Adventure Magazine Cover — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

The Skulkers Within an hour she had traced answer: I have decided to put you on probation. For thirty days you are not to attempt to communicate with me in any manner whatsoever. I will make known my wants. If you restrain yourself for this time, I promise an interview. Mayland accepted philosophically the de- lay. To occupy his mind, he set at the con- struction of a habitation for her use against the day when she should become reason- able. This was of branches and timbers set in a huge tree in the jungle, plaited with vine and creeper, softened and refined with leaf and fiber, and reached by a wonderful rope ladder. This work interested him keenly. Every day he went down to the beach for his written orders. If there was request for food, raiment or other South Sea con- venience, he worked feverishly until he had procured it. If there was no word from her, he trudged back to the rock lair to worry himself almost into fever. C2 complete when, coming out upon the shingle with a load of nuts, he en- countered her face to face. “T beg pardon!” he stammered; then remembering his promise not to attempt to communicate with her, he dropped his sup- plies upon the sand and retreated. “Oh, Mr. Mayland!” came a soft voice. He realized that his probation was ended. She had settled herself upon a high rock jutting over the placid sea. He sat upon the sand at a respectful distance. For full three minutes there was silence. ‘Shall we ever get away from here?”’ she asked finally. “Tt doesn’t look like it. I’ve had that signal flapping from the spit ever since the day I landed. I’ve never seen the smoke of a steamer or anything on the face of the water to indicate there’s been anything here since the Flood. We’re ’way off the beaten track, you know.” ‘“‘T’m a castaway myself,”’ she explained. ‘“‘T was washed ashore clinging unconsciously to the bottom of an upturned boat into which a great many women and children and a few seamen from the liner Polynesia, bound from Hawaii to San Francisco, had crowded. She ran into a derelict and drifted.”’ She paused to shiver slightly at the recol- lection. THE period of probation was half 835 “That was thirteen weeks ago. The light clothing I had on when thrown ashore gave out and I made these. I’ve lived on nuts and fruit. I can’t go those fishy things I see you take out of the sea, I have a snuggly sleeping-place—not so high and dry as yours that I stumbled into that night—but safe.” Mayland involuntarily put his hand to his wounded neck. The girl flushed. ‘When I first saw you down here that day, I thought you were at least a cannibal and a head hunter,’’ she resumed. ‘And then you chased me—and we fought in the cave—and I almost died from fright! That day in the ravine I could not see your face was white and you yelled South Sea talk at me and chased me again. And after that— after I had seen your white face—you acted so outrageously, dancing, singing and preaching, that I feared you were crazy.” Mayland nodded. ‘Of all the blithering idiots!” : ‘“‘After you began to write in the sand, I became gradually reassured. Still, I did not care to place myself wholly in your power until—until I had found you to be what you are. After all, I’m awoman. Of late, how- ever, I have seen you more frequently— more than you know—and I’ve—I’ve de- cided to put myself under your protection.”’ She sighed and settled back against her rock, it seemed to him almost contentedly. ““Now you may talk,” she indicated. Mayland blurted out the dread possibility that had just come to him for the first time. ““You’re not married, are you?” For a moment her dark hazel eyes showed alarm. Then she shook her head. For a' while Mayland did not avail himself of his opportunity to talk. For him this basking in the early morning sun alone with the exquisite creature upon the rock, with no jarring note within thousands of miles, was the essence of bliss pure and unalloyed. “For my part,” he said finally, “I shouldn’t care if we never went back—back to the old world with its cruel, false stand- ards of failure and success. Here I’m king —or rather, you’re queen. Queen of the Islands of Spice, with me for your Grand Vizier or Major Domo or High Muck-a- Muck or whatever you call it. Just to keep on serving you and ministering unto you and doing things for you and is “Oh!” she interrupted nervously. tones had become very ardent. “You needn’t be afraid,” he assured her. His COmiclbook ©