Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

6 Adventure IT THE woman glanced around her, . and a momentary shiver seemed to suggest that even her boldness failed to reassure her entirely in the presence of that imminent menace. The grove where she and the Schoolmaster stood listening was empty of any but themselves; through the polished stems of palms, and the broad leaves of wild bananas, the pirate settle- ment’s dazzling walls of coral and shell- lime peeped at no great distance, and just beyond twinkled the blue Caribbean, dotted sparsely with small craft at anchor, in vari- ous degrees of dismantlement. But not a man was to be seen either at. the-work that shouted for action or at the village; every idle dog of a freebooter had cast aside all ties of duty in the absence of a strong leader and joined in the noisy barbecue now vomiting its roysterers in threatening search for vengeance in stricken Rando’s behalf. es “Let us make haste to such cover as may be,” the Schoolmaster urged, taking Nell’s arm and starting forward. His own face was grave, far graver than at any moment during his own recent bait- ing, unless it had been in that fleeting mo- ment when he was hurt by a blow and for- got himself so far as almost to retaliate in kind. But some of the steely devil that had danced in his eyes then, lurked in them now, and his expression of harmless softness was sharply accentuated because of the two grim lines at his lip-corners. “Can you give me weapons? We will give them a merry jig for a while, let what will happen after.” “Not even Edward Davies can stand off an army,” Nell retorted passionately. “If John Cook—the laggard!—would but show his topsails above the horizon, he might yet > ‘“FYe’ll get here to find our bones, unless you make haste to arm us,” the School- master rejoined savagely, at length out of patience. : The roaring mob were in sight, the leaders waving naked cutlases and bawling oaths aimed at the problematical immortal souls of Nell Clark and the singing Schoolmaster. The bedraggled parrot sat on his master’s shoulder regarding the coming enemy with a red and disapproving eye. ‘“There’s blood on the moo-oo-on, cra-w- _ awk!” the wretched bird squawked, and the woman laughed, the nervous tension broken. “Come!” she cried, and ran swiftly to the seaward edge of the village. “Here! In with you! ’Tis the armory and magazine. If they can smoke us out of here we may well leave the bones to Cook.” The heavy oaken door, made from the timbers of stout ships, clashed shut behind them, leaving them in darkness which was speedily filled by the clamor that instantly attacked the barrier. Nell Clark moved in the black gloom as if her eyes were possessed of the virtue of a cat’s, and presently the Schoolmaster, who had forced a small peep- hole in a boarded window, felt the touch of a cold steel musket-barrel in his hand and heard her voice at his ear. “Here! Tve loaded it. Shoot Doggett first, and the rest will think twice before persisting after me. I have a half-hundred muskets at hand, and will load as you fire.” “One-piece shooting won’t stand ’em off, Nell,” Davies retorted, aiming at Doggett, however, through his peep-hole. He fired, and squinted hard through the smoke to watch the result. The ball ripped past the pirate’s ear, tearing the skin, but doing him small harm. It served to infuri- ate him, and his hoarse voice boomed forth: “Tear the place down, lads! Ye’ve been swayed by the minx long enough. Ye’re man’s men, ain’t ye? Then come on!” Davies fired again, three times in quick order, and saw a man fall, another stop short with one arm clutched tightly in his other hand, and the third ball go astray. He flung down the muskets with a .curse, thrusting aside the fresh ones Nell put to his hand. “Devil seize such popguns!” he cried. “Have ye no good cutlas, nor any pistols? Give me a sharp blade and a brace of short blunderbuss hand-arms, and I’ll open the door and put thefear o’ the devil into the mob.” “You’re but a poor shot with a musket,” muttered Nell. “I have heard that your blade is a match for any three. But how long can it fight against that mob outside? And when you’re down, shall I stay here like a sheep? “Take the muskets, I say. Shoot—shoot —and still shoot, hit or miss, until I make my own invention ready.” “Give me a fistful of bullets, then. I'll ‘ CORNICLOOO© CS (C@