The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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      “Where the divvle am I? Who’s singin’?” said Moore.

      The men were roaring snatches of songs. The morphine had lost virtue or was slow to act. Walker, revived, was still confused.

      “They busted in my nut,” he said. “Oh, Gawd, it’s split in ’arf.”

      “Buck up,” said Newton. “Have another swig of this.”

      Jim checked him.

      “Not too much,” he cautioned.

      “Then I will.” Already Newton’s breath smoked with the stuff and his speech was thick.

      “Take it away from him,” said Kitty. “You need some yourself.”

      “Not in this weather.”

      “Lynda and I are going to have a little, to make the water drinkable. Give me the bottle, Newton.”

      “Where’s the other? Hang it, Kitty, that stuff puts new life in you.”

      “You’ve had enough,” said Jim sternly. “We don’t want to pack you.” His disgust showed plainly. Newton muttered and subsided. The diluted drink that Kitty mixed ran through their veins with swift reaction that cheered them. Above the singing had died down.

      “I’m going on deck,” said Jim, “To get their weapons. We’ll tie them up.”

      “If they’re alive. Do you suppose I’ve really killed them? It is murder. I was desperate. Stevens, the beast, was different. I’m not sorry for him if he is dead. But—”

      “I’ll see,” said Jim. “I don’t think you need reproach yourself.” He saw she was shaking with revulsion. Lynda took her in her arms. “You haven’t killed Stevens, anyway,” Jim added. “Chloral is the same as knockout drops. He’s breathing all right. He’ll come out of it after a few hours. I’ll get him out of here, if the rest are drugged. Newton, I’ll want your help. Step quietly.” Newton staggered a little, but braced himself and followed Jim up the companion ladder. On deck, in the queer twilight of the jungle they saw five men sprawled on the planks amid the wreckage and the vines, arms flung wide. One or two twitched in their stupor as they cautiously approached. They secured two pistols from the nearest with another cartridge belt. Jim had reached for a rifle leaning against the skylight when Newton gave a cry of warning, and a shot shattered the silence and a bullet sang by Jim’s head. A volley followed out of the bush through which men were crashing at top speed, aiming as they ran. Jim flung himself on deck with Newton to dodge the fusillade. Men were swarming up the bows of the ship, hidden by the screen of greenery and cordage, firing fast. The bullets whistled about them as they fled before the superior force. Swenson’s bellow sounded as he forced his way aft with at least ten men back of him.

      Jim and Newton heard him cursing as he surveyed his prostrate men while they slammed the hatch and returned to the alarmed women. Moore was on his feet, demanding a gun, Walker feebly struggling to get out of his bunk, Swenson’s thunderous oaths continued as he swore at his fallen men. He seemed to be kicking them and the emptied bottles. The others pounded at the hatch that had jammed again. Jim shouted up.

      “The first man that shows a head will be shot. We’ve got their guns and plenty of shells, Swenson.”

      There was silence then Swenson suddenly guffawed.

      “Tricked again!” he shouted and seemed to take delight in the fact. “Drugged! I bet the girl thought of that, Lyman. Have you got Stevens down there?”

      “What there is of him.”

      “The blighted fool. Damn me, but it was smartly done. Look here, I want to have a talk with you. I’ve a proposition to make. You’ve got guns. I’ll come down without any, I’ll trust you for a truce. What do you say? We’ll make a deal.”

      “Shall we?” asked Kitty in an undertone.

      “He can’t hurt any. Come on, Swenson. You shall have a drink of whisky. We’ve got plenty of stuff that isn’t drugged. Canned goods, too, for grub.”

      Kitty gave a start.

      “There may be, at that,” she whispered. “I know where they are stored. Right under our feet, above the bilge.”

      “Prepared for a siege, are you? How about water? But I’ll go you, providing you sample the liquor. Pete, you take charge here. Souse those drugged fools. Walk ’em up and down. Kick sense into ’em.”

      “Only you,” warned Jim.

      “All right, my fox. Lyman, you’re a wise one and you’ve a wiser head with you in that girl of yours. I’m coming.”

      They could barely see each other in the cabin as Swenson, with a great show of heartiness and good humor, took his drink without asking for a test.

      “Wouldn’t pay you to drug me, more ways than one,” he said. “Now, then, I’ve come back from that wild-goose chase. It ’ud take a month to search this island. I’m going to leave that to you. Your kanakas gave us the slip in the bush somewhere. They may come back after we’re gone.

      “We’re going, I reckon. I’ve struck a better idea than trying for the pearls. That’s too big a gamble and this is a certainty.” He chuckled and took a pull at the bottle. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I’m going to leave you all, maybe. It depends. I want to ask a question and I want the little lady here, Miss Whiting, to answer it. On her honor, again. If my information is correct, and I haven’t missed much of what has happened, you gave out the figures of this island’s position to no one. Lyman here advised you not to. You kept this book in a safety deposit, then mailed it to Honolulu? I haven’t got much use for women, Miss Whiting, but I take my hat off to you for pluck and cleverness. What I want to know is, does any one, outside of those aboard your Seamew, know those figures? Does Stephen Foster, father of this young sprig here, know? Has he, to your knowledge, any means of learning them since you sailed?”

      Jim started. Swenson and Foster were not in collusion. His suspicions of the millionaire were unfounded.

      “Wait a minute, Kitty,” he said. “Before you answer that, let him tell you how he got his information.”

      “I don’t mind that, young cock of the walk,” returned Swenson, setting down the bottle that he had finished, half empty as it was. “Open up another from your cellar, and I’ll tell you. Damn my eyes if you haven’t earned that much.” The whisky had mellowed him, that and his propensity to brag. “It’s simple as A. B. C. I won’t see any of you again. After I’ve collected my half million, I shall disappear to a freer country than the U.S.A., hidebound by prohibition and blue law cranks. I’ll leave no trail. I’ll be far afield by the time you are home again.

      “I’m a sworn enemy to restrictions of liberty, my friends. When they tried to cut off my liquor and that of other good men they trod on my personal rights. There were a lot of others felt the same way. We got together after a while and we became friends of liberty. Rum-running, not to put too fine a name to it. Bound together in an organization that will keep the sleuths jumping like fleas on a kerosened dog. Coast to coast. Top of Maine to bottom of Florida, Cape Cod to the Golden Gate! Over seas! And under ’em.

      “I wasn’t one of the smallest links in that chain. СКАЧАТЬ