At the far side stood a rack filled
with long swords. Byrne removed two without the faintest
suspicion of a noise. He handed one to each of his companions,
cautioning them to silence with a gesture.
But neither Anthony Harding nor Billy Mallory had had
second-story experience, and the former struck his weapon
accidentally against the door frame with a resounding clatter
that brought half the inmates of the room, wide-eyed, to sitting
postures. The sight that met the natives' eyes had them on
their feet, yelling like madmen, and dashing toward their
escaping prisoners, in an instant.
"Quick!" shouted Billy Byrne. "Follow me!"
Down the village street the three men ran, but the shouts of
the natives had brought armed samurai to every door with a
celerity that was uncanny, and in another moment the fugitives
found themselves surrounded by a pack of howling warriors who
cut at them with long swords from every side,
blocking their retreat and hemming them in in every direction.
Byrne called to his companions to close in, back to back,
and thus, the gangster in advance, the three slowly fought
their way toward the end of the narrow street and the jungle
beyond. The mucker fought with his long sword in one hand
and Theriere's revolver in the other--hewing a way toward
freedom for the two men whom he knew would take his love
from him.
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