gle, calm though deeply interested; for the soul of your half-civilized South Sea islander is ever athirst for the sight of a regal battle. It was of no particular concern to them which of the two should prove the victor, unless there was any chance of the victor being weak enough at the finish to fall a prey to them, and there seemed to be every indication of something of the sort happening in this case.
Finding he was unable to squirm round and face his assailant, Moniz worked one hand toward his hip-pocket and managed to draw a gun from it. Instantly Keith seized the wrist of the Portuguese.
The girl, who had cast her eyes round hurriedly for some weapon, took hold of an iron bar and stepped near.
"Get back, Joan!" Keith shouted between his teeth, as he exerted every ounce of strength. "Keep off, or you'll be shot."
The girl obeyed, more because she feared to inflict injury on the wrong man than lest she should be hurt.
With a sudden twist of his great frame, Moniz turned, his chest now becoming pressed close to that of Keith, and they were locked in that position momentarily, each having an arm round the other's shoulder.
"Ah, it is you!" Moniz gasped, not without a queer sense of savage joy, for there was no man he would rather fight to a finish than the American
