the white man's skull.

The great odds against the two men--their bravery in
the face of death, their grave danger--and last and
greatest, the fact that one was the father of the
beautiful creature he worshipped, wrought a sudden
change in Number Thirteen. In an instant he forgot
that he had come here to kill the white-haired man,
and with a bound stood in the center of the room--
an unarmed giant towering above the battling four.

The parang of the Dyak who sought Professor Maxon's
life was already falling as a mighty hand grasped the
wrist of the head hunter; but even then it was too late
to more than lessen the weight of the blow, and the
sharp edge of the blade bit deep into the forehead of
the white man. As he sank to his knees his other
antagonist freed an arm from the embrace which had
pinioned it to his side, but before he could deal the
professor a blow with the short knife that up to now he
had been unable to use, Number Thirteen had hurled his man
across the room and was upon him who menaced the scientist.

Tearing him loose from his prey, he raised him far
above his head and threw him heavily against the
opposite wall, then he turned his attention toward
Sing's assailants. All that had so far saved the
Chinaman from death was the fact that the two savages
were each so anxious to secure his head for the
verandah rafters of his own particular long-house