Chapter X The End of the Islander

t,misshapenheadandashockoftangled,dishevelledhair.Holmeshadalreadydrawnhisrevolver,andIwhippedoutmineatthesightofthissavage,distortedcreature.Hewaswrappedinsomesortofdarkulsterorblanket,whichleftonlyhisfaceexposedbutthatfacewasenoughtogiveamanasleeplessnight.NeverhaveIseenfeaturessodeeplymarkedwithallbestialityandcruelty.Hissmalleyesglowedandburnedwithasombrelight,andhisthicklipswerewrithedbackfromhisteeth,whichgrinnedandchatteredatuswithahalfanimalfury. “Fireifheraiseshishand,”saidHolmes,quietly.Wewerewithinaboat’s-lengthbythistime,andalmostwithintouchofourquarry.Icanseethetwoofthemnowastheystood,thewhitemanwithhislegsfarapart,shriekingoutcurses,andtheunhalloweddwarfwithhishideousface,andhisstrongyellowteethgnashingatusinthelightofourlantern. Itwaswellthatwehadsoclearaviewofhim.Evenaswelookedhepluckedoutfromunderhiscoveringashort,roundpieceofwood,likeaschool-ruler,andclappedittohislips.Ourpistolsrangouttogether.Hewhirledround,threwuphisarms,andwithakindofchokingcoughfellsidewaysintothestream.Icaughtoneglimpseofhisvenomous,menacingeyesamidthewhiteswirlofthewaters.Atthesamemomentthewooden-leggedmanthrewhimselfupontherudderandputitharddown,sothathisboatmadestraightinforthesouthernbank,whileweshotpastherstern,onlyclearingherbyafewfeet.Wewereroundafterherinaninstant,butshewasalreadynearlyatthebank.Itwasawildanddesolateplace,wherethemoonglimmereduponawideexpanseofmarsh-land,withpoolsofstagnantwaterandbedsofdecayingvegetation.Thelaunchwithadullthudranupuponthemud-bank,withherbowintheairandhersternflushwiththewater.Thefugitivesprangout,buthisstumpinstantlysankitswholelengthintothesoddensoil.Invainhestruggledandwrithed.Notonestepcouldhepossiblytakeeitherforwardsorbackwards.Heyelledinimpotentrage,andkickedfranticallyintothemudwithhisotherfoot,buthisstrugglesonlyboredhiswoodenpinthedeeperintothestickybank.Whenwebroughtourlaunchalongsidehewassofirmlyanchoredthatitwasonlybythrowingtheendofaropeoverhisshouldersthatwewereabletohaulhimout,andtodraghim,likesomeevilfish,overourside.ThetwoSmiths,fatherandson,satsullenlyintheirlaunch,butcameaboardmeeklyenoughwhencommanded.TheAuroraherselfwehauledoffandmadefasttoourstern.AsolidironchestofIndianworkmanshipstooduponthedeck.This,therecouldbenoquestion,wasthesamethathadcontainedtheill-omenedtreasureoftheSholtos.Therewasnokey,butitwasofconsiderableweight,sowetransferreditcarefullytoourownlittlecabin.Aswesteamedslowlyup-streamagain,weflashedoursearch-lightineverydirection,buttherewasnosignoftheIslander.SomewhereinthedarkoozeatthebottomoftheThamesliethebonesofthatstrangevisitortoourshores. “Seehere,”saidHolmes,pointingtothewoodenhatchway.“Wewerehardlyquickenoughwithourpistols.”There,sureenough,justbehindwherewehadbeenstanding,stuckoneofthosemurderousdartswhichweknewsowell.Itmusthavewhizzedbetweenusattheinstantthatwefired.Holmessmiledatitandshruggedhisshouldersinhiseasyfashion,butIconfessthatitturnedmesicktothinkofthehorribledeathwhichhadpassedsoclosetousthatnight.