Already a boat had been lowered and was putting in for
land. Billy waded out to the end of the short shelving beach
and waited.
The sight that met the eyes of the rescuers was one that
filled them with awe, for they saw before them a huge, giant
of a white man, half-naked except for a few tattered rags, who
wore the long sword of an ancient samurai at his side, a
modern revolver at his hip, and bore in his brawny hand the
heavy war spear of a head-hunter. Long black hair, and a
huge beard covered the man's head and face, but clean gray
eyes shone from out of the tangle, and a broad grin welcomed them.
"Oh, you white men!" shouted the mucker. "You certainly
do look good to me."
Six months later a big, smooth-faced giant in ill-fitting sea
togs strolled up Sixth Avenue. It was Billy Byrne--broke, but
happy; Grand Avenue was less than a thousand miles away!
"Gee!" he murmured; "but it's good to be home again!"
There were places in New York where Billy would find
acquaintances. One in particular he recalled--a little,
third-floor gymnasium not far distant from the Battery. Thither he
turned his steps now. As he entered the stuffy room in which
two big fellows, stripped to the waist, were sparring, a stout,
low-browed man sitting in a back-tilted chair against one wall
looked up inquiringly.
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