Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

White Men tide. Only a miracle can save them. Tell ’em—these blacks won’t know what you're saying.” “An’ don’t be foolin’ yourself that they won’t know. Then where ’d we be? [hate to see them fellows get it—but not even a miracle can save ’em, anyway.”’ “You won’t warn ’em?” Rodgers de- manded. “VYou’re a-losing your senses. No.” “They’re white men.” “So’re we; an’ if it ain’t them, it’s us that'll get cooked.” Rodgers gave him no answer with words, but his eyes burned from under the half- drooped lids; and the look in them was not the look of sanity. His powerful hands opened and closed, opened and closed, gropingly. “Ahoy there!” Brannigan roared. Three white men stood at the rail and oddly enough did not appear at all surprized to see white men amid cannibals. “ One of them called back—” “Ahoy yourself, an’ come on board to have a drink.” “Can’t do it,” Brannigan called back. “Our friends here got a funny custom. It ain’t hospitable to visit a ship before the crew comes ashore. An’ you know how natives are. You boys paddle right over to the beach an’ we'll have a great pow-wow. Traders, ain’t you? Just in time to make a clean up an’ The canoe was in a short stone’s throw of the schooner, and broadside, nearly motion- less; and no other canoe was so close, but all of the others held back awaiting whatever signal Orokgo might make. And Brannigan did not finish his gammon, for a voice loud and clear as a bugle cried away to the schooner: “That’s a lie. They’re planning to cut you out. We're white cannibals as Savages are not quick to understand the unexpected and, their English being rather vague, they did not comprehend just what was being said; but Brannigan, as if in a spasm of terror, turned and his fingers reached for Rodgers’ throat to choke off the words. “You fool—fool!” Brannigan whispered fiercely. But Rodgers stood up and smote him a blow with a knot-like fist that rocked the canoe when Brannigan tumbled backward, full length, against the rowers so that there 77 was confusion. Then Rodgers leaped into the water and with the long overhand rolling stroke of the ocean swimmer made for the schooner; and before the canoe could be brought around he was being helped over the side. And his first cry was: “Your guns—quick. They’re going to rush you.” The three men, they were three young men, gaped at him blankly. They were scarcely more than boys, from somewhere out of the Saxon’s North, looking for adven- ture. A little money had been pooled in a trading-schooner and they had got an old-time trader and captain to go out with them; but he had died of dysentery at sea. Among the crew was a New Georgian who had been kidnaped off Nauro Island a dozen years before; and he had told the three young men of how friendly his village would be, and of the trading he would help them do. Knowing the currents and depths of the sound better than the lines of his own hand, he had brought them in. But as Rodgers came on board he splashed over- board and swam off to the canoe. There was a moment of rageful howling as the savages saw the schooner had been warned; and Brannigan was tomahawked from behind as he was trying to explain to Orokgo. Even cannibals despise the man that breaks from his caste. And after the burst of howls, which was caught up and echoed from canoe to canoe and re- echoed among the depths of the deep dark forest, there was silence. Some canoes hung off at a distance, but three began mak- ing a wide circle about the schooner, and at the bow of Orokgo’s was suspended the bushy red-bearded head of Brannigan. Rodgers looked over the half-dozen boys of the native crew, Tanna boys and Samo- ans. At least there would be no treachery from them. The three young white men, who had been searching for adventure, broke out their arms; and the guns were dirty and rusty from a lack of care. There were no cutlases. Rodgers took the car- penter’s broad ax and fastened a loop to the handle so it would hang over his forearm; and though he knew death was too near to be missed, he laughed. The three white boys could never have imagined that he was a morose sullen man. They, too, were nervous, excited, but somehow happy. The circling canoes moved closer and closer; and as a wild yelling started from COmicloo S (©