Far away, like the storm wind in the forest, he heard the moan of the wolf pack.
"Give in! Give in!" panted McTee.
"Ah-h!" snarled Harrigan.
He felt the deck swing and jerked his legs high in the air.

He could not have broken that grip of his own strength, but the sway of the deck gave his movement a mighty leverage.

The hand slipped from his neck, scraping skin away, as if a red-hot iron had been drawn across the flesh.

But he was half loosed, and that twist of his body sent them both rolling one over the other to the scuppers of the ship--and it was McTee who crashed against the rail, receiving the blow on the back of his head.

His eyes went dull; the red hands of Harrigan fastened on his throat.
"God!" screamed McTee, and gripped Harrigan's wrists, but the Irishman heaved him up and beat his head against the deck.
McTee's jaws fell open, and a bloody froth bubbled to his lips; his eyes thrust out hideously.
"Ah-h!" snarled Harrigan, and shifted his grip lower, his thumbs digging relentlessly into the great throat.