Instantly, the village swarmed with samurai, women, children, and dogs.  They rushed toward the hut of Oda Yorimoto, filling the outer chamber where they jabbered excitedly for several minutes, the warriors attempting to obtain a coherent story from the moaning women of the daimio’s household.

Barbara Harding crouched close to the door, listening.  She knew that the crucial moment was at hand; that there were at best but a few moments for her to live.  A silent prayer rose from her parted lips.  She placed the sharp point of Oda Yorimoto’s short sword against her breast, and waited—­ waited for the coming of the men from the room beyond, snatching a few brief seconds from eternity ere she drove the weapon into her heart.

Theriere plunged through the jungle at a run for several minutes before he caught sight of the mucker.

“Are you still on the trail?” he called to the man before him.

“Sure,” replied Byrne.  “It’s dead easy.  They must o’ been at least a dozen of ’em.  Even a mutt like me couldn’t miss it.”

“We want to go carefully, Byrne,” cautioned Theriere.  “I’ve had experience with these fellows before, and I can tell you that you never know when one of ’em is near you till you feel a spear in your back, unless you’re almighty watchful.  We’ve got to make all the haste we can, of course, but it won’t help Miss Harding any if we rush into an ambush and get our heads lopped off.”

Byrne saw the wisdom of his companion’s advice and tried to profit by it; but something which seemed to dominate him today carried him ahead at reckless, breakneck speed—­the flight of an eagle would have been all too slow to meet the requirements of his unaccountable haste.

Once he found himself wondering why he was risking his life to avenge or rescue this girl whom he hated so.  He tried to think that it was for the ransom—­yes, that was it, the ransom.  If he found her alive, and rescued her he should claim the lion’s share of the booty.

Theriere too wondered why Byrne, of all the other men upon the Halfmoon the last that he should have expected to risk a thing for the sake of Miss Harding, should be the foremost in pursuit of her captors.

“I wonder how far behind Sanders and Wison are,” he remarked to Byrne after they had been on the trail for the better part of an hour.  “Hadn’t we better wait for them to catch up with us?  Four can do a whole lot more than two.”

“Not wen Billy Byrne’s one of de two,” replied the mucker, and continued doggedly along the trail.

Another half-hour brought them suddenly in sight of a native village, and Billy Byrne was for dashing straight into the center of it and “cleaning it up,” as he put it, but Theriere put his foot down firmly on that proposition, and finally Byrne saw that the other was right.

“The trail leads straight toward that place,” said Theriere, “so I suppose here is where they brought her, but which of the huts she’s in now we ought to try to determine before we make any attempt to rescue her.  Well, by George!  Now what do you think of that?”