Adventure Magazine Cover — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

Pearl-Hunger trembled through her, making her face burn then pale from a chill that seemed almost to stop her heart. She had no thoughts, only a wretched confusion of terror and hope that was of itself almost despair. “It is not so—it is not so!’’ hung on her lips like the words of another voice. Her senses were dizzied by the incredible reality of all that it meant. Heddon stripped his shirt, pulling it off over his head, and without looking threw it aside. Standing on one foot, then the other, he took off his shoes and flung them toward the scupperway; then with a hand- kerchief from his pocket he bound his fore- head to keep back the hair from his eyes. When he was ready he stood with arms folded, waiting. Two men—the negro Dott; a favorite with McGree, and a slim-bodied Kanaka with a delicate face but badly set eyes— helped McGree strip, helped him take off his shirt of yellow silk, took off his boots, untied the sash about his waist and brought him a broad belt. McGree, sitting on a stool, watched them critically, but in good- nature. When “Tongo” Charley folded the broad handkerchief that was to replace the scarf on McGree’s head, McGree grasped it, shook it open, refolded it, and placed it around his head, carefully feeling of the knot when Tongo Charley had finished. Some one handed Dott a bottle of cham- pagne. The negro pulled a corkscrew from his pocket, twisted out the cork, and offered the foaming bottle to McGree. “Bring him one,” said McGree and drank. Heddon shook his head. McGree drank what he wanted from the bottle, then threw it to the deck. With a scrambling lurch a man grabbed up the bottle and drank hurriedly, spilling the wine about his mouth, down his neck, as other hands grabbed and snatched for it. “This thing, take it away,” said Mc- Gree, overturning the stool with kick of a bare foot as he arose. Tongo Charley took it up and tossed it over the heads of men, and the stool went clattering along the deck. McGree_ stretched himself proudly, slapped his great shoulders, beat his chest. He was hairy of breast and arms, a head taller than almost any man, heavy, broad, powerfully muscular. He could strike a blow that would start a capstan, and no amount of pounding seemed to wear him down. He turned and looked across at the Gloria, straightening, showing himself; then he faced about, crouched, frowned fero- ciously and took a shuffling bear-like stride to meet Heddon. The circle of watchers stiffened alertly— “Kill ’im, cap’n!” ’ “Eat him up!” “In one moufful, cap’n!”’ “Tear into him!” ; McGree stopped, glared about, roared: “Tt will be no talk from you! Your mouths you keep shut!”’ His eyes swept them. They were as suddenly quiet as mutes, as blankly silent as if they had been mutes all their lives. He liked praise and took it pretty raw. Those who knew him knew that he was easily flattered; but at times he would break out at them contemptu- ously. But he knew Heddon as a man of his own kind. They had to fight when they met—the mere presence of one was a chal- lenge to the other; but though they were foredoomed to a half-hate, they were of the same caste, and the hot-hearted ruffian, with the blood of a Spanish lady and a roistering Irish sea captain in his veins, felt that jackals should be quiet when lions quarreled. “Now, Will Heddon—I will kill you!” He crouched again, again took up the shuffling bear-like stride, and drawing his big dark face into the scowl that made men shrink and beg, came at Heddon. Heddon rushed, feinted at the face, drove a left into the bear-like stomach, and went into the clinch, rocking McGree’s jaw with an elbow as they closed—then tripped him, breaking from McGree’s pawing hands as he fell. The only thing barred, and that only because neither ever thought to use it, that being a little too far back in the animal for either, was the teeth. McGree was up quickly. “More tricks—more tricks!” he growled. Heddon had risked a clinch the first thing to make McGree wary of clinches, to keep McGree from being so eager to close in on him. McGree came with a rush, grunting as he struck. Heddon jumped back and back again. One of those swings would have killed a man, have broken an arm lifted to guard against it. Heddon went back again, circling—then down, flat. A man behind him had thrust out a foot. The man was Tongo Charley. ~ Go DOOK 61 oCO©)