Adventure Magazine Cover — page 172: what you’re looking at

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

166 Suddenly a puff of wind stronger than the rest carried the coat overboard. A torrent of bellowed oaths burst from the captain. In an instant he was at the rail. At the dawdling pace of the schooner a quick man could dive after the coat, seize it, and catch a line in time to make the recovery without losing way. Larsen did things differently from other men. “Cast a line!’ he shouted as he stepped onto the rail. But the captain did not dive. Flynn was running aft, shouting as he ran. “Avast, Nels Larsen! Stop!” Astonished by the yelled command, the captain obeyed. “What now?” he demanded. “Shark,” Flynn explained -tersely, his voice matter-of-fact. He pointed over the rail. Yes, there was one of the knife-like black fins, broad on the starboard quarter, and dogging close. “T’ll learn you your business when I’m back aboard,” Larsen raged. ‘Think I care for a shark!” By this time the coat was well astern, but Larsen did not notice that now. His quarrel was with Flynn and the shark. He poised for the dive as Flynn yelled again. “Avast, I tell you! You haven’t got it!” Larsen barely regained his balance in time. He felt for his sheath-knife, but it was at his belt. For a moment he stared at Flynn; then suddenly his hand went to the breast of his shirt, groped, and came away. Dick Flynn was shaking something gently in his closed fist, as a man warms dice. He returned the captain’s stare with an open grin. With a violent oath, Larsen started for the smaller man. Flynn did not move from his place, but quickly stretched the closed hand over the rail. “Cuidow!” he snapped in Spanish dialect, his face suddenly hard. The big seaman stopped in his tracks. Moments passed:as the men faced each other, steel-eyed. The sails slatted in the Increasing breeze, and the unmanned rudder slurred. Then Larsen ordered the staring crew forward. I would have stayed with Dick, but he nodded for me to go with the rest, and I went. From the bow we could see the two men talking earnestly together, Dick Flynn al- ways with the closed hand close to the rail. Fifteen minutes later, under Larsen’s orders, Adventure we brought the ship about, and put back toward Cartagena! That night the captain himself took Dick his supper, setting it down on the deck at a respectful distance. Flynn ate standing, that closed hand still resting lightly on the taffrail, And so he remained all night. Bop BY LAKING advantage of the sporadic 2@ «8, puffs of wind, we made Cartagena ~~ the following day in the third watch. Nels Larsen’s face had remained a mask, the purplish color of which he could not con- trol. It was apparent to every man aboard that Flynn, not Larsen, was controlling the Cuttlefish now. As soon as the schooner was brought to anchor Larsen, Flynn and I put ashore in the boat, Larsen sitting in the bow and Flynn in the stern sheets. As I rowed, Flynn talked. ‘This Larsen,’”? he remarked as if Nels were not just behind me, “‘is a good seaman —in his way. Butignorant. Real ignorant. That’s why we’re in this harbor now, instead of sailin’ the Caribbean. Because Nels just happens to believe in shark charms.”’ “Shark charms?” “Sure. You’ve heard of ’em. Supposed to keep off sharks, and the like. Here’s Larsen’s!”’ _ I peered at the bright little object in Dick’s extended palm. It seemed to be a small metal fish, about the size of a man’s thumb. “A porpoise,” Flynn explained, “‘made of brass. He calls it a ‘dolphin.’ Nels told me all about it once, while some’at under the influence of alcoholic liquor. His father give it to him. And without this here brass dolphin, to keep off sharks, Larsen is scared to even board a ship!” ‘Havin’ swiped it from round his neck,”’ Dick went on, ‘‘and got to where I could heave it overboard if he didn’t act pretty, I had Nels scared silly. Didn’t I, Nels?” Flynn grinned. My back was turned to Larsen as I rowed, but I could imagine that the captain’s face was gray with rage. “Nels doesn’t know,” . Dick added, pre- tending to lower his voice, ‘‘that over in Colon they sell hundreds of these here brass fish for souvenirs—at ten cents apiece!” He chuckled gleefully as he looked past me at Larsen. DOOLK C@