Adventure Magazine Cover — page 102: what you’re looking at

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

94 They’re comin’ aboard like Canton pirates —-big, whiskered ones an’ little ones with beady eyes—all squeakin’ an’ hurryin’; an’ some o’ them drowned an’ some o’ them got over——”’ ‘Well, what of it, Blue Peter?” “They’re frightened out of their holes.’’ ‘“‘Why should they come aboard?” “Because th’ schooner is stanch—an’ healthful. Rats know things we don’t know. Look at that one comin’—crawlin’—- he’s a wise rat.”’ The mate had seen rats climbing aboard ships and schooners many times in his life. Ife became openly skeptical. “You think there will be a plague ashore —but there won’t be any.”’ “Ye know?” The Yankee mate felt like gripping Blue Peter’s throat and throwing him over the rail. ‘Ever since we left ’Frisco,”’ he exclaimed, “you’ve been mumblin’ an’ rantin’ an’ cantin’, ’Vast with it an’ act like a man!’ Slowly the old salt’s head turned toward the shore; he leaned and watched the drip- ping hawsers, down which, spaced like knots in a line, came rats that squeaked and were engulfed in the slime of the lagoon. One, a big fellow, scrambled aboard the schooner, ran between Red Landyard’s outspread legs and disappeared beneath a bucket-rack in the waist of the Calipso. “Ve saw that?” croaked Blue Peter. Red Landyard shrugged his shoulders; he went aft to Mickey’s cabin. The little skipper felt better. “We'll go out of this cursed lagoon— some time tonight—an’ cruise for a breeze. Get a deck of cards, Red. We'll play pinocle.”’ An idle day passed; the mate at nightfall informed the shipkeepers, a Lascar and Blue Peter, that the schooner would clear Nati at high tide—seven bells in the morning. Blue Peter leaned from the rail. “Ve are leaving young McMasters be- hind?” “Certainly!” Blue Peter shook his head. “Tis wise to go out—but not without th’ old man’s boy.” ‘“‘Nonsense!” the mate exclaimed. ‘Bob has got to watch th’ divers. If he don’t they'll steal whatever pearls they get.” Adventure Bo MIDNIGHT, eight bells, found ine Blue Peter acting strangely. He shuffled a lone watch across the en s planks, eyed the shore, sighed, grew restless, glanced aft and finally be- came remarkably spry for an aged man. The sail-locker was open; Blue Peter went over its contents and selected a marlinspike with a twine-wrapped handle. He balanced this in his hand, swung it, then hid it be- neath his shirt where it could be readily pulled out. Pausing, he again glanced aft where Micky McMasters and Red Landyard were sleeping. No sound came from the cabin— the Lascar was doubled in a forecastle bunk. The Calipso floated near enough to the rotting wharf for a determined man’s spring. Blue Peter made the leap, landed on the wharf, rose and stood silently regarding the shadows that stretched from the sheds to the sleeping town and the scrub jungle. He half-ran, half-staggered, along the shore of the lagoon and came by a sandy trail to the pearl-shacks where Bob Mc- Masters and the divers slept. A dog barked; a native appeared, crawl- ing from a thatched tent. Blue Peter shout- ed that McMasters was ill and called for Bob to come to the schooner at once. Bob appeared, clad in white pajamas. “Bring the pearls,” said Blue Peter. “The old man is ravin’ to see ’em. Come at once!” Cursing the hour, Bob disappeared into the shack and reappeared with trousers and shoes on. “Follow me,” said Blue Peter. The old salt stumbled along the sandy trail and struck around the lagoon; Bob McMasters had difficulty keeping up with him. “What Happened to my father?” he ques- tioned. ‘Is the fever worse?” Blue Peter did not answer; he shook his head dolefully and fingered the pointed end of the cord-wrapped marlinspike. The two men passed between the trading-sheds and came out upon the wharf. Bob eyed the schooner, seized hold of the shore-line that ran to the bow and pulled on it. The Calipso gradually was drawn in his direc- tion. Bob leaped, and Blue Peter followed after him; they landed in a sprawled heap near the forehatch. Out was whipped the marlin- spike from Blue Peter’s shirt; he crouched, COMmicaoo® S (©)