“A mess of venison wouldn’t taste half bad,” he remarked.

“Yes,” cried the girl, “I’m nearly famished for meat—­it seems as though I could almost eat it raw.”

“I know that I could,” stated Billy.  “Lord help the deer that gets within range of this old gat of Theriere’s, and you may not get even a mouthful—­I’m that hungry I’ll probably eat it all, hoof, hide, and horns, before ever I get any of it back here to you.”

“You’d better not,” laughed the girl.  “Good-bye and good luck; but please don’t go very far—­I shall be terribly lonely and frightened while you are away.”

“Maybe you’d better come along,” suggested Billy.

“No, I should be in the way—­you can’t hunt deer with a gallery, and get any.”

“Well, I’ll stay within hailing distance, and you can look for me back any time between now and sundown.  Good-bye,” and he picked his way down the bank into the river, while from behind a bush upon the mainland two wicked, black eyes watched his movements and those of the girl on the shore behind him while a long, sinewy, brown hand closed more tightly upon a heavy war spear, and steel muscles tensed for the savage spring and the swift throw.

The girl watched Billy Byrne forging his way through the swift rapids.  What a mighty engine of strength and endurance he was!  What a man!  Yes, brute!  And strange to relate Barbara Harding found herself admiring the very brutality that once had been repellent to her.  She saw him leap lightly to the opposite bank, and then she saw a quick movement in a bush close at his side.  She did not know what manner of thing had caused it, but her intuition warned her that behind that concealing screen lay mortal danger to the unconscious man.

“Billy!” she cried, the unaccustomed name bursting from her lips involuntarily.  “In the bush at your left—­look out!”

At the note of warning in her voice Byrne had turned at her first word—­it was all that saved his life.  He saw the half-naked savage and the out-shooting spear arm, and as he would, instinctively, have ducked a right-for-the-head in the squared circle of his other days, he ducked now, side stepping to the right, and the heavy weapon sped harmlessly over his shoulder.

The warrior, with a growl of rage, drew his sharp parang, leaping to close quarters.  Barbara Harding saw Byrne whip Theriere’s revolver from its holster, and snap it in the face of the savage; but to her horror the cartridge failed to explode, and before he could fire again the warrior was upon him.

The girl saw the white man leap to one side to escape the furious cut aimed at him by his foe, and then she saw him turn with the agility of a panther and spring to close quarters with the wild man.  Byrne’s left arm went around the Malay’s neck, and with his heavy right fist he rained blow after blow upon the brown face.

The savage dropped his useless parang—­clawing and biting at the mighty creature in whose power he found himself; but never once did those terrific, relentless blows cease to fall upon his unprotected face.