--od!--Wentyard wiped his brow with a trembling hand.--hat might have happened to us!----hose niggers who went groping down the corridor must have stumbled onto him lying in the dark,--muttered Vulmea.--guess he got tired of running. Or maybe he knew he had his death-wound and turned back to kill somebody before he died. He--l chase those niggers until either he's killed them all, or died himself. They may turn on him and spear him to death when they get into the open. Pick up your part of the necklace. I-- going to try that door again.-- Three powerful drives of his shoulder were required before the ancient door finally gave way. Fresh, damp air poured through, though the interior was dark. But Vulmea entered without hesitation, and Wentyard followed him. After a few yards of groping in the dark, the narrow corridor turned sharply to the left, and they emerged into a somewhat wider passage, where a familiar, nauseating reek made Wentyard shudder.
--he snake used this tunnel,--said Vulmea.--his must be the corridor that branches off the tunnel on the other side of the idol-room. There must be a regular net-work of subterranean rooms and tunnels under these cliffs. I wonder what we-- find if we explored all of them.-- Wentyard fervently disavowed any curiosity in that direction, and an instant later jumped convulsively when Vulmea snapped suddenly:--ook there!----here? How can a man look anywhere in this darkness?----head of us, damn it! It-- light at the other end of this tunnel!----our eyes are better than mine,--muttered Wentyard, but he followed the pirate with new eagerness, and soon he too could see the tiny disk of grey that seemed set in a solid black wall. After that it seemed to the Englishman that they walked for miles. It was not that far in reality, but the disk grew slowly in size and clarity, and Wentyard knew that they had come a long way from the idol-room when at last they thrust their heads through a round, vine-crossed opening and saw the stars reflected in the black water of a sullen river flowing beneath them.
--his is the way he came and went, all right,--grunted Vulmea.
The tunnel opened in the steep bank and there was a narrow strip of beach below it, probably existent only in dry seasons. They dropped down to it and looked about at the dense jungle walls which hung over the river.
--here are we?--asked Wentyard helplessly, his sense of direction entirely muddled.
--eyond the foot of the slopes,--answered Vulmea,--nd that means we--e outside the cordon the Indians have strung around the cliffs. The coast lies in that direction; come on!--
The sun hung high above the western horizon when two men emerged from the jungle that fringed the beach, and saw the tiny bay stretching before them.
Vulmea stopped in the shadow of the trees.
--here-- your ship, lying at anchor where we left her. All you--e got to do now is hail her for a boat to be sent ashore, and your part of the adventure is over.-- Wentyard looked at his companion. The Englishman was bruised, scratched by briars, his clothing hanging in tatters. He could hardly have been recognized as the trim captain of the Redoubtable. But the change was not limited to his appearance. It went deeper. He was a different man than the one who marched his prisoner ashore in quest of a mythical hoard of gems.
--hat of you? I owe you a debt that I can never--
--ou owe me nothing,--Vulmea broke in.--don't trust you, Wentyard.-- The other winced. Vulmea did not know that it was the cruelest thing he could have said. He did not mean it as cruelty. He was simply speaking his mind, and it did not occur to him that it would hurt the Englishman.
--o you think I could ever harm you now, after this?--exclaimed Wentyard.--irate or not, I could never--
--ou--e grateful and full of the milk of human kindness now,--answered Vulmea, and laughed hardly.--ut you might change your mind after you got back on your decks. John Wentyard lost in the jungle is one man; Captain Wentyard aboard his king-- warship is another.----swear--began Wentyard desperately, and then stopped, realizing the futility of his protestations. He realized, with an almost physical pain, that a man can never escape the consequences of a wrong, even though the victim may forgive him. His punishment now was an inability to convince Vulmea of his sincerity, and it hurt him far more bitterly than the Irishman could ever realize. But he could not expect Vulmea to trust him, he realized miserably. In that moment he loathed himself for what he had been, and for the smug, self-sufficient arrogance which had caused him to ruthlessly trample on all who fell outside the charmed circle of his approval. At that moment there was nothing in the world he desired more than the firm handclasp of the man who had fought and wrought so tremendously for him; but he knew he did not deserve it.
--ou can't stay here!--he protested weakly.
--he Indians never come to this coast,--answered Vulmea.---- not afraid of the Cimarroons. Don't worry about me.--He laughed again, at what he considered the jest of anyone worrying about his safety.----e lived in the wilds before now. I-- not the only pirate in these seas. There-- a rendezvous you know nothing about. I can reach it easily. I--l be back on the Main with a ship and a crew the next time you hear about me.-- And turning supply, he strode into the foliage and vanished, while Wentyard, dangling in his hand a jeweled strip of gold, stared helplessly after him.
Flint-- Passing
Bring aft the rum! Life-- measure-- overfull
And down the sides the splashing liquor slops
To mingle in the unknown seas of Doubt.
Bring aft the rum! The tide is going out;
The breeze has lain, the tattered mainsail drops
Against the mast. And on the battered hull
I hear the drowsy slap of lazy waves.
And through the port I see the sandy beach,
And sullen trees beyond, a swampland dank.
I--e known the isles the furtherest tide surge laves--
Now like a stranded hulk I come to die
Beside a shore mud-foul and forest-rank.
Bring aft the rum! And set it just in reach.
I--e sailed the seven seas, long, bloody years.
I--e seen men die and ships go reeling down--I might have robbed my fellow man in style
But I was long on force and short on guile--So--tead of trade I chose the buccaneers--Rig aft a plank there, damn you! Sink or drown!--Life is a vain, illusive, fickle thing--
Now nearly done with me--it could not hold
Allurement to allay my thirst--for rum.
Steps on the main companion? Let them come.
Here is the map; let Silver have the gold.
Gems, wenches, rum--aye, I have shed my fling.
I guzzled Life as I have guzzled rum.
Run up the sails--throw off the anchor chain--The courses sway, the straining braces thrum,
The breezes lift, the scents of ocean come--Bring aft the rum! I--l put to sea again.
Red Nails
I
THE SKULL ON THE CRAG
The woman on the horse reined in her weary steed. It stood with its legs wide-braced, its head drooping, as if it found even the weight of the gold-tassled, red-leather bridle too heavy. The woman drew a booted foot out of the silver stirrup and swung down from the gilt-worked saddle. She made the reins fast to the fork of a sapling, and turned about, hands on her hips, to survey her surroundings.
They were not inviting. Giant trees hemmed in the small pool where her horse had just drunk. Clumps of undergrowth limited the vision that quested under the somber twilight of the lofty arches formed by intertwining branches. The woman shivered with a twitch of her magnificent shoulders, and then cursed.
She was tall, full-bosomed and large-limbed, with compact shoulders. Her whole figure reflected an unusual strength, without detracting from the femininity of her appearance. She was all woman, in spite of her bearing and her garments. The latter were incongruous, in view of her present environs. Instead of a skirt she wore short, wide-legged silk breeches, which ceased a hand-- breadth short of her knees, and were upheld by a wide silken sash worn as a girdle. Flaring-topped boots of soft leather came almost to her knees, and a low-necked, wide-collared, wide-sleeved silk shirt completed her costume. On one shapely hip she wore a straight double-edged sword, and on the other a long dirk. Her unruly golden hair, cut square at her shoulders, was confined by a band of crimson satin.