McTee stood over the struggling three and smote right and left among the mutineers.

A knife caught his shirt at the shoulder and ripped it to the waist; a club whizzed past his head, but his great fists smashed home on face and head and sent men staggering and sprawling back.

The confusion gave him an instant of freedom in a small circle, and he leaned and caught one of Harrigan's assailants by the heels.

It was a little man, a withered fellow scarcely five feet tall and literally dried up by the tropic heat.

He was wrenched from his hold, heaved into the air, and then whirled about the head of McTee like a mighty bludgeon.