antheress.

A weltering splash--Peter dimly saw the bobbing head before it was
driven below the surface as the junk, yawing in, crowded the swimmer
down.

A life? Nothing to the turgid river, draining all effluvia from the
yellow heart of this festering land.

With a hissing sob, the woman drove Peter backward, raining blow after
blow on his chest. The engines pounded briskly. A boom rattled.
Despairingly, Peter's antagonist shifted her tactics, surprised him by
flinging herself to the rail.

The junk was veering away as the _Vandalia's_ blades took hold.

She poised on the top rail, drew herself together, and leaped!

The junk slid into the mist.

CHAPTER VIII

Peter was conscious of a hot stickiness at his throat where the claws
had taken hold. Then he concerned himself with the gray shape that lay
quite still on the iron deck at his feet. New enemies from other
quarters, he realized, might strike at any instant.

Gathering up the limp form, he climbed the ladder to the darkened
promenade deck and up another flight through the tarpaulin cover to the
boat-deck. Opening the wireless-house door, he deposited his burden
gently upon the carpet, and switched on the light. Then he turned the
key in the lock, and examined his find. A long, gray bag of some heavy
material swathed the small figure from head to foot. There was no sign
of life.

Yelping arose from the river. It was still dark. The sampan coolies
were out early. Peter listened, becoming thoughtful as a solution
seemed to present itself to his problem.

He went out on deck and beckoned to one of them to stand by.

A swaying coolie in the stern of the nearest craft caught sight of him.

"Hie! Hie!" The wagging paddle became mad. The sampan slipped under
the towering shadow and brought up with a smack against the moving
black hull.

Peter pried up the tarpaulin life-boat cover, dragged out a coil of
dirty rope, made one end fast at the foot of the davit, and tossed the
other end overside. The coolie caught it and clung.

Re-entering the wireless cabin, Peter opened his pocket-knife and slit
the cord at the head.

A mass of curly, brown hair flowed out upon the carpet. There was a
silken lisp of underskirts. A faint sigh.

Peter suddenly turned his head. Black, glassy eyes were riveted upon
his from the after window. They vanished.

He jumped up, bolted to the deck, and stood still, listening.

The scuffle of a foot s