Frank Colwyn s office after hours and snoop around until we find something. This promises to be an evening that neither of us is going to forget quickly!"

A few hours later, the young couple finished dinner, arose from the table, and strolled through the Portland business district, pausing occasionally to window shop. They looked like any young man and

woman enjoying a walk on a balmy evening, with nothing in their manner revealing their mounting anxiety.

When they came to Frank Colwyn's office building, they ducked inside, and Willie produced a ring of skeleton keys. He found one that opened the inner door, and they quietly made their way up to the second story, then crept toward the rear, where Colwyn's office was located.

"Keep away from the windows,*' Willie warned, "just in case somebody down below should be looking up. Fortunately, there's enough of a moon tonight that we can see well enough without being forced to light a lamp." He sighed. "There's only one way to do this. You take the two filing cases over yonder, and I'll start going through these two. If you run across anything that you think might give us a lead, let me know."

Cindy's heart hammered in her ears, and her breath was short as she opened the top drawer of the nearer filing cabinet. She realized she was engaged in an enterprise that was illegal, and if she should be apprehended, the fact that she was Whip Holt's daughter and General Blake's stepdaughter would not save her from a prison term.

She fully intended to go through the files in an orderly way, but she couldn't resist the temptation to glance first through a thick folder marked Finances, Oregon State College.

Within moments, she was utterly absorbed in what she was reading and forgot her sense of danger.

"Willie," she called softly, "I think I may have found something."

The reporter joined her and looked at some documents still in the folder. "My God!" he said in tense excitement. "You've stumbled onto a gold mine! These are figures for three years ago. Now we have to find similar forms for last year and this year."

They searched frantically, and within a short time, they found what they were seeking.

Willie was satisfied. "We'll just help ourselves to these papers," he said, "which will be enough to convince any judge in the state, and then we'll get out of here. Make certain you leave everything else exactly as you found it."

They hurriedly straightened the file folder before they departed, taking the telltale documents with them.

Once they reached the street, they abandoned their pose of being a young couple out for a stroll, and they hurried back to the offices of the News. There, Willie examined the papers with greater care, shaking his head and whistling softly under his breath as he inspected them. As Cindy continued to wait, he hurried up to the desk of his editor in the center of the room and conferred at length with him. He was smiling broadly when he came back to his own desk.

"I have a go-ahead sign," he said. "We're going to explode a bomb under Frank Colwyn in tomorrow's News." He sat down and began to scribble rapidly on sheet after sheet of foolscap. As he finished each

page, Cindy barely had time to read it before someone whisked it away for editing and delivery to the printer downstairs. She lost all sense of time and was surprised when Willie sat back in his chair and lighted a cigar. "We don't have long to wait," he told her.

As he had predicted, his article soon was in print. For the first time since the News had announced the election of U. S. Grant as the President of the United States, a full banner headline ran across all eight columns of the paper. Frank Colwyn and two of his fellow trustees were flatly accused of stealing state funds that had been granted to the college.

Looking at the article again, Cindy was stunned. It was far more authoritative in print than it had been when handwritten, and the columns of figures beside it taken direct from Colwyn's own files told the story themselves. He and his two fellow trustees had stolen many thousands of dollars in state funds. There was no doubt in her mind that charges would be filed against Colwyn.

"I'll get you a cup of coffee," Willie told her, "and then I'll ride you out to your brother's ranch for what's left of the night. All I ask in return is that when you wake, you set up an early appointment with Mrs. Kale Martin for me. Our readers will want to know all about her, now that her election as a trustee seems to be assured."

The United States Military Academy cadets spent Saturday morning drilling on the parade ground overlooking the Hudson River at West Point, New York.

Prizes were awarded at the conclusion of the exercise, and as always, the first place in close-order drill was won by the squad commanded by Cadet Sergeant Henry Blake, the adopted son of Eulalia Holt Blake and Major General Leland Blake.

Hank Blake and his subordinates, all of them underclassmen, took no undue pride in their achievements. There was a task to be accomplished, and they performed it to the very best of their joint ability. The squad members took their cue from Hank, who was a perfectionist. Never totally satisfied with what they did, they kept pushing themselves to their limits. It was predicted in the corps of cadets that someday all sixteen members of the squad would wear the stars of generals on their shoulders.

The weekends for cadets normally began at noon on Saturdays, but there was no way Hank could take off any time for pleasurable pursuits. He had to practice sprints with the track team for an hour, and after noon dinner he would be required to put on an exhibition of rifle shooting for parents and other visitors. The rifle team was scheduled to hold a contest with Yale University in midafternoon, and everyone was rooting for Hank, who was just beginning his junior year, to lead the army to another victory. He had never suffered a defeat in two years of contests, and there was no reason he should lose today.

Other cadets would attend a dance on campus that night, but Hank had decided to spend the evening in the West Point library. Not that he was behind in his subjects. Indeed, he consistently won

high honors in all of his classes, and there was no need for him to spend a Saturday night at his books. He intended, however, to devote the better part of the evening to the luxury of writing a letter.

Academy rules made it impossible for Cindy Holt and Hank to announce their engagement before his senior year, but that did not prevent them from having a private understanding. After Hank was graduated and had won his commission as a lieutenant, they intended to be married. Separated from Cindy by three thousand miles, Hank preferred sending her a letter to spending an evening with some other girl. He had tried to date other girls, but had found them poor substitutes. If the truth be known—and Hank didn't care who knew it—his love for Cindy was the most important factor in his life.

He walked alone to the mess hall, where relatively few cadets were on hand for Saturday night supper. After finishing his meal, he strolled to the library, passing en route the hall in which the dance was being held. The strains of a Viennese waltz, currently the most popular music with the younger generation, drifted out to him but in no way tempted him. If he could not spend the evening with Cindy, he would devote the time to her in another way.

Reaching the nearly empty library building, he sat down at one of the desks and began his letter to her, first rereading her last communication to him. The coming of the transcontinental railroad had made a significant difference in the delivery time of mail; a letter between the Atlantic and Pacific coasts was

now delivered within the remarkable time of ten days. Thus he was able to read all about her recent campaign to elect Kale Martin to public office and how she had joined a young newspaper reporter, invading the offices of the incumbent, with startling results.

The incident was typical of Cindy, Hank reflected. Once again, she had demonstrated courage, unflagging determination, and bulldoglike tenacity in the pursuit of her goal.

Ordinarily shy and somewhat inhibited, Hank poured out his love for Cindy onto paper. He told her he would not be fulfilled or become a whole person until they were married. For her sake, as well as his own, he was working hard, and so far he continued to rank first in his class. He wanted General and Mrs. Blake to be proud of him, and above all, he wanted Cindy to take pride in his accomplishments. General William T. Sherman, the army chief of staff, had indicated to General Blake that if Hank ranked high enough in his class, he would win a special assignment with the cavalry when he became a second lieutenant. He had no idea of the nature of that assignment, but for Cindy's sake, he was determined to win it.

He confessed to her that he was counting the days until the time when they could make their engagement public.

The letter flowed easily, filling page after page, and when he finished it, Hank was tired but satisfied.

He had occupied himself in the next best way to spending the evening with his beloved Cindy.

Despite his inability so far to apprehend either Karl Kellerman or Captain Kayross, Edward was determined to find his missing cousin, and he called on the New Orleans constabulary to perform the painstaking task of checking the registration ledgers of every major hotel and lodging house in the city. At last Edward learned that a woman who called herself Millicent Kellerman was a guest at the Louisiana House.

Edward and Jim went there immediately, accompanied by Tommie and Randy, and discovered that although the rent had been paid in advance until the first of the month, Kellerman had already checked out. Gaining admission to the suite, the quartet discovered that the wardrobe closets were filled with a woman's clothing, but that Kellerman had taken all his belongings. They gathered in the parlor of the suite to discuss the problem.

"It's as though she disappeared from the face of the earth," said Tommie, shaking her head.

"All we know for certain," Jim said, "is that Kellerman has cleared out of this suite. By the same token, we can assume that Millicent is still here, although there's no way of knowing where she may be at the moment."

They were interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Jean-Pierre Gautier. After he introduced himself, he explained, "I must ask you to pardon this

intrusion, but I will be blunt with you. I've had the pleasure of meeting Miss Randall several times, and I have fallen head over heels in love with her. I am exerting every possible effort to locate her."

Tommie recognized Jean-Pierre's name and identified him as a member of one of the wealthy, old French families of New Orleans. She went out of her way to welcome him and was so cordial that her male companions were equally pleasant to him. After bringing Jean-Pierre up to date on what little they knew of Millicent's whereabouts, they became involved in a long, complex discussion of the best way to proceed to find her.

While they were weighing various proposals, the front door of the suite slowly opened, and Milli-cent staggered into the room. Everyone present jumped up and began talking simultaneously.

Jean-Pierre, however, had the presence of mind to put a supporting arm around Millicent and lead her to the divan. Her makeshift dress still covered her body, but her feet were cut, bruised, and bleeding, swollen to almost double their normal size. Giving a deep, tremulous sigh, she collapsed onto the divan.

Edward ordered tea and toast sent up to the suite, and all the men left the room while Tommie removed the woman's filthy garment, helped her bathe, and clothed her in a nightgown and dressing robe. At the same time, Jean-Pierre sent a messenger to his family doctor, asking the physician to come to the hotel at his earliest convenience.

Only then was it possible for Millicent to relate what had happened to her. She told her story between bites of buttered toast and sips of tea, and her listeners were horrified as she recounted her incarceration on the Diana, the escape from the Malay woman who had tortured her, and the grueling four-day walk back to New Orleans through the Louisiana bayous, during which time she had repeatedly gotten lost.

"This is all Kellerman's doing," Tommie exclaimed. "He must be mad!"

"I thought this was a matter to be handled privately," Edward said, "and I tried. But all of you know the results. I succeeded only in making matters worse for everyone concerned. I'm going to the constabulary and swear out a warrant for Karl Kellerman's arrest."

Jean-Pierre was equally realistic. "I have no intention of leaving Millicent here, where Kellerman could return at any time and do her harm." Turning to Millicent, he said, "As soon as the doctor has been here, I'm going to have you moved to my parents' house. You'll be safe there."

Millicent tried to protest, but Jean-Pierre refused to listen. "I'm running no risks with your safety," he went on. "I almost lost you once, and I'm not going to take that chance again."

The physician soon arrived and subjected Millicent to a thorough examination. He applied an ointment to her feet and gave her an extra supply in a small tin to be rubbed in twice a dav. The bruises on

her backside would soon disappear, he said. She was in good enough condition to make the move to the Gautier house as soon as she wanted. After the physicians departure, Jean-Pierre busied himself arranging Millicents immediate transfer to his parents' home, while she hastily dressed and made up her face.

Before the afternoon ended, she was carried on a litter to the house in the old French Quarter, and all of her belongings were moved with her. Her stay with Karl Kellerman at the Louisiana Hotel became a memory buried in her past, and as she began to recover, she was able to look forward with confidence toward her future for the first time since she had impulsively left Idaho.

Shortly after his arrival in San Francisco, Toby had received an invitation to dine at the home of Chet and Clara Lou Harris. He accepted with pleasure, and when he arrived at the big granite mansion on Nob Hill, he was delighted to find Wong Ke and his wife, Mei-lo, also present.

After Toby told them about his earlier meeting with Kung Lee, the Chinese couple expressed their deep gratitude to him for trying to help. "All the same," the diminutive, black-haired Mei-lo said, "I'm worried for you, Toby. The tong is vicious and cruel toward anyone it considers an enemy, and I'm afraid they have you on the list now."

"That's good," Toby replied, "because I've become their enemy, and I don't care who knows it."

Ke shook his head. "I urge you to tread softly, Toby," he said. "My wife is right when she talks about the viciousness of these people. There's liter-

191

ally no controlling them, and they're always out for blood. Please watch your step."

Chet grinned. "I don't think we need to worry overly much about Toby," he said. "He's Whip Holt's son, so you can be sure he can take care of himself."

"I've heard countless stories of your father's exploits," Clara Lou said, "just as I've heard nothing but good about you in more recent years. All the same, Toby, be careful!"

They dined on clam chowder, sauteed abalone, and the steamed hard-shelled crabs that were a San Francisco delicacy. The talk flowed freely, and not until they were enjoying an after-dinner drink in the library of the Harris mansion did Toby become aware of the time. "I'd better get back to my hotel," he said, "before I overstay my welcome."

Wong Ke and Mei-lo left when he did, and the weather was so balmy and the view from the crest of Nob Hill was so spectacular in the moonlight that Toby decided to walk back to the hotel, first escorting the Chinese couple to their own house a short distance down Nob Hill.

"Remember—take care, Toby," Mei-lo said as they parted.

He assured her that he would, and after they had gone into the house, he stood for a time looking down at the waters of San Francisco Bay and at the islands in the water. The view, he thought, was unparalleled in any American city.

Suddenly he froze. Turning the corner less than a block away and coming toward him in single file

were six men, all of them wearing the black costumes of the Chinese tong. In the lead was a squat, ferocious-looking man carrying a throwing knife in each hand. It was Ho Tai.

Toby realized at once that having seen them clearly in the moonlight meant that they had been able to see him, too. It was obvious that they had been waiting for him outside the Harris house and had followed him to the Wong house. The tong proposed to even the score with Toby Holt.

Toby thought for a moment of asking Wong Ke and his wife to give him refuge, but he discarded the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. They had been made to suffer enough, and he did not want to involve them with the murderous tong again.

Walking briskly, but not allowing himself to break into a run, Toby turned the next corner and resolutely headed back toward the peak of Nob Hill. The area was made up of private homes, many of them surrounded by brick walls, and no one else was abroad at this hour. In fact, he saw no lights burning anywhere.

He went no farther than a half-block, when he halted and stepped into the deep shadows cast by a large shade tree. From this vantage point, he saw his pursuers clearly, when they, too, rounded the corner. Ho Tai was still in the lead, gripping his knives as he moved swiftly up the steep incline. The expression in his dark eyes was grim and in spite of Toby's courage, it sent chills up his spine.

As Ho Tai and his companions drew nearer,

Toby glanced over his shoulder and saw a brick wall about five feet high that stood at the edge of the sidewalk, marking the boundaries of the property on the far side of the wall.

Giving himself no opportunity to weigh the consequences, he suddenly leaped up onto the crest of the wall and dropped down into the garden within. He was just in time. As he landed, he distinctly heard the soft patter of rushing footsteps on the far side of the wall as Ho Tai and his companions continued their pursuit.

But Toby was not yet out of danger. He felt rather than saw a dark shape materialize nearby and heard a low, deep, menacing growl.

His eyes adjusting to the darkness, he soon made out a large dog—obviously a watchdog—cautiously approaching him. Fortunately it had not yet started barking.

Toby had no intention of doing anything that would cause the animal to attack him or to bark. Standing very still, he waited for a time until the footsteps outside the wall began to fade. Then he started to speak soothingly to the dog, keeping his voice pitched very low. For what felt like an eternity, the dog continued to growl softly, but eventually the stranger's lack of hostility caused the animal to stop. It continued to hold its head cocked to one side, however, with its ears erect.

Toby knew he couldn't delay indefinitely, that one false move and the dog would attack as it had been trained to do. Continuing to address the animal

quietly, the young man measured his distance from the wall and, gathering himself together, suddenly leaped toward it and managed to scramble to the top.

The dog, its fangs bared, hurled itself at the retreating target. However, it succeeded only in crashing into the wall, leaving the man unscathed.

From the relative safety of the parapet, Toby saw that Ho Tai and his associates had vanished. He dropped down into the street and started downhill at full speed, running as he had never before raced.

On the far side of the thick wall, the dog began to bark, but its quarry was gone.

Slowing his pace momentarily at every street intersection to see if Ho Tai and the other tong members were anywhere within sight, Toby ran on, heading downhill for two blocks, then crossing over a side street and heading upward again for a block before crossing another side street and resuming his downward journey. Even though he was in superb physical condition, he soon was gasping for breath, and his legs felt like lead.

Finally he found a coach for hire, and hailing the driver, he climbed into the backseat and fell onto the seat in exhaustion. But he did not feel truly safe until he reached his hotel room and bolted the door behind him.

Looking back on the encounter as he relaxed, Toby had no reason to take any pride in the evening's incident. At the very least, the hatchet man for the tong had forced him to flee for his life, and he knew

this had been an inauspicious beginning for a venture that required boldness as well as courage.

For the next few days, Toby spent most of his time in his hotel, thinking about the situation with the tong. He realized he was no closer now to the achievement of his goal than he had been when he accepted the assignment of breaking up the tong.

After piecing together everything he had learned about the tong, Toby concluded that the key figure was not Kung Lee, the executive, but Ho Tai, his bodyguard and strongman. Ho Tai was the symbol of the brute strength that characterized the tong, of the terror that the organization generated in the hearts and minds of the residents of San Francisco's Chinatown and other cities. It was Ho Tai's wanton cruelty that enabled the tong to flourish and to flout the law as it chose. Those who were persecuted and intimidated by the tong were afraid to bring legal charges against the organization and, instead, preferred to suffer in silence. Immigrants from China were so frightened they bowed to the will of the tong, as did those who had been in the United States for as long as two or three generations.

Kung Lee might be the brains of the tong, but few American Chinese would recognize his name or his portrait. Ho Tai, however, would be immediately familiar to them. The ruthless strongman, who carried out the will of his superiors, was the symbol of tong rule in America.

It occurred to Toby that if he bested Kung Lee

legally, few Chinese would hear of his victory and fewer still would applaud. His triumph in that respect would be met with indifference. But if he scored a victory over Ho Tai, it would be celebrated wildly in every Chinatown in the United States. Since the tong's hatchet man was regarded as the embodiment of evil, his defeat would be an achievement that no one would forget. The tongs would lose stature, ordinary men would be heartened and would rebel against them, and the power of the secret societies would be vastly reduced.

Therefore, Toby reasoned, the best way to attack the tongs would be to launch an assault on Ho Tai, no matter how great the risks.

Realizing that he would be exposing himself to grave dangers, he told none of his friends in San Francisco about his specific plans. Visiting innumerable restaurants, curio shops, silk stores, and other retail establishments in Chinatown, he carefully spread disparaging remarks about Ho Tai, declaring that he was dishonorable and a coward and deserved to be whipped out of the community.

Some of those to whom Toby spoke pretended not to hear him, but others listened avidly, and a number of them made notes of his remarks, so he was fairly certain that word of his insults was getting back to Ho Tai.

Three or four days after Toby launched his campaign, a stranger approached him in the hotel dining room while he was eating his noon dinner. The man came up to his table, asked his identity,

and after learning that he was indeed Toby Holt, thrust a small scroll into his hand.

The message was crudely printed in English and bore no signature. It said: Meet me at three hours past midnight tonight at the offices of the tong . Then we will see who has courage.

Convinced that the Chinese bodyguard had taken the bait, Toby was satisfied. In the confrontation that was certain to take place, Toby had certain natural advantages, and he intended to exploit them to the fullest. As his father before him, he was endowed with extraordinary eyesight and hearing, qualities that would stand him in good stead in a middle-of-the-night battle with a wily foe. He also knew he was second to none as a marksman, a fact that had been highly publicized. Equally expert with throwing knives, Toby would carry a full set of those weapons with him, too.

Early that evening, Toby ate a light meal, then forced himself to go to bed, where he dropped off to sleep for several hours of necessary rest before he faced the challenge of his life.

Awakening after midnight, he dressed carefully in black boots and trousers, a dark shirt, and a dark, broad-brimmed western hat. As he strapped on his repeating pistols and placed his throwing knives in his belt, he vividly remembered advice that his father had given him years earlier: "Whenever you're involved in a close fight, where the outcome is in doubt, never lose sight of the fact that your most important asset is your attitude. If you're convinced

that you're going to win, you wall win. Doubt your own abilities, and the outcome of the fight will be in doubt."

It was easy to understand why Whip Holt had never lost a battle, Toby thought and smiled. All he had to remember was that he was Whip's son, and everything would fall into place.

Feeling the need for physical exercise, he walked to Chinatown, stretching his legs and pumping his arms in order to limber them.

When he reached the tong headquarters, he stood in the shadows of the doorway across the street and examined the building with care. The curio shop that occupied the better part of the ground floor was dark, and the second story, where the headquarters of the tong was located, seemed equally deserted, with no lights burning anywhere in the building.

Looking at his pocket watch, Toby saw that he was only five minutes early for his appointment. Rather than wait for the short time to elapse, he would act immediately.

Deliberately crossing the street some distance up the block where he knew he could not be seen from the tong headquarters, he retraced his steps until he reached the front door. The latch responded instantly to his touch, and the door opened silently. Toby quickly stepped inside and found himself in a narrow hallway adjacent to the curio shop. Directly ahead the staircase to the upper story loomed in the dark, and as he approached it, he stopped and smiled ironically.

Directly in front of the bottom stair stood two tin buckets, each of them with several metal kitchen utensils protruding from their tops. Clearly, Ho Tai had placed the crude obstacle in his path as a means of warning that Toby was approaching.

Toby made a detour around the pails and silently began to mount the stairs, one hand on the hilt of a throwing knife. Common sense told him that the knives were preferable to pistols as weapons because the latter would reveal his whereabouts with a flash when ever one of them was fired.

Another obstacle had been set as a trap for him just before he reached the top of the stairs. The top of one step below the landing had been removed, which meant that someone unwary would trip, stumble, or fall into the hole. But Toby's excellent vision came to his rescue for the second time, and he carefully avoided the hole in the step as he moved up to the landing.

Cautioning himself to take his time, he moved slowly down the corridor toward the offices of the tong. He had succeeded in avoiding two crude traps that had been set, and he was inclined to believe that still others awaited him.

The entrance to the tong's suite of offices was wide open, and Toby stopped short, peering hard at the open doorway. At first he saw nothing, but at last he thought that he caught sight of a thin string that was stretched across the opening at waist level. He moved closer to it and saw that it was indeed a trap. One end was tacked to the wall, and the other was

attached to the open door itself. Against the door, a number of tin cans had been placed so that a mere touch of the string would cause the door to move and make the cans rattle, alerting someone hiding in the offices beyond the door.

Exerting still greater caution, Toby bent almost double as he advanced under the trap without setting it off.

Taking care to station himself near a wall rather than be exposed by standing completely in the open, he peered hard around the office in which he found himself.

Dividing the room into rough segments, he studied each section separately as he searched for Ho Tai. But his efforts were in vain. He finally had to satisfy himself that his foe had chosen to await his coming somewhere else.

Toby was forced to advance still farther into the suite. Again he came to an open doorway that separated two offices, and he hesitated before he stepped over the threshold. He saw no semblance of any obstacle, no hint of any trick, yet he was convinced that Ho Tai would not miss this opportunity to try to get rid of him.

Then he looked down at the carpet, and for an instant he froze.

Something was inching toward him on the floor. On close examination, it proved to be a snake about a half-inch in diameter and two feet in length. It was impossible to distinguish any of the snake's markings in the dark, but Toby assumed that it was poisonous.

The snake raised its head to strike. Toby was ready for it. Grasping a throwing knife by the hilt, he threw it at the serpent. The snake's head was severed from its body, which thrashed violently on the floor and then continued to writhe feebly.

Knowing he had been spared another time, Toby retrieved his knife and crossed the threshold, where he scrutinized the room with infinite care. As his eyes adjusted further to the light, he saw that the richly furnished room was much as he remembered it. The thick Oriental rug had been changed, but the porcelain jars and the magnificent wall hangings were the same, as was the delicate tea service of porcelain that graced a low table.

On the far side of the room, beyond the tea set, a dark shadow loomed.

Making no move, scarcely daring to breathe, Toby studied the shape intently and finally made out that it was indeed a person. Ho Tai was crouching on the floor, poised for action, ready to attack the moment Toby drew nearer.

Toby realized luck was with him. Ho Tai hadn't counted on his foe's extraordinary eyesight and no doubt believed he remained undetected in his hiding place. Slowly drawing one of his throwing knives, hoping the darkness concealed what he was doing, Toby raised his arm inch by inch until it was in position to release the blade. He had only one chance to hit his target before Ho Tai would launch his own attack.

All at once, Toby realized with chagrin that Ho

Tai had indeed detected his foe's movements and was about to throw his own knife at the newcomer. There was only one way Toby could protect himself. He realized he had to unleash his throwing knife before his foe could let fly with his own knife. If his aim was less than perfect, he might be unable to avoid Ho Tai's blade and would be killed.

Reacting instinctively, Toby threw his knife. The blade was a dark blur as it sped across the room. All the years of Toby's rigorous training proved effective: The blade found its target, and Ho Tai grunted as the steel sank into his flesh, killing him before he had an opportunity to release his own knife.

Toby strode across the room and stood above his fallen foe. Ho Tai stared with sightless eyes at the ceiling, his knife wound spewing blood on the precious Oriental rug.

Rather than retrieve his blade, Toby preferred to let it continue to protrude from Ho Tai's body, where it would serve as a warning to the leaders of the tong. Realizing that the tong could say that Ho Tai was sent back to China to perform some duty, and then replace him with another hatchet man who would continue the tongs reign of terror, Toby carried an Oriental armchair to the busiest street in Chinatown. Then he went back for the body of Ho Tai, which he dragged through the streets, then sat upright on the chair, the blade still protruding from his heart. Toby assumed that in the morning when people started on their daily rounds, everybody in Chinatown would get the message.