Adventure, February 1917 — page 81: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Nobody’s Island figure and the feet, jolly companion though she was. “Ahoy!” he hailed again. “Is that Slade?” 3 “Ves!” came the strong voice again. “Slade and Mrs. Slade. Who are you?” “Just coming,”’ called the captain; he had no particular desire to give his name. It was assuredly very late for bush- walkers to be wandering without a camp. The sun was really down now, and twilight had come on as fast as the sea comes up a sandy shore. They could scarcely see their way. The camp-fire was visible, glowing ahead of them with a cheerful orange flame, and there was a heartening smell of smoke and frying meats. Their carriers chattered and laughed and made joyful noises sug- gestive of eating. f aie ) THE forest openedout. There was a small clearing, where natives had been cutting logs for canoes. Some of the logs remained in place, old and covered with fungus. Two people were seated on them, watching the carriers pre- pare supper. They were sitting fairly near the fire, though the night was warm, in order to keep away the mosquitoes. The full light of a great log of blazing timber streamed up on Edith’s face. Slade beyond her, was in shadow. Campbell looked, looked, and looked again. God! What a beauty she was! In the loose white shirt and khaki knickers she wore, the outlines of her splendid figure and limbs showed as if in a bathing dress. Her hat was off; her short, thick mass of gold hair shone like metal in the flame-light. The pointed, cameo-cut face with its great spiritual blue eyes showed clear against the background of black forest. One hand, as she leaned slightly forward, rested on the haft of her long knife. “Armor,” breathed Campbell, not know- ing that he spoke aloud. plate, and standard in her hand. Why, she would be Joan of Arc come to——”’ “Do you think her so like?” whispered “Why, Murua! I had forgotten you were— Yes, yes! Very like. And that’s the man she risked her life for. Well— well!’ A curious hatred of Slade flowed t up in his heart, like a hot spring bursting through a “A steel breast- 79 tranquil lake. -Who was this man that he should own that splendid beauty, that she should fight for him, slave for him, perhaps sin for him, stain those fine hands in blood for his sake. Yet her loveliness altered not at all the idea he had formed of her. Campbell, as a roving sailor, had met too many beautiful women to judge their characters by the set of a shoulder, or the hang of a mass of hair, If this Mrs. Slade were indeed his cousin’s widow—and he had little doubt of it— justice should not be balked of fullest inquiry, simply because the woman was very fair. There is perhaps no class of man in the world so keen for justice as the man who has trodden the bridge of His Majesty’s fighting ships. In the nineties, there had been a Spanish-Tahitian half-caste girl among the eastern islands. He could see her now, the beautiful wildcat creature, with the blood of a leading seaman of his ship spattered down the front of her fine silk dress, and the light of that ill-famed house in the orange thicket falling on her defiant face, as he had her arrested and taken to the supine gov- ernor who dared not, though he would, pass over the killing of a British sailor. She had hanged in her silk dress next week, in the public square of the town, and Camp- bell had looked on, with a face of wood, while the local executioner bungled the dreadful task through. “You look at her cruelly,” said Murua of a sudden in hisear. “I think you sailors of the King have hearts that are hard and soft too, Why are you hard to Edith?” “T’m not hard to you,” said Campbell, putting a ready arm round her waist. It was always the easiest way of diverting a woman’s attention. The little thing trembled and drew away; but he-could feel that she moved reluctantly. ‘‘Aren’t you going to join the Slades?” she said. Slade had already noticed them. His inscrutable brown face, like some carving on an Egyptian monument, was turned half away, but he had seen the clothed figures. creeping up in the bush and had wondered silently who it was that Murua had got with her, and why the deuce he couldn’t come out and look about him like a man. He said nothing to Edith. The making of unnecessary and uncalled-for statements EOPMICLOOOKS (E©)