Evening star. [volume], February 16, 1936, Page 11, Image 83

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
“Thunder on the Plains”
'OMOBiLts — “covered wagons of 1936” — thousands
and thousands of them, hurrying down to Texas over
the Santa Fe Trail and all the other highroads of the
nation — for Texas is holding, this year, its great Centennial.
In the next issue of This Week, begins a story of the Santa
Fe Trail, “Thunder on the Plains” — a stirring serial by the
author of many colorful stories of the west, Vingie E. Roe.
It is a tale of hardy pioneers in covered wagons, resolutely
seeking a new land, a new life. It is the tale of Will Dallas,
young, fearless scout; of Captain Sillard, leader of the wagon
train; of lovely Caution Pendergast torn between her love for
the two men.
“Thunder on the Plains” begins in the next issue! Watch for
Vingie Roe’s thrilling serial of life and death, love and adventure
along one of our most historic trails!
Short Reckoning
Continued from pafte four
When the two prisoners were alone,
McGurk said, heavily: "Now, look
what you got us into because you
wouldn't listen to advice!” He man
aged to get his pipe from his pocket
and strike a match on the iron
stanchion.
Jonson came out of the chartroom
, and walked to the companionway
scuttle. "South by East, half East!”
he called out to the helmsman.
“South by East, half East!” the
helmsman repeated.
Jonson opened a bottle of rum and
poured three stiff glasses. "Just in
case,” he said, watching them drink
theirs and waiting a suitable interval
before drinking his own. “Hate to see
you two croak. Good deepwater men
are getting scarce,” he said.
"Don’t get sentimental on our
account."McGurk snorted.
I like guys who can take it on the
, chin,” Jonson said. “You heard me
give the new course. About right for
Acusta, Captain?”
“You claim to be a navigator,”
McTurk retorted coldly. “Work it
out for yourself.”
"No call to get nasty about it.
Funny things how guys get in each
other’s hair when the world is so big.”
“Very funny,” McGurk agreed.
"It’ll be funnier still if you don’t get
on deck and take in the slack of the
sheets. She’ll be aback in a minute.”
> Jonson arose with a sigh. “Make
yourselves at home, gentlemen,” he
said with a wave of his gun.
When he had disappeared up the
ladder, McGurk said to the skipper.
"Looks like eight bells for us, Mac. I
just want you to know that much as
* I’ve been aching to knock your face
off for forty years, it’s been a middling
pleasant voyage and I don’t hold no
grudge against you for being a damned
old fool.”
“And I want you to know, Mr.
McGurk,” replied McTurk, “that in
spite of our long and — diversified
association as skipper and mate, I’ll
have you logged for that remark, if we
get out of this mess.”
At noon of the second day of their
incarceration, Jonson came out of the
chartroom with a triumphant grin on
his face. “According to my reckoning
we should make Acusta sometime
after midnight, tonight,” he stud.
"The boss will be glad to see you.”
“May I ask,” McTurk inquired, “if
you intend to scuttle the ship?”
“In five hundred fathoms. The
cargo is scrap iron, and bricks. When
she goes down, she stays down.”
“And you’ll split the insurance
among you?”
“My pals and myself will be taken
care of. The ship will be posted as
missing in due time and the claim will
be paid.”
“Very neat.” said McTurk.
"Merely a — by-product. Captain.
The main idea is to mete out — er,
poetic justice to you and your mate.
Our contract calls for your delivery
at Acusta — in good repair. The boss
was particular about that. You’ll
agree with me that we’re living up to
our bargain. You’ve had plenty of
grub and grog to cheer you.”
"We’ll lie cheering at your funeral,”
said McGurk.
m »u|ipn lime juumiii iciuincu
with food. While the two men ate, he
regaled them with the particulars of
their fate. There was, he said, no
water on the island, except such as the
skies chose to drop from time to time;
no food except barnacles on the rocks.
He bade them good night and left with
the empty supper dishes. The two
men stretched themselves on their
mattresses beside their iron stan
chions.
“I’ve got kinks in my back the size
of a towline, sleeping on my right
side,” McGurk grumbled.
McTurk’s face assumed a pensive
quality. "As your superior officer,” he
said, lowering his voice, "I feel it my
duty to appraise you — before you
break down crying on my shoulder —”
‘‘With you handcuffed six feet
away?” McGurk growled.
“I’m speaking — er — metaphori
cally. As I said, I feel it my duty to
appraise you that the situation may
not be so senous as it appears. Before
leaving port, I took certain precau
tions — ”
"Stop belching fiv^-dollar words
and tell me what you’re driving at?”
McGurk snapped.
“I don’t want to raise false hopes.
Mr. McGurk. As your master, I want
you to accept — er, things — but not
to be too surprised if they turn out —
for the best."
“Surprised! I’d drop dead!”
"Precisely what I’m trying to guard
against; at your age, it something un
foreseen should happen — ”
“Why, you damned old fossil!”
McGurk howled.
"Unforeseen by the mutineers, I
mean,” said McTurk. “And I’m no
fossil, Mr. McGurk.”
"Antediluvian, then,” McGurk
amended.
It was sometime before dawn that
McGurk became aware that the ship
was no longer sailing. In that border
land between waking and sleeping, he
opened his eyes and listened. He
reached out a foot and kicked Captain
McTurk sharply.
The skipper grunted and sat up in
the dark. Hurried footsteps were
clacking on deck above the open port
hole. A mile or so to starboard, a bril
liant searchlight stabbed the tropic
gloom. It swept the silent sea and
came to rest upon the Albatros with
a suddenness that drove a javelin of
light through the port hole.
“The un foreseen!' ’ McGurk snorted.
“Their boss’ gasoline cruiser.”
"He’s talking in Morse with the
light,” McTurk whispered. "Wait
till 1 catch the message.”
McGurk was breathing heavily.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Quite well — better than I had ex
pected," McTurk said. He’ translated
the message slowly: "Don’t under
stand. Who is in irons and why? Am
coming alongside.”
There was a scuffle of feet at the
companionway hatch. Jonson came
down on the run with an enormous
electric flashlight in his hand, fol
lowed by Slavinsky.
"You got a file handy?” he shouted.
“Not handy,” the skipper replied.
“I heaved the tool box overboard off
Bermuda."
Jonson’s face turned the color of
cold ashes. He straightened up with an
oath. "Run to the chain locker and
get a couple of chipping hammers to
strike those handcuffs off, Pete,” he
snapped. "Hustle!"
“1 dropped them into the Gulf
Stream,” said McTurk. “They were
getting rusty.”
Slavinsky stopped at the bottom
step of the ladder as if he’d been shot.
“It’s some government vessel. I tell
you!” he whined.
“So what!" said Jonson. “You stay
here. I f they as much as peep, let ’em
have it. I’ll go on deck and handle it.”
The unknown vessel was coming
across the silent sea under full speed.
It hove to a scant hundred yards Jo
port. “Schooner, ahoy! Who are you
and what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Captain,” Jonson sang
out. “The schooner Albairos, New
York City; Captain McTurk, skip
per. Bound for San Michel with
general cargo.”
“San Michel? Then what are you
doing off St. Thomas?"
“St. Thomas, Virgin Islands?”
Jonson demanded.
“Correct."
l licit: Wdv> a 1U1IS siiciICC uu utv.n. n
longer one in the mess room, broken
only by the wheeze of McGurk’s
pipe
"Thanks for putting us right, Cap
tain,” Jonson sang out huskily. “Our
compass's out a bit. We’ll get our
bearings by daylight.”
“This is the United States gun boat
Petrel, Ensign Sanderson, command
ing,” the voice from the other vessel’s
bridge megaphoned. “Who have you
got in irons and why?”
“Nobody, Captain. You read our
message wrong,”
“Wrong or right,” the voice called
back, *T’m boarding you.”
“One word out of either of you,”
Sla vinsky informed his prisoners,
“and you get it!”
A boat manned by six bluejackets
(Continued on page 13)
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