VANDERDECKEN

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 537, 14 December 1928, Page 5

VANDERDECKEN

By

U. DE VERB STACPOOLE.

CHAPTER XXVII (Continued) After breakfast they started again, working iu two shifts at half an hour each, and keeping it up till eleven. Then they knocked off, fagged out but somehow happy. The middle of the (lay was too hot for work, and after dinner they slept till three, knocking off finally somewhere about six. A hole ten feet broad from north to south, eight feet from east to west, and nearly three feet deep, was the result of their work, the excavated stuff being hanked north and south, so that if the. wind blew up from either quarter, there would be less drift of sand in the hole. Hank watered these banks as far as he could with 'rater from the spring iff the cliff to make the sand “stay put"; then they went off to supper. T.C. had worked in her way as hard as any of them, taking as a sort of Personal insult any suggestion that she was overdoing herself. Dogtired now, she was seated on the sand the middle tent reading an old ‘.Chicago Tribune” that George had brought ashore, while the others prepared supper. "Lord,” said Hank, as he knelt building up the fire. “If I haven’t forgot to send for your book.” He looked toward the boat on the beach aa d half rose to his feet. , "I’o not wanting it.” said Tommie. This is good enough for me; I'm too tired for books —tea’s what I want." She dived into the paper again, emerging when supper was announced j b the gist of an article on the Tr SUe hfatlons between her teeth. C. had strong political opinions, and her own ideas about the League of jhtiona. She did not favour the league, and said so. Hank, opening a can of salmon and a in his ideas, forgot it. waved it in e air and started to do battle with

I Tommie. That was Hank all over; heart-punched, lying on his back with Cupid counting him out, he saw for a moment only the banner of universal peace and brotherhood waving about him. . _T i “But it isn'l. so, cried Hank. “There’s no Monroe doctrines in morality. America can't sit scratching herself when others are up and doing. Why, the nations have got war down, down, right now, kicking under the blanket, and it only wants America to sit on her head to keep her down.” “America’s got to be strong before she does anything,” fired Tommie. “How’s she to be strong if a lot of foreigners sitting in Geneva can tell her to do this or that? Why, they’d cut her fists off.” “Strong,” cried Hank. “Why, armies and navies aren t strength. Love of man for man ” “Mean to tell me you love Turks?” j “Ain't talking of Turks.” j “Greeks then Portugueses say, tell me straight—do you love niggers?” The sight of Tommie “bet up” and with sparkling eyes gave the struggling hero such another heartpunch that he collapsed, lost sight of the banner of brotherhood, and went on opening the can of salmon. “Maybe I’m wrong and maybe you’re right,” said he. “it's a big question. Pass me that plate, will you. Bud?” S.K. had said nothing. He had deserted his co-idealist like a skunk, and seemed engaged in re-reviewing the League of Nations by the light of Tommie. Half an hour after supper the whole lot of them were snoring in their tents, pole-axed by sleep. CHAPTER XXVIII.—STRANGERS ON THE BEACH. Next day passed in labour, another ( two feet being added to the depth. ; At ten o'clock on the morning after as the Tommie-Chink-Bud shift were taking on digging, Hank, shaking sand from his clothes, called out to the others to look. Down from the southern defile in the cliffs, a small procession was coming on to the beach. First came a man in a broad-brimmed hat, then another leading a mule, and another following after. “Mexicans.” said George. “Sure,” said Hank. “Look, they’ve seen us; they’ve stopped, now they’re j going on, right down to the sea edge. I Wonder what they’re after?” The Mexicans, having reached the j sea edge, began to wander along it, 1 coming in the direction of the tents. !

Every now and then they stopped to gather something. “Seaweed,” said Hank. ' Look, they are shoving it into a sack on the mule.” „ “Well, come on,” said Tommie. She jumped into the sand-pit and began to dig, Bud and the Chink following her. Hank rolling a cigarette, sat down and watched the seaweed gatbThe tide was half out and they were following it., walking along the extreme edge of the water. Then he saw them stop and take something from the mule’s back. “Shovels,” said Hank to himself. As chief engineer of the business, Hank, from the first, had been impressed by the fact that the deeper they went the harder the work would be, simply because the sand had to be flung out of the pit. ' The first few feet in depth it was easy enough, but the depth already gained was beginning to tell, and the Hanks of excavated stuff to north and south made matters worse by increasing the height over which the sand had. to be flung. “Shan!” suddenly cried Hank, springing to his feet. “Shovels!” Shan, who was lying on his back with his hat over his face, resting for a moment, sat up. Hank was gone, running full speed and whooping as he ran. He reached the sea edge and caught up with the beach-combers who were digging for huge clams just where a bank of sand and mud touched the true sand. Close to them now, they showed up as three tanned, lean, hard-bitten individuals, carrying big satisfactory heart-shaped Mexican shovels, and looking all nerves and sinews, with faces expressionless as the face of the mule that stood by with its two sacks bulging, one evidently with provender, the other with gathered seaweed. “Hi, you jossers,” cried Hank, “want a job, hey? Mucho plenty dollars, dig for Americanos.” He made movements as of digging and pointed toward the sand-hole. “No intende,” replied the tallest of the three. “Come on,” said Hank, taking the long man by the arm and leading the way. He had remembered that Kearney said he could talk Spanish. The others were all out of the sandhole watching, and half-way up Shan and George joined Hank. "Here’s your dredging machine,” cried Hank. “Look at the shovels, ain’t they lovely? Get at them, S.K., and ask their terms.” Shan spoke with the long man, seeming to explain matters. “Five dollars a day each,” he interpreted. “They say they’ll work all day for that.” "Fifteen dollars,” said Hank. "Take 'em on. it's cheap. We can get rid of them before we strike the stuff; take ’em on for one day, anyhow.” Shan concluded the bargain. Then

he led the beach-combers to the hole and explained matters. They understood, then, having consulted together like experts, they took the matter into their own hands, asking only that the others should set to work and remove the hanks of refuse to north and south of the hole. “Well,” said Hank, as they sat at dinner that day, “give me Mexicans for work. A raft of niggers couldn’t have moved the dirt quicker’n those chaps. Why, we’ll' be down to bed rock by to-night.” “I gingered them up,” said Shan. “Told them if they,got clown to what I wanted to find by to-night, I’d give

them ten dollars extra apiece. But they won’t do it.” By six o’clock that evening, however. the job was nearly done. They reckoned that only a few hours’ more work would find the stuff, unless a heavy wind blew up in the night and spoiled things. Hank paid the hired men off with dollars supplied by George, and then they sat, down to supper, the beachcombers camping near by and having the time of their lives with canned salmon, ships’ bread and peaches supplied for nothing. Tommie had fallen in love with the

mule. It had eaten half a “Chicago Tribune” blowing about on the sands and she was feeding it now with wafers, which the brute took in a gingerly and delicate manner, as though chicken and asparagus had been its up-bringing, instead of old . gasoline cans and esparto grass. "She made friends with that mule,” said George. “She’d make friends with Satan,” said Hank. “Look at her talking to those greasers as if she knew their lingo.” “She’s making them laugh,” said Shan. An hour after supper the beach was

at peace. Even the mule had fallen into the frame of the picture. It was lying down by its sleeping masters. Away out across the water, the amber light of the Wear Jack showed beneath the stars. An hour passed. Then things changed. The mule was lying dreaming, maybe, of more wafers, and in the starlight, like shadows, the forms of the three Mexicans, each with a shovel over its shoulder, were passing toward the sand-hole. “Rouse up. Hank!” Hank, snoring on his back, flung out his arms, opened his eyes, yawned

and stared at the beautiful blazing morning visible through the tent opening. CHAPTER XXIX.—“TOMMIE'S GONE!” “Lord! it’s good to be alive!” said Hank. He dressed and came out. Kearney was tinkering at the fire. The mule, on its feet now, was standing, while Tommie was feeding it with dried grass taken from the provender bag. the Mexicans, sitting like tired men, were smoking cigarettes, while the four-mile beach sang to the crystal waves and the white gulls laughed. It was a pretty picture. Tommie came running to the heap of stores by the middle tent, chose a couple of tins, wrapped up some biscuits in a bit of newspaper and presented the lot to the Mexicans.” “They look so tired," said she, as they sat down to breakfast. “Well they ought to be,” said Hank, “seeing the way they’ve been digging. Boys, I reckon they- ought to have a bonus.” “They’ve had fifteen dollars,” said the practical George, “and their grub!” “Maybe,” said Hank, “but they’ve done fifty dollars’ worth of work, seeing how we’re placed. I vote we give them five dollars extra.” “I'm with you,” said Shan. “Ten,” said Tommie. “I’ve only a ten dollar bill left on t me,” said George. “Don’t matter, give it to them.” Tommie took the note and, leaving her breakfast, tripped over to the jVjexicans Then she came back. Half an hour later, armed only with the spades and Hank’s improvised shovel, they set to work. George suggested borrowing the greasers’ shovels. “I'd rather not,” said Shan, “they’ll be going off the beach soon, and I’d rather they weren’t here when we strike the stuff; we’ll soon be on it now.” “What's the matter with the sand?”, asked Hank as he contemplated the floor of the hole. “Looks as if it had been beaten down with a shovel.” “Shovel—nothing ” said George; “it’s their flat feet, come on!” By half-past eleven o’clock, Shan reckoned that the depth required had been reached if not passed. “We’ll get it this evening,” said he, “as sure's my name’s Shan Kearney.” As they turned to the tents for dinner and siesta, they found that the ; Mexicans were still on the beach a bit to the southward, strolling along I by the sea edge. Then they came back southwards. I “I wish those greasers would go,’* ! said George. When l hey turned in for the midday siesta. the beach-combers I seemed to have made a little camp for the purpose of rest and cigarettej smoking half-way between tbe sea

edge and the southern defile in the cliffs. George slept, at first the sleep of the just, then began the sleep of canned kippered herrings and SO degrees in the shade. Tyrebuck was buried alive somewhere on the beach, and they were trying to locate him without treading on him; then, having seemingly given up this quest, they were seated playing cards with Hank’s late partner, the lady who could put a whole potato in her mouth. They were playing a new sort of game which the ingenious Hank had invented, and which he called Back to Front. That is to say they were holding their cards so that each player could only see the backs of his own and the fronts of his partner’s hand. It was bridge, moreover, and they were playing for potato points. How long this extremely intellectual game lasted, it is impossible to say. It. was suddenly interrupted. Hank outside the tent had seized his foot and seemed trying to pull his leg off. “Come out!” cried Hank. "She's gone!” “Gone! Who’s gone?” “Tommie. They’ve stolen her!” Shan, already awakened and out, was running around looking at the sand as if hunting for her footsteps. The raving Hank explained that, unable to sleep, he had come out and found the Mexicans gone. Some premonition of evil had made him glance at Tommie’s tent opening. Not being able to see her, he looked closer. She was gone. They had stolen her. “After them!” cried George. Aroused from a fantastic dream, he found himself faced with something equally fantastic. The size of Tommie made a lot of things possible. Visions of her, captured and strangled and stuffed into one of the bags on the mule's back, rose before him, though why or for w-hat purpose the greasers should commit such an act was not clear. The going was hard over the sand till they reached the oefile in the cliffs toward which the mule tracks seemed to lead. Here the way led gently uphill over broken rocky ground till they reached a low plateau where, under the unchanging sunlight, the