Adventure Magazine Cover — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

82 reckon Snoots so’t of shows some lack of sense, mixin’ with people like that?” “Oh, I don’t know “¥ do.” Dixie was slightly peeved. “Nother thing; ’tain’t only hisself he gets in dutch, but everybody who happens to be his shipmate as well. Myse’f I ain’t aimin’ to be enemies with no master-at- arms.” And with that Dixie walked away. A half-hour later I was electrified by seeing Dixie in close confab with Gillen and Johnson. The three of them sat over in a corner on their ditty-boxes, talking in low tones. I called Snootful’s attention to it. He only grinned. While we stood there talking it over, a shipmate said over my shoulder: “Say, you two fellows better watch what you say to that guy you think is your ship- mate—Dixie. He’s been pretty thick with Gillen and the pup today.” “Don’t think, old-timer,’”’ Snoots replied, “that we’re walkin’ around blindfolded. But thanks jest the same.” “Tt don’t smell like Dixte,” IT said. “Tt don’t fer a fact,” Snoots agreed. ‘‘He’s about the last man on the ship I’d expect to see set down and chin-chin with that pair.” Dixie had always been a clean, above- board little shipmate. He had squirmed through a few tight squeezes with Snoots and me, and naturally we had come to look upon him as one of our family. His sitting there in the enemy’s camp was beyond us. ‘But there he is,”’ I said. And later that evening we tried to get in touch with him. Nothing doing. For some reason Dixie had suddenly turned sour on us. He didn’t ignore us. Nay, nay. Those quick, dark eyes of his were on us, every move we made. When we moved he moved. And when we crowded him close, he simply eased over to Gillen and Johnson. “What the ’s eatin’ on that bird!’’ Snoots growled to me late that evening, as the gang began spreading their mattresses on deck. “Look at ’im, will yuh, turnin’ in over there between Gillen an’ his pup!” “Tet him,” I said. Yo with ’im!” was the way Snoots put it. “TI can’t lose sleep over the likes o’ him.” Snoots seldom lost sleep over anything. Even the dread of the disease had so far failed to reach him. He was one of the Adventure very few whose stomachs had continued running true to form. Up to that night he hadn’t lost so much as a wink of sleep. But that night he tossed, rolled, squirmed like a man with prickly heat. Every five minutes he rolled and lighted a cigaret. Toward early morning he eased over near me and whispered: “Say, Breeze, I think the kid’s awright at that. No-doubtly he’s got somethin’ in his head. I think he’s jest playin’ them two birds.” ‘Then why didn’t he slip us a stand-by?” “Well, if yuh’ll figger it out, like I been doin’ all night, yuh’ll see. No-doubtly he heard them two talkin’, an’ got in on some- thin’—or part o’ somethin’. To git the rest he’s gotta ease himself in with them. He figgers the best way to make friends with them is to make enemies with us. So he starts to throw us the cold shoulder. An’ jest to make it look good, he’s playin’ off to us that he actually means it. Chances are he wants us to bawl ’ im out right before the whole gang.” “Say!” I sat up. “Hey, you. guys,” “some one growled, “how about givin’ us a chance to sleep?” “We'll dope things, out in the mornin’, whispered Snoots. . THE next morning we looked out through the starboard ports and saw the towering mountains of south-east- ern Cuba. The ship was running close in— for the mountains slope: almost straight down into the sea, and the water along that stretch of coast is deep and dark-blue. We passed a clump of dense foliage, which no doubt marked the outlet of a stream, for it lay between the bases of two mountains. We could see huts, people, and the brilliant col- ors of the swarms of birds in the trees. The gang came to life. We wanted out; we wanted off—out of that hole and off that ship! A few wanted out-and-off so badly that they made attempts to squeeze through port-holes. Throughout the forenoon Dixie gave Snoots and me a wide berth. We didn’t know what to make of it, nor what to do. So we merely ignored him. The ship anchored in. Guantanamo Bay that afternoon. ‘There was no tarrying. Did they want to get rid of us! The anchor- chain hadn’t yet ceased thundering in the hawse-pipe, when a big navy tug pushed a COMmicloo S CO