Uttering a snort, this time, instead of the laugh, the black sprang at his
intended prey. Their heads met, with considerable force. Then, with a
wild chuckle, the black wound his apelike arms around the young engineer.
"Reade! Tom Reade! Reade!" bellowed Hazelton lustily, as he tried
desperately to free himself from the crushing embrace of the other.
* * * * *
Over the waters came the penetrating beam of a small search-light. The
"Morton" was coming nearer all the time, but the ray did not yet reach with
any great clearness the point where Harry Hazelton had been fighting for
his life against his strange foe in the black night.
"Keep parallel with the wall, Evarts," Tom ordered, crisply. "Conlon, are
you pushing the engines for all it's worth?"
"Yes, sir," came from the engine-tender. "This old craft isn't good for
quite seven miles' an hour, anyway."
"There! Now I've picked up the part of the wall where there isn't any wall
in sight just now," said Tom, wincing over his own bull. "Hazelton ought
to be just this side of there."
"There's no one near the breach," replied Evarts.
"So I see," Reade admitted, in a tone of worriment.
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