fury and pain, and he flung something almost
of the Gentleman. Even if he failed to get the
at Bradley’s feet before he turned and ran
pearls the others would get them, would scour
again, wobbling badly.
the whole wide circle of the atoll and run
Typhoon checked. A large bag lay on
every last thief to earth. But in his heart the sand. He picked it up, hefted it and Bradley wanted that honor himself. He was
laughed. The Gentleman had flung him the
responsible.
pearl loot in an effort to stop him. And it had
DRIVING with wind and oars the stopped him.
Gentleman’s boat rammed into the shelving
Typhoon thrust the heavy bag into his
sand of the beach so hard it ploughed half
shirt, tried to start running again and found his ashore before stopping. The mast snapped off
legs were trembling so much he dared not
and fell, stunning one of the seamen. Tench
attempt a step. He lifted his gun at the fleeing
and the Gentleman and the other two stumbled
Gentleman’s back but his eyes were misty and
over the gunnels and started for the fringe of
he could not see. He had gone through too
the palms fifty yards away, where they might
much. He had used up all he had. He cursed,
temporarily at least find breathing space and
pressed the trigger, but the bullet went into the shelter.
sand not twenty feet ahead of him.
Scarce half a minute behind them
He heard the Gentleman’s final bitter
Typhoon’s boat beached with a jarring crash
curse as that worthy vanished into the shelter
and Typhoon himself with a flying leap was in
of the palms and then, staggering, Typhoon
the shallows and ploughing for the sand. None
turned to see the pearling fleet swinging up
Action Stories
18
one by one and dropping anchor off the beach
They could not hear him, of course,
while the whaleboats were flung overside and
and when they came running up the sand
raced toward him.
toward him they found him lying unconscious
“All right, fellers,” he said wearily.
on his face, his guns still gripped in his hands,
“It’s all right. Nothing missing, I guess. I may
and the loot of Funafuti lagoon safe inside his
be a hell of a magistrate but I figure the slate’s shirt.
clean!”
Trial by Typhoon by Albert Richard Wetjen Page 5