Adventure Magazine Cover — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

uM rrs hf > 7] a - Le ae Yt ie : “om - ‘ i. - Red Saunders’ Protégé 47 Sammy, one of the lookouts, appeared in haste. “Cap’n!” he announced. full ob mans wif gun an’ spear, sar! two t’ousand, sure. What can do?” Inured as he was to facing odds, Saunders was no scatter-brained fool to throw his men away needlessly. He remembered the threat that his schooner would be burned. He recalled the scanty numbers of the ship- guard left on board. And against them, in face of imminent trouble, was a sun-scorched go-down of uncertain contents, a rapidly lowering jungle night, a hostile village and the con- viction that he had forced the truth from the sultan’s unwilling throat—in short, that his pearls and other effects were irrecov- erably lost, and that he stood fair to lose his schooner and the lives of his men. As for his own life, he never let that sway him in any conceivable event. That was Red Saunders.. “Begins to look as if we’ve backed a loser, Sammy,” he replied briskly. “Come along boys.” Reentering the chamber, he took hold of Sadrash, tucking him under one powerful arm. “Scat, Carter!” he snapped. ‘Have the boys gather up these guns, or break ’em, and follow me. Looks like a fight on hand before we sail from this place!” Then he swung his captive off his feet and plunged out and into the forest. Carter followed, swinging the great simitar. rd THE fight turned from a prospect ‘“‘De woods he One, to a certainty. Out of the jungle swarmed a small army of dark shapes, and in answer to the howls of their released but disarmed fellows guns began to spit, and the swarm converged upon the little band of retreating Black Pearl boys. And highest of all the urging squeals was the thin pipe of the terrified Sadrash, despera- tion forcing his vocal cords to rebel against the bodily fears inspired by that awful grip about his squirming form. “Got to stop that, old-timer,” grunted Saunders, stumbling heavily in the darkness as the old reprobate kicked like a boy under parental coercion. He shifted his pistol to the hand holding Sadrash and drew his knife, jabbing the _ point persuasively into the skinny ribs. ‘Now, you runt, squeal all you want,” he gritted. “But squeal right, and keep your dogs at heel, or I’ll let your withered tripes out.” The sailors, at Carter’s heels, were fight- ing with grim ferocity when Saunders plowed forward again, and many of them bore hurts sore enough to constitute a warning that they had a long way to go yet. But Sadrash proved a potent talisman to those of his men who had not yet seen him closely in his shaven state, even if his body- guard had laughed at sight of him; and as the forest was penetrated deeper toward the night-blanketed creek only the rear- guard of the schooner’s men were forced to turn to fight their pursuers every few yards. It was within sound of the sea and sight of the dim creek that Sadrash’s body-guard managed to convince their mates of the sultan’s fall from majesty in their eyes, and by that time Red Saunders was right in his element—in sight of his own good little ship, with the knowledge, imparted by lantern signals, that she was still intact and her small gang of watchmen yet complete. His whistle shrilled a summons for the boats to hasten, and he led his boys in a last desperate charge which was to scatter his foes back far enough to permit them all toembark. He heard the rattle of oars, and relief seemed very near. But the old chief had reached the limit of his usefulness as a talisman. Shriek as he might, his rascals ignored both entreaties and threats and surged forward with bitter insistence. Saunders dropped his knife, seized Sadrash in both hands and hove him . high in the air above his head. “All right,” he roared. ‘If you want him, here he comes.” He pitched the old villain headlong into the midst of his gang, and turned to meet the boats. But the darkness which impeded the boats among the half-submerged jungle roots aided Sadrash’s men. When he tumbled among them, whimpering with rage, even the white men who had seen him changed by a dry shave from a terrifying ° old villain into a mean-faced, impotent, skinny image, rallied to back him and stand off the sailors from embarking. And the boats were yet struggling with the man- grove barrier. ‘The overwhelming army of enraged whites and Timoreans came on again, their growling and cursing resound- ing through the black jungle. “Stand fast, bullies!” gritted the skipper, CopmicooolkSse©