XII
TIGERS OF THE SEA
One glance at the black, triangular fin slicing through the water wasenough. It was a shark of the man-eating variety.
"Get out your gun, Red!" barked Don Winslow, reaching for his ownweapon. "Hold it ready, but don't use it until the last possible moment.The smell of blood--even shark's blood--will drive the other sharksmad!"
Biting his lips, the stocky lieutenant ripped the waterproof silk fromhis Navy Colt's revolver. Though he could have led a landing party inthe face of machine gun fire, without a qualm of fear, the idea ofbecoming shark meat while still alive was hard for Red Pennington to getused to.
"Here's hopin' there aren't any other sharks around!" he gulped. "If Idon't see any in the next two minutes, I'm gonna shoot this one so fullof holes...."
"Hold it!" Don Winslow rapped out. "I see another fin--no, it's threemore! And more coming, off there to port. Great guns, Red! We're rightin the middle of a school of them!"
Calmly, he took a squint at the chambers of his revolver making surethey were all loaded.
"You see now, Red, why I wouldn't take automatic pistols," he said."Those things jam up after a little exposure to salt water. Theserevolvers can take it."
"Yeah!" responded Red bitterly. "But what good's all that goin' to do usif they come too fast for us to shoot? HEY! LOOK OUT! HE'S COMING FORYOU, DON!"
Twenty feet to starboard, a huge fin was driving straight toward them.In another second the killer shark would roll over for the bite, Donknew.
Instead of firing, however, he brought both arms down flat on the water,with a tremendous splash. At the same time, he yelled like a trappedhyena.
With a quick swirl, the shark changed his course; but even so, it was aclose call. So close that the killer's mighty tail slapped against Don'slegs with numbing force.
"Wha-what's the big idea?" gurgled Red, twisting his neck to watch theshark's departure. "You had time to shoot him, Skipper!"
"But not time to stop him!" replied Don. "Anyhow, we don't want anyblood in the water as near to us as that. I guess our best bet is toserve these sharks a breakfast, but keep them as far away as possible.Like this!"
Snapping up his Colt, Don Winslow fired at a circling fin, about fortyyards distant. There followed the brief flurry of a wounded shark. Then,without warning, the ocean round about was lashed to a froth. Greatbodies whirled and plunged in a circle of bloodstained water. From allsides, the sharp, triangular fins of the other sharks came streakingtoward the center of disturbance.
"And _that_," gritted Don Winslow, "is the way they'd be bearing down onus, if I'd shot that first would-be man-eater, instead of scaring him!How'd you like to be in the middle of that ring-around-the-rosie, Red?"
"G-golly, no!" shivered the junior officer. "I've heard that sharks werecannibals; but I never thought they were such fast feeders. Look, Don!They've finished that one already. Eaten him alive!"
"In which case we'd better give them some more breakfast bacon," agreedthe young commander. "Go ahead and shoot, sailor! It's your turn."
"Uh-uh, Don! It's your turn all the time," the redhead responded. "As amarksman, I'll never be in your class, and we've got to save ourbullets. That way, we might keep those sea tigers busy eating themselvesuntil the plane shows up."
Carefully Don picked his next target and fired. This time his bulletmerely clipped through the shark's back fin, but the wound was enoughfor its blood maddened fellows. A second savage feast churned thewater's surface, fifty yards away.
One by one Don's precious cartridges were expended, until only half adozen were left. The dawn light had grown stronger now, and Red,glancing toward the distant _Gatoon_, detected movement aboard her.
"They've spotted us aboard ship!" he cried. "They're lowering a boat!"
Don Winslow's revolver cracked again.
"They'll get here just about in time," he commented. "That is, providedI don't miss any shots. Every shark in ten square miles must havesmelled this party and joined it. A number of them have been looking usover, too."
"I've noticed that, Skipper, don't worry!" Red Pennington exclaimed."It's too bad the Scorpion plane didn't get here sooner, but.... Say! AmI hearing things, or is that a plane's motor, over to the east?"
Above the splashing rose the snarl of an airplane motor warming up. Thesound rose in pitch, then faded abruptly.
"That's Splendor and his pilot taking off!" remarked Don, his eye on thecircling man-eaters. "They'll climb to ten thousand to start their watchfor the bombers. Right now, I envy them!"
For a long, listening moment, there was no sound but the lapping ofwaves and the occasional splash of a feeding shark. Very gradually thedrone of an approaching plane grew louder.
"It's not Splendor's motor," Don decided at last. "Besides, it's flyingtoo low and straight to be on patrol. It's the Scorpion seaplane, allright, and headed straight for us!"
"It'll be here before the boat from the _Gatoon_!" cried Red Pennington."Probably the pilot thinks the boat is after a couple of spies. If hedoes, he'll beat 'em to it and pick us up! Where is he, though, Don?That motor's getting close, but there's no plane in sight!"
"That's because he's flying low, right in the 'eye of the sun,' as theysay," replied the other, whipping up his gun for another shot.
The bullet missed, just as the target dived under. Another slug fromDon's nearly exhausted supply furnished more living "breakfast" for theravenous sea tigers. Two sharks swirled dangerously close to the twoofficers in the turmoil.
"Better start splashing and keep it up, Red!" Don Winslow advised."Those finny devils are getting more curious about us every second. Ifwe can keep them off just a few more minutes...."
CR-RASH! SLAP! SWISH!
The school of sharks scattered in all directions, as a seaplane'spontoons smashed down into the water close by.
"Ahoy, you two!" cried a voice almost over the swimmers' heads. "Climbaboard, and make it snappy! Those sharks will be back in a minute."
Looking up, Don and Red saw that a few strokes would bring them withinreach of the plane's starboard pontoon. So skillfully had the pilotmaneuvered his craft in the choppy waves that he was now drifting pastalmost within arm's reach. The man's head and arms were just visiblethrough the cabin door which he had slid back.
Don gripped the pontoon's wet surface, heaved himself up, and reached anarm down to Red Pennington. His revolver was back in its shoulderholster, but the bulge of it was plain, he knew, under his wet blouse.
"Those sharks nearly got us at that!" he observed, imitating Corba'swhining tones. "We've been shootin' at 'em since daylight, but they wasgettin' uglier every second. An' then that boat put off from the_Gatoon_. Between it and the sharks, we wouldn't have lasted fiveminutes longer!"
"I know all that, sailor!" snapped the pilot, glancing back at theapproaching lifeboat. "Stow the gab and climb up here, so I can takeoff. They've got rifles in that boat!"
Muttering under his breath, the fake Corba clambered into the cabin,with his dripping companion at his heels. As they did so, the seaplane'smotor burst into full-throated sound. Gracefully the ship circled,straightened out over the slapping wave tops, and took off into thewind.
"You, Mink!" called the pilot above the motor's steady roar. "They tellme you're good with a machine gun. If you want some practice, move overand man that turret piece!"
"Okay!" replied Red Pennington, taking the role of the gorilla seaman."But wot's the idea now? We ain't gonna attack the _Gatoon_ all byourselves, are we?"
The seaplane listed steeply in a sharp bank. As it swung back toward thedrifting yacht, the pilot laughed harshly.
"We're going to put a few holes in that lifeboat, just for the fun ofit!" he said. "I'll give 'em a burst from the wing guns, and you finishthe job as we leave 'em astern."
"This job," cut in Don Winslow's voice, "is already finished, pilot!Ease over and give me those controls, or take a
bullet through yourribs!"
The Scorpion pilot stiffened under the hard pressure of Don's gunmuzzle. His lips drew back in an animal snarl.
"You're not Corba!" he grated, as the young Navy Commander pulled backon the joystick. "And this other guy isn't Mink. What's the game,anyway?"
Red Pennington's revolver prodded gently between the man's shoulderblades, as Don banked the seaplane for a fast climb.
"Just a couple of Navy lads taking over for Uncle Sam," the grinninglieutenant answered. "Your precious pals, Mink and Corba are locked upin the _Gatoon's_ brig. That's where we're going to put you, if we'relucky in the coming dogfight."
Don Winslow of the Navy Page 12