CHAPTER XXXIII
A Fight to a Finish
A mad fury seized upon the Wireless Officer. Without giving a thoughtto the automatic pistol in his hip-pocket he hurled himself upon thetreacherous Arabs.
Strong, agile, and carrying weight, his sudden and unexpected onslaughttook the pair as completely by surprise as their murderous attack hadtaken their victims.
With a crashing blow from his left Peter felled the fellow with theknife, stretching him insensible upon the deck and hurling theglittering steel into the lee scuppers.
So headlong had been Mostyn's rush that its impetus proved his undoing.His foot caught in the folds of the canvas. He tripped across the limpand inert body of one of the occupants of the overturned tent, and witha dull thud he measured his length upon the deck.
He regained his feet quickly, but not before the second Arab hadrecovered from the shock of the unexpected diversion. The next momentPeter and the Arab were wrestling furiously.
With a mighty heave the Wireless Officer swung his lithe and muscularantagonist from the deck, but the Arab's fingers were gripping Peter'sthroat in a sinuous and tenacious hold. Swaying, turning in shortcircles, the two combatants struggled. It was a question of who shouldbe able to hold out longest--the Englishman with his windpipe almostclosed or the Arab with his ribs strained almost to bursting-point andhis lungs as empty as a deflated tyre.
Once Peter swung the Arab round in the pious hope that he might crashhis opponent's head against the mast, but the fellow, although on thepoint of suffocation, contrived to turn aside. Then with a suddenmovement he released his grip on the Englishman's throat, transferringhis attention to Mostyn's eyes.
Peter's fairly long hair afforded a secure hold for the Arab's fingers,while his thumb slithered down Mostyn's forehead preparatory to thetypically Arab trick of gouging out his opponent's eyes.
"Would you?" spluttered Peter.
Releasing his hold of his foeman's body, he put a rallying effort intoa terrific uppercut. The blow was well-timed. The Arab was simplylifted from the deck. His arms outstretched, his fingers stillgrasping a generous helping of Peter's hair, he described a perfectparabola, Arab Number Two thudded unconscious upon the deck by the sideof his previously vanquished compatriot.
Dazed and breathless, Peter strove to recharge his lungs. He wasbarely conscious of the blood flowing from the raw patches whence hishair had been uprooted. It was his throat that pained terribly. Heseemed still to feel the claw-like fingers pressing remorselessly intohis windpipe. Every gasp of air rasped his lacerated tongue, which, inhis imagination at least, had swollen until it threatened to completethe choking process that his opponent had failed to achieve.
The respite, agonizing though it was, was a short one. A warningcry--whence it came Peter knew not--put him on the alert.
Approaching with swift, cat-like movements were two more Arabs, one ofwhom was the captain of the dhow. The latter had a knife in his hand,its long blade shimmering in the starlight. The other fellow, althoughhe wore a knife in his sash, relied upon an iron bar as a weapon ofoffence.
For the first time during the encounter Peter remembered his automatic.The thought gave him confidence for the renewed struggle, but hisfingers, trembling with the muscular reaction, fumbled as he drew thepistol from his pocket.
He was a fraction of a second too late. Before he had time to levelthe weapon the Arab with the bar dealt him a terrific, flail-like blow.Stepping aside and stooping, Peter avoided the swing of the weapon by ahairbreadth, but the automatic was struck from his grasp and flew halfa dozen yards along the deck.
The Arab, carried half-round by the impetus of the swing of the bar,finished up by dealing the captain a heavy blow upon the wrist thatcaused him to drop the knife.
Instantly Peter saw and seized his opportunity. Grasping the Arabsailor round the waist he advanced upon the captain, using the formeras a shield and battering-ram.
Retrieving the knife with his left hand, the skipper of the dhowadvanced cautiously, to be confronted at every approach by thestruggling, helpless form of his compatriot.
TWO TO ONE]
It was a strenuous task for Mostyn. Already sorely tried by hisprevious and successful combat, he realized that the unequal strugglecould not last much longer. The weighty and frantically kicking Arabwas surely wearing out his last remaining strength, while thecomparatively uninjured captain was awaiting his opportunity of rushingin and knifing the exhausted Englishman.
Peter had "seen red", now he was beginning to "see white", for a mistswam in front of his eyes. He felt his knees giving way under him. Hewas no longer able to hold his human buckler clear of the deck, and theArab's bare heels were beating an erratic tattoo on the planks.
Seizing his chance, the Arab captain sprang. The steel glittered inthe starlight. Peter could see that. He braced himself to receive thestroke, when a dazzling reddish flash stabbed the air, followed almostsimultaneously by a loud report.
As far as Peter was concerned the fight was finished. He layunconscious on the deck, sandwiched between his living buckler and thebody of the treacherous captain of the dhow.