The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales

by Robert E. Howard

  “You’re hurt badly.” Kitty had come to Jim’s side. There was a break in her voice that acted upon him as an elixir.

  “I’m all right,” he managed to say, but the girl had touched his head and found blood. She went back into the stateroom and ripped at the sheets but they shredded under her hands. With a shrug of petulance she closed the door behind her and came out in a moment with some strips of sheer linen. This she bound about Jim’s head despite his protest.

  “The others will need it more than I do,” he said.

  “I don’t agree with you,” Kitty answered almost sharply. “We’ll attend to them as soon as they let us have them.”

  “Here they come now,” said Newton. The companionway opened and their wounded men were delivered to them, roughly and gruffly, Neilson and Vogt acting as two of the bearers. Sanders had a broken arm from manhandling. Walker was insensible, with a skull that seemed as if it might be fractured. Moore, too, was unconscious. He had put up a notable fight, it seemed. His clothes were torn to rags, his face a mass of contusions; his neck showed black bruises and his naked torso was smeared with blood. Jim was hard put to it to keep his hands off Neilson and Vogt, whose sullen pose was not proof against the steady look of disdain the two women bestowed upon them. Stevens lolled in the entrance, gun in hand.

  “You’ll get fed tonight,” he said. “Sorry you’ve lost your cook. Treat me right and I’ll reciprocate. The skipper’s by way of being a woman-hater. I’m not. You may see me later. He won’t have any women aboard ship. That’s where I differ from him, if they’re reasonably attractive. It would be a shame to leave you ladies on the island and tha’s what the skipper intends to do for his own protection. Think it over.”

  His eyes bulged and he pressed trigger as Jim leaped for him, stumbling backward up the ladder as he saw his shot had missed. Jim caught him by the ankle, but two of Swenson’s men had flung themselves upon him, for his own safety, since Stevens dared not fire again for fear of hitting them. Instead, Stevens scuttled up the companionway through the hatch and the two flung Jim to the floor where he lay panting. The rest left, and the companion hatch was closed. The evil face of Stevens looked down through the skylight. They heard him give orders to shoot on suspicion.

  “You make a move that looks phony,” he shouted down, “and we’ll finish you. Meantime, starve and be damned to you!”

  The shifting sunlight showed that soon they would be again in comparative darkness. The ports were undoubtedly crusted tight; leaves masked them. The only light would be what filtered down through the natural shaft and the skylight. Their schooner—if they could believe Swenson and the shots they had heard—was sunk. Wood was killed. Three, aside from Jim, were badly injured. Sanders and Walker needed medical treatment. Their chief jailer was a cruel beast; the main villain, Swenson, meant to leave them stranded on the island. He had gone to seek Kitty Whiting’s father. If he found him alive, Swenson and his men would indubitably possess the pearls. They were helpless, almost hopeless, prisoners. Jim went about with clenched teeth and a jutting jaw trying to do something for the injured men. It was stifling in the cabin and they had no water. To beg it from Stevens would only provoke mockery. Sanders’ arm had to be set. The Scot sat with his face chalky in the gloom, hanging on to himself.

  “They jumped us, you see,” he said huskily. “That dirty dog of a Neilson and Vogt. Cracked Walker with a blackjack or something and there were three on my back at once. I think Moore tackled half a dozen. They grabbed our arms so we couldn’t shoot. They were hiding back of the deckhouses. Tried to warn—you—but…” He closed his eyes and set his teeth into his lips.

  “Lie down,” ordered Jim, himself with a blinding headache. “We’ll fix you up. Newton, I want you.”

  They went exploring and found a cabin where the two bunks had decent mattresses that were not too badly molded. They took their undershirts and made them into bandages, then, with the aid of the broken pieces of the panel that Swenson had smashed, Jim managed a splint, feeling fairly sure that he had the ends of the broken upper arm in place. They put Sanders in the top bunk, carried Walker to the lower.

  Kitty and Lynda had vanished into the room that connected with Captain Avery’s. They came back to the main cabin triumphant.

  “It was stupid of me not to think of it before,” said Kitty. “The ship’s medicine chest! I knew where dad kept it, with the extra drugs. We broke the lock. There are bandages but they are pretty rotten. Some of the medicines, like iodine, have dried up but there is permanganate, and—” she hesitated—“some other things. We must cleanse that head-wound of Walker’s and do the best we can for poor Moore.”

  “Without water?”

  “I think I can get some water.”

  “Not from those brutes.”

  “I’ll trade it. For liquor. I’m not demented. There was always a supply in the lazarette locker back of the starboard cabin where I got the medicine.”

  “See here, Kitty, if you tell them there is any of that stuff aboard,” broke in Newton, “they’ll take it all. You know what that means with beasts like Stevens. We haven’t any weapons.”

  “I have,” said Kitty. “A woman’s weapons, and I am going to use them for the sake of our wounded men. I may find a way out for all of us. I want you and Jim to force the hasp on the locker. Lynda and I are not strong enough for that. But we have our wits about us.”

  “Lyman, you’re not going to let her get that stuff?”

  “I have more confidence in her weapons than you have, Newton,” said Jim. “We’re in a tight place and Miss Kitty realizes that as well as we do. Come along.”

  Newton went reluctantly with Lynda. Kitty, hanging behind, thanked Jim for his backing. “There is no necessity for the ‘Miss’,” she whispered. “I am calling you Jim. You’ll trust me in this? Not ask me how I intend to do it? Lynda knows and approves.”

  “Of course.” But Jim wondered. There was an almost tragic note to her talk. They broke the hasp and brought out a dozen bottles—one of brandy, three of whisky, the rest port and sherry.

  “If you are figuring on making them drunk—?” started Newton.

  “I am not,” the girl answered. “Leave me a torch please, and go into the main cabin with Jim. Lynda will stay here with me. We’ve got to open these. I don’t want to break them.”

  “Those chaps up there have got a nose for booze a mile off,” said Newton. “I could do with a slug myself.” Jim took his own knife and Newton’s and eased out the corks before they left. Soon the two women come out with some of the bottles.

  “I am to do the talking,” Kitty whispered, then called up through the skylight, “Mr. Stevens.”

  Immediately the leering face appeared.

  “Well. Seeing the light, little lady?”

  “Will you let us have some water—for the wounded men?”

  Stevens laughed.

  “I might. What will you trade for a pint of it—say in kisses.”

  Kitty put out a hand to grip Jim’s arm without looking at him. Instinctively she seemed to know that he was quivering with blind rage.

  “I’ll need more than that,” she said, her voice unfaltering. “Give me a gallon of water and I’ll give you a quart of brandy.”

  “Brandy?”

  “I knew where my father kept a bottle for emergencies. I just found it.”

  “Pass it up.” Stevens’ voice was hoarse from eagerness.

  “No. Send down the water first, or I’ll smash the bottle.”

  “Don’t do that. I’ll bring the water.”

  “Let it down. Then you may come.”

  “If he comes into this cabin to start drinking,” said Jim in a tense whisper, “I’ll not answer for myself. I—”

  “Sh!” He felt her fingertips on his lips. “It will not matter. Trust me.”

  The water came down in a demijohn, lukewarm, cloudy stuff, but water. Jim unfastened it from the cord and took it to the cabin where Sanders and Walker lay. Moor
e, on the transom, was slowly beginning to come back to consciousness. The companion hatch slid back, letting in more light, and Stevens came running down.

  “No tricks now,” he said. “I trusted you. Where—? Ah, you’re a sport! This is the real stuff.”

  He tilted the bottle at his mouth and drank greedily.

  “Just the one bottle?” he asked between gulps.

  “There is some wine. I thought the men…” Kitty had purposely spoken loudly. Heads appeared above. “One of you can come down and get it,” she said. “Only one. You’ll have about a bottle apiece. Hurry.”

  An unshaven villain came clattering down and stacked up the wine in his arms, returning shouting to his comrades.

  “You’re a cunning little devil,” said Stevens, and his voice sounded drowsy. “Thought you said only one? Here’s to your bright eyes—to your red lips—to—”

  He pitched forward to the floor. On deck the men were shouting ribald toasts to each other. They heard nothing, suspected nothing.

  “Drugged?” whispered Jim.

  “Chloral in the brandy,” she answered. “I don’t know how much. I hope I’ve killed him,” she said with a fierceness Jim had never credited her with. “The wine has morphine in it. I crushed the pellets. Quick, get his gun. Newton, here’s the whisky. It is all right. Give some to the boys. Get it down Walker’s throat.” Newton went off with the bottle. Jim knelt to get the automatic and the belt with its holster and cartridges, buckling it about him.

  “You are wonderful,” he said to Kitty.

  “I think you have been too,” she said. And he knew that in the stress of danger and trouble all suggestions of caste and difference had been removed. Kitty and Lynda mixed water with permanganate crystals and bathed Walker’s head and Moore’s cuts and abrasions. The whisky had brought them back.

  “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 sim
ple 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. I had my own territory, savvy? All Massachusetts was mine as head of that ring. And I could call on the other bosses. I handled as good stuff as this, at a profit and at some risk, I grant you that. That’s why I’m going to get out of it.

  “That place you found me at, Lyman, belongs to a gent who is a good friend of mine. His only fault is that he must have his liquor regularly and often. He’s got the same trouble as young Newton here. I’ve sold young Newton many a quart, only he don’t know it. He got it through his father’s chauffeur, one of our sub-agents in Foxfield, one of the lower-downs, same as I am one of the higher-ups.

  “Now the plots thickens, eh? Gets close to home, I’m going to get closer. You next, Miss Whiting.

  “You’ve got a maid, had one, who is a love-sick fool. She’s got some money saved and that chauffeur of Foster’s has been kidding her to get the handling of it. Let her talk marriage and a little home and borrowed a hundred every now and then. Savvy? She worships the ground he walks on, when he does walk. He’s a good-looking devil, younger than she is, a fast worker with the girls, a persuader. She told him everything she knew. That time she went for a walk, when you thought she might have heard something, she phones him as soon as he has taken Old Man Foster home. And he, being a wise young feller, knowin’ I was by way of bein’ a seafaring man, phones me long-distance. It listens fine to me. I’d heard and read about the Golden Dolphin, you see. Later that night he phones me again that Lyman here is coming to talk things over with Foster’s old man and bring the figures.