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He questioned if such a force could be killed, if a being materialized from the outer dark could be stopped by a pistol of even the latest, most ingenious mechanism. They fell and rose, and fell. Woolfolk's fingers were twisted in a damp lock of hair; they came away with the hair. He moved to his knees, and the other followed.
Iscah Nicholas never said a word; and fantastic thoughts wheeled through Woolfolk's brain. He lost all sense of the identity of his opponent and became convinced that he was combating an impersonal hulk the thing that gasped and smeared his face, that strove to end him, was the embodied and evil spirit of the place, a place that even Halvard had seen was damnably wrong.
John Woolfolk guided the boat about the point where he had first seen Millie swimming. He recalled how strange her unexpected appearance had seemed. It had, however, been no stranger than the actuality which had driven her into the bay in the effort to cleanse the stain of Iscah Nicholas' touch. Woolfolk's face hardened; he was suddenly conscious of the cold weight in his pocket.
I came ashore to instruct you to let my man and my property alone." "Then leave our water be." John Woolfolk's temper, the instinctive arrogance of men living apart from the necessary submissions of communal life, in positions however small of supreme command, flared through his body. "I told you," he repeated shortly, "that I would not discuss the question of the water.
The sudden thought of a disconcerting possibility banished Woolfolk's annoyance. "Halvard," he demanded, "did Nicholas knife you?" "A scratch," the other stubbornly reiterated. "I'll tie it up later. No time now I stopped him permanent." The jigger, reefed to a mere irregular patch, rose with a jerk, and the ketch rapidly left the protection of the shore.
He was growing vindictive in a petty way he tore at Woolfolk's throat, dug the flesh from his lower arm. Thereafter warm and gummy blood made John Woolfolk's grip insecure. The doubt of his success grew; he fought more desperately. His thoughts, which till now had been clear, logically aloof, were blurred in blind spurts of passion.
There were no blows nothing but the straining pull of arms, the sudden weight of bodies, the cunning twisting of legs. They fought swiftly, whirling and staggering from place to place. The hot breath of an invisible gaping mouth beat upon Woolfolk's cheek. He was an exceptionally powerful man.
When he came aft Woolfolk said shortly: "No mess." The haze deepened and night fell, and the sailor lighted and placed the port and starboard lights. The binnacle lamp threw up a dim, orange radiance on Woolfolk's somber countenance.
A leaden tide of apathy crept over Woolfolk's battered body, folded his aching brain. He listened in a sort of indifferent attention to the tempestuous breathing of Iscah Nicholas. John Woolfolk wondered dully where Millie was. There had been no sign of her since he had fallen down the step and she had cried out. Perhaps she was dead from fright.
It appeared secretive, a masked place of evil. Its influence reached out and subtly touched John Woolfolk's heart with the premonition of base treacheries. The tormented trees had the sound of Iscah Nicholas sobbing. He must take Millie away immediately; banish its last memory from her mind, its influence from her soul.
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