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CHAPTER XVI. THE SUPREME SACRIFICE

THROUGH the balance of the day and all during the long night Billy Byrne swung

along his lonely way, retracing the familiar steps of the journey that had brought

Barbara Harding and himself to the little island in the turbulent river.

Just before dawn he came to the edge of the clearing behind the dwelling of the

late Oda Yorimoto. Somewhere within the silent village he was sure that the two

prisoners lay.

During the long march he had thrashed over again and again all that the success

of his rash venture would mean to him. Of all those who might conceivably stand

between him and the woman he loved--the woman who had just acknowledged

that she loved him--these two men were the most to be feared.

Billy Byrne did not for a moment believe that Anthony Harding would look with

favor upon the Grand Avenue mucker as a prospective son-in-law. And then there

was Mallory! He was sure that Barbara had loved this man, and now should he

be restored to her as from the grave there seemed little doubt but that the old love

would be aroused in the girl's breast. The truth of the matter was that Billy Byrne

could not conceive the truth of the testimony of his own ears--even now he scarce

dared believe that the wonderful Miss Harding loved him--him, the despised

mucker!

But the depth of the man's love for the girl, and the genuineness of his new-found

character were proven beyond question by the relentless severity with which he

put away every thought of himself and the consequences to him in the matter he

had undertaken.

FOR HER SAKE! had become his slogan. What though the results sent him to a

savage death, or to a life of lonely misery, or to the arms of his beloved! In the

face of duty the result was all the same to Billy Byrne.

For a moment he stood looking at the moon-bathed village, listening for any sign

of wakefulness or life, then with all the stealth of an Indian, and with the trained

wariness of the thief that he had been, the mucker slunk noiselessly across the

clearing to the shadows of the nearest hut.

He listened beneath the window through which he and Barbara and Theriere had

made their escape a few weeks before. There was no sound from within.

Cautiously he raised himself to the sill, and a moment later dropped into the inky

darkness of the interior.

126

The Mucker