Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 43: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

TEN FATHOMS DOWN. They came crawling over at every conceiv- able place, armed with short billets of wood. Dunn grappled with the foremost, shoved him back an arm’s length, and then shot out a full swing square into the puffed face. The man’s heels flew upward as if shot by a spring and he slumped into a senseless heap against the bulwarks. The sudden, terrific smack of fist on flesh drew a cry from Florence in the stern. Dunn glimpsed a look of wonderment on her face. Fitz, finding he could not fire the shot- gun without injuring his own people, hur- riedly dropped it behind a hatch and leaped forward. The boarding party was now en- tirely lost to view in the shuffle. Dunn se- lected another opponent. One tremendous blow and the fellow went to his knees like a pole-axed ox. Ross’ plunged up the gangway, and in spite of his apparent weight, reached the top before any one could oppose him. Dunn waded into the mélée and jerked his vic- tims up and out of the scuffle, poised them a minute and then stunned them with his enormous fist. A club had opened a wound on his forehead and the blood dripped down over his eyes and into his mouth. A well aimed clip on the ear roused all the berserk fury in him and he slipped through, beating and flinging aside the struggling men like chaff. His eye was fixed on Ross on the farther side of the battle. When he gained this point, Ross closed on him with a clinch. His arm held a heavy weapon aloft; it came down as Dunn slipped and the blow fell on his shoulder. In exchange there came a stinging blow to Ross’s hairy cheek that rocked his head on the brawny shoulders. Fists smacked and crunched against flesh. The wooden billets were lost in the fury of the conflict. Curses,.wheezes, grunts came from the struggling men on deck. Here one man had another in the water- way, pounding his head against the steel angle iron. Another pair had lost all human shape in a tangle of legs and arms, revolv- ing rapidly with the force of conflict, like a human gyro from a mad world. Like beasts they growled and fought. Blood marked faces leered in victory, only to bury 3 A oo themselves in the deck when a blow fell on unprotected heads. Fists rose, hesitated, then fell. The scrambling mass of men clawing and biting, snapping and snarling tumbled over and over in a mad galaxy of superhuman viciousness. They gouged and bit, kicked, punched and wrestled. Human endurance began to give out, Only Dunn seemed tireless. His arms swung back and forth, dealing out stunning blows. His shirt hung in tatters about his waist. Blood streamed down his naked torso and disappeared in the tangle of rags at his waist. Here and there a still form twitched or rolled loggily over when a foot sought a hold in the abdomen. Ah Jung, for some mysterious reason, re- mained out of the conflict. He darted in occasionally like an avenging wasp. In his right hand he held a long, black cotton sock, weighted at the bottom with a door knob. Like a furious fate he picked out an enemy and administered a gentle tap on the skull. He had disposed of three of the boarders when his almond eyes saw a stealthy shape, well clear of the battle, hur- rying away. Quickly he glanced around, saw that his Cap’n Bill was still upright, dropped the sock into his pocket and fol- lowed, The two forms, pursuer and pur- sued, disappeared around the hatch top. Dunn had disposed of Ross, who lay panting in against the bulwark. Fitz was prone on his back a dozen yards away. The crew of the Olympia were slowly gain- ing the upper hand, At last the remaining men, four in number, were set upon by seven of the yacht’s crew. They fled for the gangway, but the boat had drifted away, so they turned like cornered rats and snarled, ready to fight again. Dunn stag- gered weakly toward them. The remainder of the Mary’s crew and sixty per cent of the Olympia were either senseless or groan- ing miserably. ‘Say ‘ when’ you crimps and dock wal- lopers.”’ One, evidently the leader, spoke: “ We knows when we’s licked,” he growled out surlily. ‘‘On’y me bucko, we ain’t licked yet!” He glanced up at Dunn, cunning- ly. ‘‘ They’s an Irish pennant in the stew, Mr. Skipper.” CoOmmicoooks (S@)