VANDERDECKEN

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 540, 18 December 1928, Page 5

VANDERDECKEN

+ By

H. DE VERE STACPOOLE.

CHAPTER XXXII. (Continued). “That's what i thought first,” said Ceorge, “but she couldn't. islie was anchored fast. If she had, why, she could have put back. What’s the good of supposing when the thing’s clear as paint He was boss of the ship, the Chinks always looked to him tor orders, they’d do whatever he told them, and when he went aboard last eight and told them to knock off the ■hackle and drop the anchor chain, they wouldn't grumble, if they thought anything, they’d think it was part of Home move in the game and we were in it. We’ve made several big mistakes. but the biggest was letting that say be boss.” “Well, he was boss, anyhow," said the ingenuous Hank. “He was the best man of us three in the practical business, and I’m not saying he "asn't the best in brains. He couldn’t run straight, that's all. If he could, he might have been President by this. They all sat silent for a minute, theu George sprang to his feet. “Breakfast," said George. Not another word was spoken of f'audon. It was as though he had been expelled from their minds as from their society. But they could not expel the situation he had created. Though the Wear Jack was no use for taking them back to San Francisco, it could have taken them somewhere —anywhere from that beach where the fume of the aea and the sun and the silence and desolation and the blinding sands and mournful cliffs bad already begun to tell upon them now that the place w as a prison. Then there were the

Mexicans to be thought of. If those men whom Ihey had kicked and manhandled and robbed of their booty were to return with a dozen others, what would happen? How could two men and a girl put up any sort of a fight? And the dreadful thing was Tommie. Tommie who had stuck to them because she was a brick, who. to save them from a ridicule almost as bad as disgrace, had insisted on going on. If she had turned back, she might have been safe at Los Angeles uow instead of here. This thought hit Bud almost as badly as Hank. It did not seem to hit Tommie at all. There were moments during the preparation of breakfast when the throat muscles of the redoubtable T.C. made movements as though she were swallowing down the recollection of Candon, but the meal once begun she seemed herself again. As they ate, they discussed the situation in all its bearings. They had provisions enough for three weeks according to Hank’s calculations. He suggested that they should hang on just there for a day or two, and then, if nothing turned up in the way of a ship, that they should “hike” down the coast toward the town “that blighter” had spoken of. “What was the name of it?” asked George. “Search me,” replied Hank, “but it don't matter, the name, it’s a town anyhow.” “And suppose while we're hanging on here those Mexicans come at us?” asked George. Hank had forgotten the Mexicans. • If they do.” said he. “we’ll have to

fight them, that’s all, we’ve got the spades, and two ’Merricans are a match for a dozen dagoes, and there’s not likely to be that number.” George got up and walked off down ! to the sea edge. He seemed to be i thinking things over. Hank found himself alone with | Tommie. I “You meant three ’Merricans,” said j she. I “Sure,” said Hank, “you’d put up as ! good a fight as any of us, I believe.” | Hank had never dealt much with women-kind, except maybe in that horrible business liaison of his with Mrs. Driscoll, and though he had read the Poems of Passion by Ella Wheeler AVilcox he had no language at all to garb his sentiment with, if you can dignify with the title of sentiment a desire to eat Tommie. He heaved a deep sigh and began tracing patterns on the sand with his finger. The rat trap inventor was at fault, his ingenuity could not assist him, the civilised man who believed in the sanctity of womanhood and the primitive man who wanted to make a meal of T.C. were at war, but the primitive man was the stronger and ■was preparing to speak and make a fool of himself when a yell came from George. “Ship!” They sprang to their feet and came running to the w r ater's edge, they could see nothing—then, following his pointing, away on the sea line, they saw what looked like the wing of a fly. “It’s the Wear Jack,” said Hank, j “no, it ain’t —her canvas "wouldn't j show as dark as that.” “How’s she bearing?” asked George. “Coming right in, I believe, she’s got the wind with her. that’s her fore canvas, there’d be more spread if she was sideways to us or tacking against the wind. Yes, she’s coming right for ! us.” “Good,” said George. There was silence for a moment, a silence more indicative than any words could be of the relief that had come ; to their minds. It was suddenly shat- j tered by Hank. “She’s the Heart of Ireland.” “How do you know?” “Bord! how do I know? I know. 1 feel it. What else can she be? Why, she’s due. She’s just had time to mend herself and put out, what other boat would be putting into this Godforsaken place? and she seems about the size of the Heart. We’ll soon see. I’ve got the specification down in my head, that blighter gave it to me—two topmast 50-ton schooner, broad beam and dirty as—Hades. Those are her beauty marks—we’ll soon see.” “But she’d have passed the AA r ear Jack,” said George. “Not if the Jack went south, and anyhow they'd have passed in the night; wouldn’t have seen each other.” “What are we to do?” asked Tommie. “I’m thinking.” said Hank. He looked round, brooded for a moment, ( j

and then stood looking out to sea. His ingenuity was at work. Then he spoke.

“There are no caves in these cliffs, or we might hide there. No use scattering inland. First of all, if these chaps find nothing but the tents they’]! j think us gone, and they’ll go off with i the tents and grub and everything, ! then where would we be? We’ve got. j to hide and watch for chances,” ! “Where?” asked George. Hank pointed to the big rock beforementioned, shaped like a pulpit, that stood close to them by the sea edge. “There, standing close up to it, we can dodge them when they’re coming ashore. Then when they land we can shift round to the north side of it, see?” ' “I see,” said George, “but where’s the use, suppose we manage to hide entirely from them, where’s the use?" They’ll take the tents and stores, as you said—and where will we be?” “Now, see here,” said the rat-trap man, “it’s ten to one the whole crowd will come ashore, leaving only a couple of guys to look after the ship. They’ll beach the boat, leaving a man to look after her, and scatter up to the tents, see?” “Yes.” “Well, there’s a chance that we may he able to make a dash for the boat, knock the chap on the head, push her off and get to the schooner.” “Good!” cried Tommie. “And suppose there’s a lot of fellows on the schooner?” asked George. “Oh, suppose anything. What do you think this show is? If I know anything of that crowd It’s our lives we are playing for and the chances are a hundred to one against us. It all depends where they beach the boat. Come along, it’s time to get to eastward of that rockJ’ I Hank picking up a water beaker j and a cup, they moved off to the rock [ and put it between them and the sea. ! Hank, before taking shelter, shaded j his eyes and looked out to sea. | “ltd’ll take them near an hour to | get in,” said he. | Half an hour passed, and then the | thirst began. Used as they were to ! the sun, they had never before experienced the ordeal of sitting still with the sun’s rays beating on them. For-! tunately they wore panamas, and the wind from the sea licked round the rock every little while,. - bringing a trace of coolness. Hank poured out the water, and they drank in turn every now and theu. He insisted on wetting Tommie’s head occasionally. They talked in whispers and scarcely at all, listening—listening—listening. Time passed, bringing gulls’ voices, the beat of the little waves ou the beach, the silky whisper of the sand, then . suddenly, far away Rumble-tumble-tum-tuni-tuni. The sound of an anchor chain runjuing through a hawse pipe. They looked at one another. “That’s the killiek,” murmured l * Hank. “It’s them right enough, j j they’ve come right in -knowing the j j ground, they wouldn’t have been in I | so quick if they hadn’t been used ! to the place. Listen!” He had no j j need to tell them to listen. Time passed, and the beach talked.

but no sound came from the sea but tlie sound of the small waves. Tommie suddenly nudged Hank. She nodded toward the cliffs, on the sky edge of the cliffs something black showed, then it withdrew. “Men.” whispered Tommie. “Mexicans,” murmured Hank. The | eerie feeling came to him that behind ! those cliffs, in the gullies, men were ’ swarming. That Sinaloa had beaten up its bandits and desperadoes. just i as he had expected it would, and I that the call of the diamonds, like the call of a corpse in the desert. | was bringing the vultures. They ! would connect this new crowd just ! about to land with the treasure busi- ! ness. If they showed themselves too j soon then McGinnis and his men would be frightened off. McGinnis was bad, but the Mexicans were worse. Hank did not often say his ; prayers, but he prayed just then that cunning might be granted to the . dagoes not to shout before the game j was corralled. He needn’t. There came a far-away voice from the sea and a creak of oars —nearer. “Get your hind legs ready,” whisi pered Hank. Crash! The oar§ were in. Then | came a burst of yells as though a j pack of demons had suddenly been j unleashed and unmuzzled. Hank sprang to his feet. Beading j the others, he dodged round the north side to the seaward side of the rock. A hundred and fifty yards away to the south a big boat had been beached. It lay unattended. Bike a pack of hounds on a hot scent tlie McGinnis crowd were racing toward the tents, you could have covered them with a blanket, blind to everything but loot and vengeance, a trumpet would not have turned them. Hank seized Tommie by the hand and started. It was a hundred and fifty yards j from the rock to the boat, the going j good over a strip of hard sand un-: : covered by the ebbing tide. From the boat to the nearest tent | was about a hundred yards, the going bad, over soft friable sand. They had made fifty yards un- j noticed when Tommie tripped and fell. Hank, picking her up, flung her on his shoulder. The ruffians, racing from tent to tent, hunting, cursing, rooting about, i saw nothing till Pat McGinnis himself, turning from Tommie’s tent,

empty like the rest, saw the whole of Hank’s cards on the table —so to speak. All but the ace of trumps. He whipped it from his belt, aimed, took a long shot on chance, and, leading the others, raced back for the sea edge. CHAPTER XXXIII. Hank had dropped into the boat and was striving with George to push off, when the crack of the revolver came, followed by the whizz of the bullet, yards out. "Shove her! —shove her!” cried Hank. The huge brute of a scow had settled herself comfortably in the sand as if she meant to take up her residence there. Tommie, tumbling out of the boat nearly as quickly as she had been thrown in, put her shoulder to the stern. Hank and George at either gunwale clutched hard. Hank gave the word and they all heaved together. Next moment they were

| on hoard her and she was water-borne, j Hank seized one of the ash sweeps and, using it as a pole drove her half i a dozen yard, she slewed round side- | ways, but George in the bow had a sweep out now, and with a stroke, ■ pulled her nose round while Hank ' took his seat. j As they got a way on her, McGinnis, leading the hunt, was only twenty j yards from the sea. ho was holding ■ his lire as were the others till they ! reached the water’s edge, when the 1 bang of an old tpusket that might have landed with Padre Junipero 1 made the echoes jump alive. The attackers wheeled. | Down through the two defiles and ; fanning out on the sands, pouring like I ants, came the country-side for all It was worth, half a hundred beggars and lauded proprietors, zambos and terzerons. yellow men, and men who were almost black, armed with anything and everything, and led by the “Dredging Machine.” A fellow who had tumbled in his hurry was picking I himself up, it was his musket that bad gone off by accident. “Pull!” shouted Hank. They were saved. The McGinnis j crowd, like a pack of wild dogs, chased I by wolves, were racing along the I water edge toward the south horn of | the bay, the Mexicans, faced by the facts of the sand and a proposition in ! Euclid, had paused for half a moment. The direct line toward the | south horn of the bay was hard going : over the soft sand, but it was shorter than making direct for the hard beach, i Two sides of a triangle being longer than the third. They took the shorter , way. The rowers as they rowed watched * the race, and saw plainly that McGin-

nis and his merry men were making good. Then they turned their attention to the ship ahead. She was swinging to the current broadside on to them, a frowsy-looking two topmast schooner, the "Heart of Ireland,” sura enough. “Wonder how many chaps are on board,” said George ‘'We'll soon see,” replied Hank. As they drew closer they saw a man leaning on the rail, and watching them through a pair of binoculars. He seemed the only person on the j ship. Closer now, the old schoo"- r began to speak of her disreputability. The paint, in llviik s : words. was less paint than ; blisters; the canvas, hurriedly stowed, was discoloured aud patched, old stuff re-done by the hand of Mr.Gay, the standby of small shipowners in these days, when a new mainsail for a small boat costs anything from 200 dollars. Built in JSB2 as a trading schooner, she had been built a bit too small, but she had looked honest when the fitters and riggers had done with her. Honest, clean, aud homely. In those first days one might have compared her to a country girl starting for market with a basket a~ bit too small. In two years this simple trader had changed her vocation; in 35 years she had done pretty much everything that a ship ought not to do —run guns, | run gin, and opium, fished in pro--1 hibited waters, and in some extraordinary way she bore the stamp of it all. If some ship lover had seen | the Mary Eurton—thatl was her first ' name—and the Heart of Ireland, which was her last, he might have been excused if a moral man for weeping. (To be continued.!