Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 132: what you’re looking at

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

_— itll ) * ; * 5 pels § wu ® 7 . * 20 i - e% - o di and body of Williams. Then: “Jackson, you take what men you need. No lights, understand. Land on the beach. This boy’ll go along and show you the way. Grab him and get back before his niggers know you have him. I want to tell that fellow to his face what I think of him; then-——” Willerby ended abruptly with a signifi- cant sweep of his arm that suggested push- ing somebody overboard into the black water. “ll make your fortune for you,” he said to the horrified boy. ‘From this day on Winston Willerby is behind you. And that means something down in this country. Don’tit?” His question was an appeal to those who stood about him, and emphatic words flashing hastily from male and female throats, many of them loud words so that he might be sure which throat had spoken, agreed that it meant much: it was the great- est thing that could happen to a man in the South Seas. Some of the women cast speculating glances at Gilbert Lang. He had suddenly become worth while. Only Lania DuBeque remained silent. She was above such flattery. Hers was more subtle. Besides, she was sure of her position on board the Bebe or at the home plantation in the Fijis. But not for one second did she take her eyes off Gilbert Lang. There was something about the boy that more than interested her—almost disturbed her. She could not tell what it was. : “Well,”’ Willerby continued, in the large way that a man may assume when by a smile or a frown he has the power to affect the fortunes of others, “you're in with Winston Willerby from now on. Just go along with Jackson here and point out that —’s hut, and Jackson and his men'l! do the rest.” Now Gilbert Lang had found Williams a peculiarly unfriendly man and disagreeable as well as at times terrifying. The boy had been born into a home and raised in sur- roundings where a very deep and sincere religious feeling existed. Williams had been constantly blasphemous. More even than that, Williams had on one horrible occasion said that he would not crook a finger to stop a cannibal feast. He had many reasons for disliking as well as fearing Williams, and few were known for liking him. —_ wer . "es | d Ay Met ee — a i aoe ~~ Adventure ew + he > << “3. a= . True, he had awakened out of his feverish delirium to find himself in Williams’ hut and hammock, but Gilbert Lang knew nothing of Williams’ vigils, his unremitting cig = et no _ ga things than 's gift precious knife to Baraka as trie for isi the devil out of him. It was natural that Gilbert Lang would, almost invariably, mistake discourtesy—such as was con- tinuous in Williams—for a kind of re- pulsiveness of character. He did not feel the personal loyalty of the comrade for Williams, and, being very young, as well as more or less unconsciously eager to tell something—to give information —which is an impulse by no means re- stricted to the youthful—he had been un- aware of the ugly sound his words had had when he disclaimed all knowledge of Wil- liams’ business and all friendship for him. But Willerby’s suggestion smote Gilbert Lang as an insult would have done. In a way it was an insult. To deny friendship for Williams was one thing: to deliver him into the hands of the unfriendly was another. “Mr. Willerby,” he said, his voice trem- bling from the effort to remain calm, “I could not think of doing such a thing as you propose!” THERE was silence about the deck as those unexpected words fell from his lips. Willerby looked at him; just looked, as a monarch might stare at some poor fool who had done an incom- prehensible thing. DuBeque’s evil lips parted in a kind of amazed gasp. Jeb Jackson slipped his thumbs into his belt, leaned against the railing and sort of re- laxed into the attitude of a spectator. Jackson’s face was heavily bearded; so no one could detect the sort of a smile that ran along his mouth. Lania DuBeque nar- rowed her eyes and leaned slightly forward. Then Willerby cut loose. He cursed ‘the boy with a boatswain’s tongue, accused him of being a Williams spy, of the same breed and ilk as that thrice-damnable thief and white cannibal, as well as an ingrate! For wasn’t he, Willerby, about to make his, Gilbert Lang’s, fortune? And that was the manner of his repay! ae “Jackson,” he concluded, “throw him into irons! Hell never get off this ship . Then it was os Ai : ~comicbooks.com