Adventure Magazine, December 10, 1924 — page 168: what you’re looking at

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

by ar cae MOORE 4 iy , , : te oe py re Sc : ra . a Author of “The Gunman at Goorabaya,” “God of the Sakai,’ etc. ELLO! What’s that?” H Wade gave a startled exclama- tion and threw up his head with an animal-like alertness— that quickness which is characteristic of the hunted animal which hears in the distance the baying of hounds when they have picked up the lost scent. The sound that had reached his ears up through the jungle-growwn glade of Andrus Island was the last sound he had expected to hear that morning. He could scarcely be- heve he had heard it at all, though the faint echo of it was faintly falling from the hills. It was only a few minutes before that he had scanned most of the blue water of the reef-enclosed bay. There was no vessel in sight except a few native fishing-proas. The next instant he knew that he had heard correctly; and he knew what it was. For again the double notes of a musical tinkle, soft and sweet, came plain enough over the low drone of the sea against the inner reefs. ‘““A schooner’s bell!’ he whispered. He turned his head in another direction the better to catch the sound, and waited for it to come again. There was a lazy interval, and again the double notes. The same interval of time, and blam-blam! This was the fourth time. The vibrations died away in the jungled slopes of the island, to return as an echo as delicate as the chimes from a fairy village. “Eight bells!”’ he said, still whispering to “The Pirates of Andrus Island,"’ copyright, 1924, by Fred- Moore. erick 146 himself, his head still askew, thrown up and immobile. His gray eyes were fixed upon the black mass of lava-rock which marked the open end of the little valley that ran down toward the beach. ‘“‘That schooner must have been down in the toe of the bay, and I missed her,’ he reflected. ‘‘Nice mess I’d been in if I’d gone along the beach without knowing any- thing had come in!” That last thought seemed to worry him, for a trace of sudden fear had come into his eyes. He looked about him at the thick brush in uncontrolled panic, as if he expected to see enemies peering out at him from the heavy leaves. ‘“She’s not a trading-schooner!’’ he de- clared with conviction. “That bell’s on a coast-guard cutter, I’ll bet!” His bearded face twitched nervously as he considered that the bell had been struck with something akin to daintiness, as if the sailor who had marked off the morning’s time was properly awed by the peace and beauty of the little bay of Andrus. His eyes narrowed and his jaw took on an agressive thrust. The fear that lingered in his eyes took on the aspect of dread. He had no particular dislhke for traders, but this stranger might mean anything, while a trader merely had to be avoided. He knew well enough that the bells of traders clanged with rude and heavy notes that sent low vibrations up through the palm groves and into the jungles. They were as raucous toned as the men who Comicloooks © =