The Adventure Megapack: 25 Classic Adventure Stories

by Dorothy Quick

  “So you mocked him, and then you robbed him, and when he tried to fight for his honor’s sake you knocked him down and kicked his face. He would have shot you, but you were too quick. You shot him instead, with his own gun. There it is—on the table, Brietmann. Sure it has a history.… By God, I could kill you with my naked hands!”

  Travers had half risen to his feet in his rage, quivering with passion, his hands opening and closing, his lips drawn clear back from his teeth.

  The German rose too, quaking, and shivered back. But his voice blustered and pleaded.

  “Ged oud of here! You’ll hang—you’ll hang for it if you kill me. Mein Gott! I call and twenty men run to kill you!”

  The native girl crossed the room and laid a restraining hand on the German’s arm. Her big eyes were soft and appealing, and she spoke in a gentle tone, not understanding the forces at work within the two men. It was apparent she loved the shaking man; such is the strangeness of women.

  Steinberger shook her off with a snarl, and caught her across the mouth with the back of his hand. Like a whipped dog she crept away, a dumb wistfulness in her eyes, her hands covering her bleeding lips.

  The incident steadied Travers, and he straightened with a short laugh. He motioned to the German to sit down, and himself resumed his seat.

  “I’m not ready to kill you yet, Brietmann,” he said. “I want to tell you first how I’ve trailed you, port to port, sea to sea, for seven years. I found Mary, my brother’s wife, deserted in Australia just two years after you’d stolen her. She was nursing your child then; you’d left them to starve. How many women you’ve wrecked since then I don’t know. But I wager the count’s long. As to hanging, there isn’t a jury in the world that would convict me. You know it, and I know it. You’ve got to face it, Brietmann, and try and go out like a man. Seven years I’ve followed you, and the trail ends right here. It started in Africa, and ends in the islands. I think that’s all. Say your prayers.”

  The Germans’ hand crept nervously to his throat. He licked his lips and choked a little. The sweat poured from him in streams as the liquor he had gone to sleep with died within him.

  “Mein prayers?” he whispered hoarsely, rising slowly to his feet again. He looked monstrous in his loose pyjamas. Travers rose with an air of finality. He stretched out a hand for the revolver, and then the German sprang.

  With a cry like a wild beast he came forward, his great hands reaching for a throat hold and his knees driving for the stomach. Without any great haste Travers stepped to one side and sent the huge, flabby body across the room with a smashing right-hand blow. Steinberger crashed against the wall, and shook the hut to its foundations. He slowly picked himself up, bruised all over and panting with the fear of death. He glanced up wildly, and the oaths fell from his lips in a continuous stream.

  Then Travers raised his revolver—the revolver that had shot William Travers seven years before—and prepared to do what he had come to do, what he had crossed the world for, without compunction and without haste. He took aim.… A cold muzzle pressed into the nape of his neck, and a harsh voice spoke:

  “Easy, sonny, easy. Put ’em up!”

  * * * *

  Steinberger wiped his bloody lips and laughed as he scrambled to his feet.

  “Keep him there, Walters, till I get him tied,” he wheezed breathlessly, and lumbered groggily off into a corner, where he cut a fathom or so of line from a coil of halliard standing there. Coming back he securely tied the raging Travers hand and foot. Then, knocking him down, he beat a tattoo on his ribs with his naked foot, and ground his face into the matting of the floor until the skin was off and the blood ran from the nose.

  Travers caught a glimpse of the man who had held him up, a sullen-faced, skinny individual with a heavy black beard and watery blue eyes. From his stained white uniform evidently an officer of the Atlantis. He was grinning with amusement as Steinberger tortured his captive.

  The German bent and slapped Travers’ face. “So, Melita give you the gun, eh? And I suppose she told you about her confounded sister and me?

  I’ll get that—! I’ll break her now.… You, I’ll see you later!”

  Travers kept his teeth together to prevent him crying out, and the hot rage within him flamed and leaped. He wished he had shot the German and not waited to talk. He scarce gave heed to Steinberger’s words about Melita’s sister, for he had well-nigh forgotten her. But the mention of Melita herself, of getting even with her.…

  Travers squirmed and writhed and tugged at his bonds. Steinberger laughed triumphantly as he straightened up and wiped his forehead with a hand that still trembled.

  “I’ll bring Melita here, and you’ll see us married native fashion. Then I shall get rid of you and your talk of Bill Travers.”

  Steinberger bundled his prisoner into a back room and locked him in, after a few parting kicks. Then buckling on his holsters, after dressing himself, he went down on the beach, talking energetically with Walters, the black-bearded officer, and planning the next few moves ahead in the game that had suddenly broken upon him.

  CHAPTER VII

  “I AM TIA KUA”

  Travers lay and ached in every limb, and wondered what was to happen next. He cursed himself for being such a fool as not to let Everett and some of the men guard his rear while he talked to Steinberger. He had been confident of his strength, too blind with his own passions to plan coolly, and this was the result. Himself helpless, and Steinberger off to abduct Melita as he had abducted her sister.

  He cursed as the sound of shots drifted through the open window. He guessed that Steinberger had found the waiting boat in the shallows. Would he kill every soul aboard the barque? There were no more shots, and for a long while there was silence, broken only by the lisp of the surf and the roar of the wind through the swaying palms. There was nothing left for Travers to do but wait, and waiting is hardest of all.

  A murmur of voices came to the prostrate sailor’s ears after a while, and then a body of men came up the path from the beach and stamped into the next room. There were two heavy thuds and a groan, as some bulky objects were lowered to the floor. Then the party stamped out again with a few coarse jests, and the sound of crunching steps on the coral sand of the path died away.

  Travers strained his ears toward the next room and caught a muttered oath. He sighed with relief. He would have recognized Everett’s voice anywhere.

  “That you, Everett?” he called softly. There was silence for a moment.

  “Yes. Is that you, sir?”

  “Aye.… Are you hurt?”

  “No, not much to speak of. Was rushed by about a dozen kanakas and handled pretty rough. They laid out the boat’s crew, and came aboard in the boat. I cut loose with a gun when I saw what was happening, but they were too quick.” The mate cursed bitterly again, and Travers could be heard writhing about the floor.

  “I suppose you’re bound hand and foot?” said Travers hopelessly.

  “Yes, sir.” The mate ceased trying to loosen his lashings. “Stevens is here, bound as well. He’s had a crack over the head, and is still unconscious.”

  “What have they done with the crew?”

  “Last I saw of them was swimming for the beach. The big fat man ordered them pitched overboard. He seems to have taken charge of the barque. Is that Steinberger?”

  “That’s the man.… Say, I’m sorry you fellows are being dragged into this mess.”

  “O. K., sir. It’s all in the day’s work.”

  No more was said. Travers and the mate bent every energy to trying to free themselves. After a while the captain gave up and relaxed, breathless and sweating, his wrists bleeding from his struggles. A faint cutting noise caught his ear. After several attempts he jerked to an upright position and listened, his eyes roving round the bare-walled room. Then he caught sight of the thin knife blade moving in and out through the wall that separated the room from one farther back in the house.

  After a while a sort of slot had
been cut in the soft wood, and then a slim brown hand appeared and wrenched off large splinters, enlarging the slot until it was a considerable hole, large enough to crawl through. A brown body appeared and, after some trouble, squeezed into the room. A native girl crossed to the astonished and wondering Travers.

  She placed her finger on her lips and knelt down, so that her mouth was against the man’s ear. He felt the tickle as her lips moved.

  It was evident from her quivering that she was very much afraid and that she did not know Steinberger had gone. It was also evident she had had dealings with him, for her arms and breasts were bruised, as those of the girl Travers had seen on first entering the trader’s house.

  “I hear him say Melita send you. I am Tia Kua,” she whispered, and then the sailor knew a vast relief. He grinned as much as his shattered face would allow, and nodded at his bonds.

  The girl fumbled with the knots in the signal halliard, and in a few minutes Travers was free.

  He rose to his feet, stretched his arms above his head, felt himself tenderly all over, and then patted the girl reassuringly on the shoulder. Ignoring her pleas for quiet, he then kicked down the door of the room that confined him, and quickly released Everett.

  It was some time before the two of them could restore the unconscious Stevens to life, but eventually they managed it, and prepared to leave. They searched for weapons, and found plenty to their satisfaction. Travers came across a wallet of paper money in a drawer and handed it to Tia Kua, telling her to keep it as some sort of compensation for what she had been subjected to. Then all four of them went out on to the veranda and started down the path to the beach.

  They had not gone more than a dozen yards when they met Walters, the black-bearded officer of the Atlantis. He had been left to watch the prisoners, and was not dreaming of attack. Rather he was anticipating a fine time alone with Steinberger’s girls and private stock of liquor. He looked up as he heard the sound of men’s shoes on the sand, and the cigar he was chewing dropped from his suddenly slack jaw. Then he came to a halt with a start. His hand went to his holster.

  “That’s the blighter who swiped me with a belaying pin,” muttered the second mate thickly, still groggy from the terrible blow he had received. Pushing Travers aside, he fired before the other man had time to draw his gun. He dropped like a sack of flour, limply and as heavily, and lay still. Travers turned him over with his foot and noted the neat hole in the center of the forehead.

  “No need to have finished him,” he commented indifferently, and went on.

  There was no sign of the Wanderer in the lagoon. Travers climbed a tall tree and gazed around on the horizon. The barque was running swiftly before a north wind, and only her tops’ls were visible over the sea rim. After a long look Travers came down to the sand and rejoined his officers.

  “Steinberger’s taken my ship,” he said quietly. He looked at Everett, Everett looked at him. Then both men turned and looked at the brig beached for careening half a mile away.

  “We could launch her in a couple of hours, sir,” suggested the mate.

  Travers nodded and tested the strength of the wind with a wet forefinger.

  “We’ll take her. She can’t sail as fast as the Wanderer, but with this wind she won’t lag far behind.”

  Followed still by Tia Kua, the three officers went down the beach to where the Atlantis lay.

  CHAPTER VIII

  MAN-BATTLE

  It was night when the brig dropped anchor, some little distance from Mulinu’u Point, after the long run south. The lights of three or four schooners, a long, rakish-looking barquentine, and a barque that was plainly the Wanderer, shimmered through the night haze that hung over the roadstead. Three other ships were beating up from the east, and it was evident that Melita would have a full house before dawn.

  From the fires along the beach it was apparent that a sort of dance picnic was being held for the pleasure of the men of the sea and the world. Half a dozen red glows dotted the sand, and the sound of singing drifted on the breeze.

  To escape the festivities Travers landed some distance below the hotel and climbed round the back of the long, low building. Here Tia Kua took charge and led him down a dark, cool passage to the big room in the front of the place.

  It was practically deserted, the majority of the men preferring the revelries of the beach, under the stars, to the stifling languor of the inside, though four of the older men were in evidence near Melita’s dais idly smoking long cheroots and talking in low tones together. Of the half-caste there was no sign.

  Tia Kua slipped across the room to the heavy curtains that screened Melita’s quarters. She listened at the door, and then beckoned to Travers. The four men near the dais watched this byplay with growing interest. Many strange things took place in Melita’s house.

  Parting the curtain, Travers stepped inside and laid his ear against the door, Tia Kua tensely clutching his arm and listening, too. Steinberger’s voice was loud and arrogant, and he was evidently repeating some old argument.

  “I’ve got this little knight-errant of yours, m’ dear, and I’ve got your little sister. You want them back, both of them. All right. You come with me and we’ll call it quits. I’ll even marry you. At the mission, if you will.”

  “Wilhelm,” Melita’s voice was pleading and very soft, and Travers thrilled and tingled to his fingertips, “I’ve never had much happiness, and this man.… He already means so much. I had hoped.… But you would not understand. I am not a bad woman.… You would only tire of me in a few weeks. Why not make a few people happy for a change? I—”

  “I’ve heard all that already! You know my terms. Take them or leave them. Either you come with me, or I keep your sister and finish this Travers. I’d sooner do that, anyway. I don’t mind admitting that man is dangerous to me. But if you come I’ll let him go and give him back his ship. Hurry and decide. I’ve let you fool and argue with me for two solid days, and I’ve got to get back!”

  There was a long silence, broken only by Steinberger’s heavy breathing. Then Melita whispered:

  “I have a little money, Wilhelm. If you—”

  “I have money, too. I want you, not money. Come!”

  “You will swear to let Travers go, and my sister?”

  “H’m, seems you’re very fond of this—sailor!”

  “I am.”

  There was a quiet dignity in the tone that quieted the German. It did not sound like the old Melita. Travers set his teeth and kicked open the door.

  * * * *

  Melita was standing before Steinberger, nervously twisting her fan in her hands. The German was sitting on the divan and rubbing his palms together like a man confident of the outcome of his plans. He collapsed like a wet rag as his astonished gaze fell on Travers standing in the dim red square of the doorway. There was sticking-plaster and the stain of iodine on Travers’ face, and Steinberger boasted a huge purple lump on his jaw. Under other circumstances either of the men would have evoked a laugh.

  Melita stared for one intense moment, and then collapsed to her knees and sobbed with relief. Tia Kua ran to comfort her.

  Steinberger reached for his holster, and the sailor was on him like a flash, knocking the drawn gun from his hand and sending him spinning across the back of the divan.

  The German charged like a bull when he had recovered his feet, and the force of his weight carried Travers until he fell with, a crash, the other’s two hundred and fifty-odd pounds of fat holding him down.

  The fat hands reached for the sailor’s throat, but he got his thumbs in the pig-like eyes and, with a curse, Steinberger reeled back half-blinded. It was not pretty fighting.

  Travers was up and after his opponent immediately, pounding his ribs and working his face to a mass of purple bruises. He did not go unpunished himself. Steinberger’s weight and superior reach aided him. The German picked up a brazier and cut Travers’ head open, half stunning him and driving him to his knees. Before he could follow up his adv
antage the sailor had staggered to his feet and gone into a clinch.

  The mirrors on the walls were shivered as the two men swayed all over the room. Finally they crashed into the divan and split apart, bloody and breathless.

  They rested for a spell, teeth showing and eyes glittering with passion. The centuries and epochs of upward climbing from the primeval slime and forest had been for naught. The martyrdom of a million reformers was in vain. Here stood two men locked in mortal combat, unaffected by all that had gone before. They were the result of it all.

  Travers was the first to recover. With quick, lithe steps he advanced and jabbed at Steinberger’s mouth. With a snarl they closed and for a while wrestled again about the room, stumbling over rugs and matting, low tables and cushions.

  The German swore continuously, but the sailor fought in silence. Blood flecks were everywhere. Then Steinberger ran his hand behind the sailor and, feeling the automatic reposing in the hip pocket, drew it after some difficulty. Just at that moment Travers broke the German’s hold with a mighty effort and, lifting the huge body, pitched it into a corner.

  With a broken arm and collar bone Steinberger rocked to his knees and fired blindly. Travers clapped a hand to his hip, realized what had happened, and then cast frantic eyes around for the gun he had knocked from Steinberger’s hand in the beginning. He could see it nowhere.

  A bullet snickered over his shoulder and tore a hole in the copper mesh of the walls. Another clipped his neck. Dimly he heard Melita scream and then shout something.

  He gasped as a numbing, red-hot pang shot through his left arm. He pawed at the air. This was the end. William Travers, his brother, would never be avenged, nor would Mary, the little wife. For one vivid moment the mists cleared from the sailor’s eyes and he looked clear-eyed for his death.