Adventure Magazine Cover — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

The Fenceless Meadows Putting his hand under his coat he brought out the iron belaying-pin; and once more waited, looking over the sea. There was only the sea and the sky beneath the golden moon. He crept a step nearer to the sleeper, who suddenly, moving uneasily in his sleep, half-awakening, made as if to arise. With one swift stroke the old sea- cook brought the iron belaying-pin down upon his skull and crumpling, he lay, his great limbs twitching horribly, in the bot- tom of the boat. Soon he was still, and Moses, bending down, tried to lift him; struggling in the yellow moonlight with the huge body, un- able to move it. With the quiet precision, of a seafaring man he unlashed the oars taking the ropes from them and lashing the dead man’s feet; making the handy-billy tackle from the locker fast to them, and slowly hauling the body forward, raising it across two oars laid fore and aft in the bow. At length, unhooking the tackle, and un- lashing the ropes, he threw them aside; standing with the corpse steadicd across the boat’s bow. Placing his arms under it with a quick heave he rolled it overboard; and involuntarily sprang backward as the fins sped, converging, toward the spot whence, from the motionless sea, bubbles arose. Gazing for a few minutes about the horizon, he went aft; and lying down at Nance’s feet was immediately asleep. Morning came again, and Nance, gazing around, shuddered, trembling at the great fins sweeping to and fro; gasping with horror as a monstrous shark, swimming close to the boat, seemed to watch her as it passed. Terrified she knelt in the bottom of the boat, hiding her face in her hands. Hearing her moving, Moses awoke, soothing her, saving that it could not now be long till they would be picked up. Staring at him, she asked where the others were—for not till now had she missed Billings. ‘They drank sea-water, Miss Nance,” he said. “They drank sea-water and went crazy in the night. They jumped over the side, miss.” Shuddering, she huddled in the bottom of the boat. That day the old sea-cook cut his allow- ance of water yet more; doling it to Nance in tiny drops, making her drink slowly; keeping her mouth moist; pretending to drink himself; gulping eagerly at the beaker- plug. 171 She thought he drank. Night coming again, she slept peacefully, as if in her cabin aboard the bark—or in her room beneath the cottonwoods. Moses slept fitfully—staring across the sea in search of help. Another day came and went; Moses still gulping at the water-beaker, pretending to swallow; passing her small allowance of water, and telling her to drink slowly; keep- ing his face from her—lest she see his lips. Another night came, and again she slept, awaking refreshed. Again he gave her water, bidding her drink slowly. When the next. day came he no longer spoke to her—his lips too dry for speech. That night she slept fitfully, and, awaking, found him lying at her feet. Staring at him, she called to him by name, her own voice frightening her. Filling the pannikin brimful. she pressed it to his lips, he staring into her eves, shaking his head; motioning the pannikin away, pushing it toward her lips; she begging him to drink—he motion- ing her not,to spill the water. That night, when the moon arose, the old cook lay still, his head in her lap; she yet trving to put the pannikin between his lips. His head drooped and, dropping the pannikin, she screamed. When morning returned she stil] sat with his head in her lap, under the awning, the pannikin at her feet. Picking it up she drained the beaker into it, holding it to his blackened lips, the water trickling down his white beard. By noon the water was gone. The sharks cruised to and fro, tireless, expectant—unseen by the girl who, crouch- ing in the bottom of the boat, held the dead cook’s head in her lap. a light trade on her quarter. Her =" skipper was taking her mate’s watch; for the mate dozed in his bunk below, raving when awake about an open boat, and calling to a woman named Nance. The sun shone on a sea scarce rippled by the cats- paws that crossed it; every sail upon the great four-master gleaming white as she crept lazily across it. Upon her fo’csle head two men watched the porpoises at play beneath her bow. Far away a school of bonito, hunting the flying-fish, churned the XII THE May Flint was sailing northerly, Conn Clooolkks (©) iin