Adventure Magazine Cover — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

* tt 49g 4 — - —— 7 . ee = 5 ~ ae Siem, Me aa £ > a ¥ _ ae | é vr a ae = Be : a eynital stinldity. Braune swayed to the e cao « : od . 7: Roe So ——<S aS oa ed = = Oe Ser Maen» ‘emg Py rail and hung inertly against the iron rods. a “Knoughe” questioned Falcon. Braune made fio move and no answer. In the dark Falcon’s blow had gone wide a finger’s breadth. The mate was whipped, but still conscious. Unseen, he picked up an iron shackle left lying loose after it had been used to hook up a boom tackle. As Falcon disappeared down the ladder, he rose on his knees and threw it viciously. He heard it strike and the thump of Falcon’s body on the deck. Then he went down him- self, turned off the steam and stopped the windlass. “Good work, Braune,” said the captain at his elbow. ‘‘Getting the chains over has brought her up. See if you can hurry the men along any on the other job.” The mate leaped in cursing and men be- gan to slink away, but enough stood by and the work was so far along that very shortly the sea-anchor was helping to bring the Lotus around into the wind and sea. 9) JIM FALCON’S old slouch hat and thick, curly hair had saved his head to some extent. He lay in the scupper until a plunge of the ship brought a wave-top washing down on him. It soaked him though and brought him speedily to consciousness. ' The fore part of the ship seemed deserted, the only sounds being the crash of seas against the bows, the changing key of the wind’s tone as the Lotus pitched and the squeak of the new hawser against the bitts which held the canvas sea-anchor. Jim Falcon felt of the long bump along his scalp and got up. The salt water made the bruised flesh sting. Then he crept aft holding to the rail, often to his waist in water. “They will be trying to trim her,” he said to himself. “I was a fool not to make sure _ of Braune before I started away.” In the waist of the ship, somewhat sheltered ‘by the deck-house, the men were assembled around No. 3 hatch. A cargo- light gleamed into their wet faces. Jim Falcon stopped outside its circle, unnoticed by the group. Captain Melvin McRae was ‘there, and the other officers and Braune. A few hatch-boards were off and the mate was raving at the men. ‘““Get-in there, you scum,” he shouted. ~ trim that cargo before she sinks sw : ey ee) Ee ee ae 4 ~ ¢-'9 ee ae ce ~ * es . 5 ews under you and drowns the lot of you rats!” He lunged into the group, punishing, driving with all his old lash of fists and kick of heavy boots. The men made small resistance, melted away before him, re- formed in another place, but none of them started below. “That will do, Braune,” spoke Captain McRae. ‘Let me speak to them.” Jim Falcon smiled contemptuously as he listened. “Too late,’ he muttered to himself, look- ing out at what was happening as if it were . a play in which he had no concern. “This is little short of mutiny,” spoke the captain sharply. “The safety of the ship depends on getting below and shoveling the shifted grain back to where it belongs. Any sailor worthy of the name would do it.” “We'd get in there and be battened — down,” said a voice. ‘Then if she goes over, what chance would there be?” “Lemme get that fellow, captain,” whisp- ered Braune, but. Captain McRae re- strained him, while he talked on, argued, urged, cajoled. “Come on, men,” he said finally. “T’ll go in with you. Take a shovel myself.” “Beg! You puppy!” sneered Jim Falcon, his undertone purposely inaudible to the knot of men. “But it’ll do you no good with this bunch whose manhood you’ve let Braune stamp out.” “To —— with that hot air,” came the same voice, a little man full in the glare of light, and Kinky Braune broke bounds. Curiously the little man made small at- tempt to*get away. Braune caught his shoulder, whirled him about, struck him to the deck, started to kick his ribs with his heavy boots. The little man fumbled at his ragged clothing and screamed as the first kick crashed into his thin side. McRae, just behind Braune, sought to get in between him and his victim. “No more of that!’”’ he cried, but the mate © was beside himself. He shook off the captain’s restraining hands and leaped at the contorted, pro- strate figure to finish what he had begun. His foot sent the little man’s gun whirling overboard. There had been one shot, a streak of fire, and a snarl of desperate agony from the writhing form on the hatch. Mc- Rae staggered, fell backward on the deck and lay still. Aimed at the mate, the bullet had found the caput: — —_ ae