The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales

by Robert E. Howard

  “Shucks, there’s nothin’ around here to shoot,” returned Mart scornfully. “And ’specially on the island. Besides, your dad wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “That’s all right,” grinned Bob. “I’ll get one of those thirty-thirties out of the rack and slip her into the boat. Maybe we won’t use it, and maybe we will. We might meet that Pirate Shark, you know!”

  “Oh, shucks!” ejaculated Mart.

  They breakfasted early the next morning, and as the captain wanted a message relayed to San Francisco, the boys sought the wireless house while Dailey and Borden and Yorke were getting a boat over the side. After some persistent efforts, Mart finally raised an answer, and after looking it up in his blue-bound book, found that it came from a Dutch steamer of the Nederland line, and promptly got rid of his messages, which would be relayed by more powerful instruments to Manila and Honolulu. During this labor, Bob slipped away, and after Mart had reported to Captain Hollinger and secured his motion-picture camera, he found his chum waiting in the boat, where Dailey and Yorke, Borden and Birch were at the oars. Waving farewell to the ship, they moved away; Bob nudged Mart and pointed to a tarpaulin under the stern.

  “There she is,” he said mysteriously.

  “What?”

  “That rifle,” reported Bob, chuckling. “We’re off, old scout! I wish we’d meet that Pirate Shark o’ Jerry’s. I guess a thirty-thirty bullet would make him sick!”

  “Huh!” grunted Mart, his eyes sweeping across the sunlit waters. “No chance!”

  CHAPTER IX

  THE BLACK FIN

  The boys had fully intended removing their shoes and going ashore in their bare feet, but as they started to do so, the men grinned and stopped them. Yorke, with his twisted mouth leering and his gray head streaming with perspiration, lay on his oar and gave them some advice.

  “Young gem’men, don’t go for to do them foolish things, not in these here seas! First place, that ’ere sand on the island will be hotter’n blazes. Then if ye go wadin’ around ye’ll get poisoned wi’ coral, or ye’ll step on little crabs ye can’t see, but they’ll get under your skin, like; or else ye’ll find animiles what’ll bore little round holes in your flesh, an’ them kind o’ things. It ain’t safe, young gem’men.”

  At first the boys thought he was joking, but a glance at old Borden showed that Yorke had been in earnest.

  “Don’t ye do it,” added that soft-voiced seaman, who was so much like Jerry in his ways. “Yorke’s tellin’ ye true, lads. Things ain’t so nice as they looks on these islands, you can take your davy to that!”

  At this juncture Daily and Birch also paused to rest. The boys had desisted from their object, and Birch spoke up, his one eye flaming queerly.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, young sirs, but be you a-goin’ to hunt tigers wi’ the cap’n?” At the question all four men looked aft at the boys.

  “Sure,” rejoined Bob happily.

  “Not right away, though,” added Mart, wondering at the looks and the question. “We’re goin’ to see the diving first. Later on we’ll go ashore after a tiger.”

  “Give way, there,” ordered Borden quietly, but as the four oars dipped Mart caught an odd glance exchanged among the men. He wondered idly what they were thinking of, but they were close on the island now and he was too eager to be ashore to waste any time in vain speculation.

  At length the boat ran up on the clean white sand, all leaped out, and she was at once pulled up. Dailey volunteered to stay with her, and the other three men started off to wander on their own account, while the two boys, arranging to be back in an hour or so, started across to the seaward side. The brief ride in the hot sun had quite cured Bob of his romantic notions regarding the rifle, which he now left in the boat, for it was a heavy weight and he had lost his desire to shoot when Mart suggested that it would only alarm those aboard the yacht.

  It was ebb tide, and as they gained the opposite side of the narrow island and came out upon the long reaches of white sand, the wild delight of the boys was unrestrained. They were in a new world. Even the trees were crimson, there was no lack of wonderful but ill-smelling flowers, and among the bushes and trees fluttered butterflies of gorgeous hues. But out on the sands they forgot all this.

  They found shells by the score, such shells as they had never seen, of all colors and hues. Then, in a little bay of the shore, Mart stumbled on a starfish, deep red, with rich black bosses, and Bob splashed into a pool to extricate two small but very gaudy sponges.

  Then there were smaller fragments of coral, ruby red and white, and oyster shells—some brick-red, others of mixed and more gorgeous hues—while more complex shells whose names the boys could not guess lay strewn about indiscriminately with fragments of streaming seaweed. Then Bob wandered ahead, and Mart saw him turn with a cautious gesture, motioning to him.

  Mart stuffed the starfish into his pocket and caught up his all but forgotten camera. When he joined Bob at one side of the little bay and looked through the bushes at the shore beyond, he understood. For there was a long stretch of mingled coral and sand exposed by the low tide, and perhaps fifty yards distant were two birds—curlews—running toward the boys with nervous, jerky motions. They were furtively picking up crabs, and Mart quickly set up his camera and focused it. But the instant he began to turn the crank, the two birds ceased their antics. With an inquiring pipe, they looked toward the slight click; then one of them desperately snatched up a crab and both flew off together.

  “By golly!” exclaimed Mart. “I got ’em anyhow! Let’s go see the crabs!”

  They found them—big gray fellows that scuttled away or disappeared in the sand as the boys approached. Try as they would they could not catch one, and being unable to dig, they finally gave up, tired and winded.

  “Say, do you like raw oysters?” exclaimed Mart, while they were resting in the hot sand.

  “You bet!” returned Bob. “Why?”

  “Well, look out there where that coral shows.”

  Perhaps twenty feet from the edge of the water protruded the low ragged edges of a coral reef, and Bob gained his feet instantly. The water inside the reef was only a few inches deep, and even from where they stood they could make out splotches against the coral that told of oysters.

  Without a word Bob led the way, Mart following hastily. Getting their shoes wet mattered little, for they would dry again in five minutes of walking in the blistering sand, and when they finally stood on the coral reef they soon had torn half a dozen good-sized oysters from their perch and waded in to shore again.

  “They look good,” said Mart, gazing doubtfully at the tightly-closed gray-green shells. “How you goin’ to open ’em?”

  “With a knife,” grinned Bob, pulling out his heavy pocket-knife.

  He went to work, and remained at work for five minutes. At the end of that time he gazed disgustedly at his hacked knife blade and gave up in despair. Mart suggested warming the oysters over a fire.

  “Good idea, Mart!” cried Bob, springing up. “We’ll eat a couple, then take a mess back to dad, eh?”

  They soon had a small fire of dry bush alight, and under the influence of its heat they got two or three of the oysters open. Each of the boys swallowed one—then they looked at each other blankly.

  “Didn’t taste right to me,” declared Mart.

  “Me neither. I never ate any like that in ’Frisco, by juniper!”

  They unanimously decided that they would not eat any more, and before they had stamped out their fire Bob found that he wanted very much to inspect a scarlet-leaved tree a short distance back in the bush. Mart saw another tree that he wanted to look at, and after fifteen minutes had passed, two very pale and disgusted boys crawled out to the warm beach again and lay there recuperating.

  “By golly, I don’t want any more of those oysters,” said Mart, gaining his feet after a little. Picking up the offending molluscs, he hurled them out again into the sea, and Bob grinned faintly.

  “No,” he agr
eed, “I guess Ah Sing’s cooking’ll do me for quite a spell. By juniper, that oyster must have gone down wrong!”

  “So did mine,” replied Mart, “but it come up again—right. I move we hit for the boat. I’ve had enough o’ this, by golly! It’s as Borden said; things ain’t what they seem, not by a long shot!”

  With that, they hit across the island for the lagoon side once more. They passed several trees which bore most attractive-looking fruits, and berry-laden bushes, but beyond pausing once or twice to consume a few feet of his reel at opportune points, Mart paid no attention. He and Bob had learned a lesson and learned it well.

  By the time they emerged on the inner shore of the island, however, they were feeling perfectly recovered once more. Here the shore was flat and level, and as they looked about for the boat, it appeared a few hundred yards to their left. Dailey was lying asleep in its shadow, and out in the lagoon itself the Seamew was swinging lazily at her cable. There was no sign of any prau bringing back Jerry Smith, and the other three men who had landed were not in sight.

  “Where are the men gone?” asked Bob, as Dailey sat up at their approach. The leathery-faced seaman waved a hand toward the upper end of the island.

  “They went off that way, sir. Ain’t showed up yet.”

  “Well, let’s row up and meet ’em,” suggested Mart. Bob agreed at once, and all three piled into the boat as they shoved it out.

  Mart and Dailey took an oar apiece, Bob reclining in the stern, and they slowly rowed up toward the far end of the island, where was a wide channel connecting the lagoon with the open sea beyond.

  As they rowed, the two boys were lost in wonder at sight of the glories below them, for here the water was clear as crystal, though Dailey declared it to be a couple of fathoms deep or more. Sponges, marine fans, fish, coral, and all the under-water life lay open to them, in colors more gorgeous and magnificent than either boy had ever dreamed of. Bob declared it far ahead of the Santa Catalina sea-gardens, and Mart could hardly row for his wondering admiration; but he was finally recalled to himself by a quick exclamation from Bob.

  “Hold up there, both o’ you! What’s that ahead?”

  Mart and Dailey glanced around, and an echoing cry broke from the seaman. Fifty yards ahead of them and slowly cutting the water in their direction, was a black triangle that seemed part of some machine, so evenly and steadily did it move along. But the size of it! Mart guessed instantly that it was the dorsal fin of a shark, but he had seen no fin of such size before.

  “It’s the Pirate Shark, Holly!” he cried suddenly, and plunged down for the rifle. Bob stooped for it at the same instant, but Mart was too quick for him. He rose again to find Dailey looking at them, aghast.

  “Where might you lads ’a’ heard o’ the Pirate Shark?” queried the seaman hoarsely. Mart had no time to waste on him.

  “None of your business,” he returned sharply. “Keep steady there—”

  “You’ll waste the bullet, Mart,” and Bob stopped him. “It’ll simply glance off the water at this angle. Hold on till we get closer!”

  “Don’t you do it, sir,” implored Dailey, his leathery face suddenly pale. “It’s the Pirate Shark, all right—don’t you fire on him, sir! My word on it, Mr. Judson, it’ll be a bad day for us all—”

  “Oh, cut out that superstitious talk, Dailey,” broke in Mart impatiently. “He’s a shark, and a big one; pirate or not, if I can’t get to him I’ll put a bullet through that big fin of his.”

  “That’s the idea!” exclaimed Bob. “But quit talking or we’ll scare him off. Hit the fin, Mart—don’t waste time tryin’ to make the bullet penetrate the water unless we get up close alongside.”

  Mart, quivering with excitement, got a bead on that tremendous black fin which was now turning as if to proceed across their bows. It would be futile to attempt shooting the shark at such a distance, for as Bob said the bullet would simply glance from the surface of the water.

  Suddenly Mart perceived that the fin was turning away from them. Instantly he sighted for its center, made sure of his bead, and fired. He saw the fin flutter wildly, then there was a great swirl of waters, and as the heavy detonation rang over the lagoon the black fin vanished amid the foam.

  “Hit!” yelled Bob. “There are the men, Mart!”

  Indeed, the figures of the three seaman were visible, running down the sand, and Mart waved a hand at the yacht as he sat down, for he knew that Swanson and the captain would be watching. But the greatest thought in his mind was that black fin. The Pirate Shark was a reality! They had seen its “black flag” and he had sent a bullet through it!

  None of the three spoke as they pulled the heavy boat in to the beach where the men waited. As they approached, the three seamen splashed out and piled aboard, Mart taking his place again in the stern. The first question, naturally, was for the cause of the firing.

  “We saw the Pirate Shark,” answered Dailey. “We put a bullet through its fin.”

  “Huh?” one incredulous cry broke from the other three. “Who fired it?”

  “Mr. Judson done it.”

  Three pairs of eyes swept to Mart, who laughed at the amazement of the men. “Well, why not?” he wanted to know.

  “Great Scott!” exclaimed Birch. “You fired on the Pirate Shark, lad? Then I’m main sorry for you, that I am!”

  “Why so, Birch?” queried Bob, leaning forward and grinning.

  “Because it’s bad luck, young gem’man,” replied Yorke soberly enough, for all his twisted mouth. “It’s mortal bad luck! If you’d put a bullet in that there Pirate Shark, you’d ’a’ broke old Jerry’s heart, you would—”

  “Oh, shut up, Yorke!” snapped Birch. “Give way, everybody! There’s a boat!”

  The boys turned and saw one of the native praus coming from the river toward the yacht. The superstition of the seamen affected them not at all, and Mart felt that all bans were now off, and they could tell Captain Hollinger about the Pirate Shark whenever they chose. Jerry was no doubt aboard the native boat now approaching—and Mart did not feel half so anxious to shoot tigers as he did to get after the Pirate Shark. For the Pirate Shark really existed, beyond any doubt!

  CHAPTER X

  OFF FOR TIGERS

  “Yes, sir, Pirate Shark is what they call him, Cap’n. Thirty-footer.”

  “What!” Captain Hollinger stared in amazement, then laughed. “Thirty-footer? You’re tangled up, Jerry. Well, he can wait until I get back.”

  Jerry had arrived at the yacht almost as soon as the boys reached her, and in the course of the explanations about their shooting, Mart and Bob surprised Jerry into ejaculating the title of the Pirate Shark, which called for further explanations. Thus, without having broken their promise, the boys apprised the captain of something of the story of thePirate Shark, since Jerry reluctantly explained the name. Captain Hollinger gave the matter little attention, but not so the mate.

  “Look here, Cap’n,” cried Swanson, stepping out and facing Jerry aggressively. “I warned you against this here Shark Smith afore we started, didn’t I? Now, I tell you he ain’t here for any good, him and the rest o’ his gang! Shark Smith, they call him—don’t you growl at me, you white-haired old hypocrite!—’cause he’s been after that ’ere shark for ten year an’ more. That’s what he brung you here for, Cap’n—just so’s he could get at that Pirate Shark!”

  Swanson flung out this accusation boldly enough, and Jerry’s blue eyes blazed up at him suddenly; but the look was fleeting, and the next instant the quartermaster flung back his white hair and gazed with mild reproach on the mate.

  “Deary me!” Jerry said softly, then smiled. “Why, Cap’n, Mr. Swanson’s quite right, he is. I knowed that there Pirate Shark was here, an’ I wanted to kill him myself, so to speak. But I’ve played square, Cap’n. When you gets back from your hunt, I’ll have gold to show you. Can you ask more’n that, sir?”

  “Not a bit, Jerry,” smiled Captain Hollinger. “Come, Mr. Swanson, no more of th
is suspicion, if you please. Jerry will have to rank as second officer, and take the port watch for the rest of the cruise, so I want no ill feeling among my officers. Now, what about the tigers, Jerry?”

  Jerry reported that all was ready, and that the beaters were already arranged for. There were tigers a day’s march away, it seemed, and the chiefs were delighted that Captain Hollinger was so willing and ready to rid them of their persecutors. The sooner the hunters started, the better pleased would the natives be.

  Accordingly, the captain decided that he would go ashore with Swanson that same afternoon and get acquainted, as Jerry reported that two or three of the natives could speak a little English, and that all were anxious to put themselves at his disposal. Then for the first time Jerry found that the boys were not going ashore also, and the knowledge seemed to stagger him.

  “Why—why,” he exclaimed blankly, “I thought as how you were going tiger hunting too, lads. I’ve been an’ made all arrangements wi’ them chiefs—”

  “No, they’ll have to stay here,” returned the captain firmly. “I’ll not take them into that jungle till I’ve had a look at it, Jerry. That’s final. Hold that prau down there and we’ll get our stuff together and go ashore in her.”

  Jerry, looking decidedly blank, obeyed. Mart wondered why he was so anxious to have them go ashore, and conferred with Bob on the subject, but it seemed that Jerry was only in haste to get at his Pirate Shark, and the two boys were rather amused at the situation, together with Swanson’s dislike of Jerry.

  To them it seemed that the old quartermaster had wanted to get rid of everyone who would interfere with his own hunting operations, and that their shot at the shark that morning had irritated him. Mart looked on it as a huge joke by this time, and Bob was evidently inclined to the same way of thinking. Jerry was evidently quite confident, however, that there was gold in the river, as his promise to the captain showed; indeed, the boys never doubted that he was acting in good faith, more especially as Jerry had now informed the captain that he intended killing the Pirate Shark.