Adventure Magazine Cover — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

60 “The what?” “The boxes of tea in the forehold,’’, husked Red. ‘‘We broke through and looked the Bolshevik cargo over. It’s com- bustible all right.” iad $s athe “Nope! Look out! ing his gun. Duck aft. you talking with me.” Micky crawled down the narrow shaft- alley. searched his heated brain for an answer to Mike’s energy. Hours later he heard the scraping of rocks and shale under the Shongpong’s keel. The ship heeled and plunged on. Her bow crashed upon a shelving beach. The Bolsheviki cursed. A mast went by the board. It splintered the deck. ‘The funnel fell with its load of soot. The engine-room filled with choking smoke. Mike Monkey burst through this pall. He started mounting the ladder to the com- panion. Red and Micky followed the en- gineer. They stood on deck and ranged their smarting eyes over a desperate scene. The citizen captain of the Shongpong had found his port of call—a wooded cove on Vancouver Island. In his zeal at the dis- covery of the rendezvous he had neglected to stop the ship. The freighter lay with a seven-degree list to starboard. Her deck was a mass of wreckage from fallen standing rigging, mastandfunnel. Above this mélée of twisted lines and back-stays and smoking ventilators, towered Ivan of the long sur- name, his great spade-shaped beard lifted on high. His followers swarmed around him on the tottering bridge. A red light showed through the tall stems of fir-trees. This light moved as a signal. A score of furtive shadows flitted in the underbrush at the head of the cove. Russian faces stared out over the shoal waters of the rendezvous. A shout of brotherhood passed between ship and shore. “Coom on,” whispered Mike Monkey to Micky and the Yankee seaman. ‘“‘Coom aft. ‘They’re too busy forrard to notice us. We'll lower the dingey and escape.”’ That sentry is cock- Don’t let him see He sat on the thrust block and Adventure The cockney skipper climbed over the deserted quarter-deck and loosened the falls. He dropped the bow of the small boat into the waves that curled astern of the grounded freighter. Red Landyard lowered the after part of the dingey. The three castaways found oars. They rowed for a dark cape that struck out into the cove. They gained the beach of this point and staggered ashore. They turned and stared at the canted freighter. “See,” said Mike Monkey. “They’re opening the fore-hold. Ah wish them luck in wot they find beneath the hatch.” Micky squinted through the gloom. He discerned dancing figures on the deck of the Shongpong. A bloodthirsty yell of baffled rage rose to the western stars. It was echoed by the conspirators ashore. ‘“Ah hae noo doot,”” Mike Monkey rasped, “they found ah had burned all the tay. Didn’t Old Whiskers ask us to keep the fires burning hot and nice? Ah kept them burn- ing—ataprice. Ah put allof the tay boxes through the fire doors. There’s none left.” “What was in them?” asked Micky. Mike closed a lashless eyelid. He drewa greasy handful of papers from beneath his shirt. He offered them to the little skipper. “Rubles!” he said. “Bolshevik bonds and rubles! They were bringing them to Canada and the States. Ah hae an idea they were going to sell them to the Reds in both countries. Allah know to be sure is— there ain’t no rubles left. Ah found them better to burn than the miserable slag called Japanese coal.” Micky saw a light. He squareset his un- shaven chin and pointed south along the coast. “We'll walk the beach,” he said, “‘until we come to a coast guard. No doubt the cut- ter that chased the Bolsheviki is nosin’ around. We’ll show it where to go.” Mike thrust his ruble notes back within his shirt. ‘‘Ah’ll keep these!”’ he declared. ‘They ain’t worth a ha’penny, but they’re what we can expect to get for wages if the Reds start runnin’ the governments.” comicbook (E(0)