Adventure Magazine Cover — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

42 though he was hot and perspiring, he felt a sudden chill. For the voice which had called to him from the jungle was the voice of Black Pete! “Who’s that?” called Filson, doubting his ears, and then without waiting for an answer, started to run—as a Malay with a blow-gun topped by a spear-head stepped out of the jungle. “Don’t run, sir!’’ called Black Pete’s voice. Filson stopped and turned to look at the Malay warrior—and recognized him as the former cook of the schooner Seeker! ‘““Where the did you come from, Pete?” gasped the mate. “Over the hills,” said Pete, grinning at Filson’s astonished stare at the blow-gun, the head turbaned with a few strips of scarlet cloth, and the vari-colored sarong tucked about the cook’s waist and falling in a skirt half-way to his knees. The hilt of a kris stuck up out of the folds, and over Pete’s shoulder there was a cord from which hung the bamboo case for the poison darts of the blow-gun. There was no doubt now in the mate’s mind about the Malay’s being Black Pete—yet this was not the cook of the Battleship Lunch in San Francisco, nor the unobtrusive and docile galley-man of the schooner Seeker. Half-naked and armed with primitive weapons, Pete was trans- formed into a savage, sure of himself, and standing erect with head thrown back as if he feared no man and bent the neck to no master. With the jungle behind him he was a man among men—bold and fearless in his own savage environment. “T thought the natives would kill you— and here you are dressed like a Malay fi “IT am a Malay,” said Black Pete. “I am the son of a Panglima, and belong to a ruling family of this island. I was stolen and taken on a ship when I was a boy— twenty-three years ago. That’s why I wanted to come back to Tangeru with the schooner.” i “Good Lord!” gasped Filson. ‘“‘Then you must have been talking to the natives last night aboard the schooner—talking on the dishpan!”’ ‘““Yes—my name is Barulla, and I shall be a datu,’’ said Pete. ‘I tell my people last night who I am—yes, on the dishpan.”’ “Well, I’m glad vou came out all right,” said Filson. “If I was you I’d keep out of sight along here, or you'll run into Captain Gedge.” Adventure “I was looking for Cap’en Gedge myself,”’ said Pete. ‘I came through the mountains last night, and I’ve been waiting for him. He didn’t pay me.”’ “I know that,” said Filson. “But you keep clear of Gedge. He’d like nothing better than a chance to take a shot at you, if he knew you’d beaten him out and was still alive. And if he saw you in that rig he’d have an excuse—say he thought you were a hostile native and shot you before he recognized you.” “Yes, I know,” said Pete. ‘Perhaps you'll come up in the shade and talk with me. Oh, do not fear,” he added hastily with a smile when he saw Filson was doubt- ful about going close to the jungle. “You have been a good friend to me, Mr. Filson— you and all the crew are safe from me and my people.” Filson turned and followed Pete to the lip of the jungle, curious to know what more the cook had to say. Pete pushed aside the heavy pendant leaves of the brush and slipped into a small glade—a cleared space which was much trampled. It was evi- dently a secret watching-place for the na- tives. Filson went in, but he was not anxious to remain there long. “Td better not stop here,” said the mate. “YT might miss the captain when he’s on his way back to the jetty from the planta- tion.” “You can’t miss him,” said Pete, and he spoke a few swift words in Malay into the encompassing shrubbery. Filson heard a cautious rustling, and was aware that there were other natives close at hand, though he could not see them. “Don’t worry,” said Pete, smiling at the mate’s nervousness. ‘‘Remember, I am at home here. Cap’en Gedge said I be- longed to the jungle. He spoke true words—more true than he knew. After twenty-three years of the white man’s civilization I yet do not understand some of the things of the white man, so I have come back to my people. Look at my back.” Pete swung round, and showed his naked back to Filson. Across the body of the former cook there was a network of cut and bruised flesh—great diagonal welts in the skin, swelled out like veins ready to burst. And many were open, though they had been treated with some native salve. “That is what I have from Gedge,” went GOMIIGooOoO <S) C@