CHAPTER XVII.
I MEET COMMODORE DEWEY.
"Help!"
That was but the single word I uttered as the sharp blade dangled before my eyes and burnt itself on my brain. I felt that I was about to die—that an unknown Chinese assassin was about to slay me.
But in a twinkling the scene changed. Dan heard me go down, stopped, and turned back.
"Let him alone or I will shoot!" he cried, in Chinese, for he had picked up a good deal of the language while living in Hong Kong. His pistol came out, and the muzzle was thrust upon the Celestial's yellow neck.
The touch of the cold barrel of steel seemed to paralyze the Chinaman, and he fell back. "No shoot!" he mumbled. "No shoot!" And picking himself up, he sped away in the gloom as if a demon was after him.
"The cowardly sneak!" cried my chum. "If he—come!"
Another cry ahead had rung out, and away he
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