The Adventure Megapack: 25 Classic Adventure Stories

by Dorothy Quick

  “Fate, my child, threw Mace here. The man, as I know, is the world’s gladiator. The sport papers the traders send us carry his pictures. I go here and there among the traders. I am not a Kanaka of this island group. The sea sent Mace to kill Avian. In the hands of the white man your brother will be as the milk-fattened baby. Avian is too ambitious. His tongue has caught him at last.”

  Palotta leaned against the stockade to prevent herself from falling. “You must help me, Sagon!” she gasped. “Mace must not kill Avian!”

  The old doctor blinked at her in the hot sunlight. “There is no way to prevent, except through your brother’s honor,” he returned icily. “It has gone too far. The chiefs are in favor of a fight. Many of them think your brother will strangle the papalagi. Such ideas come through eating nuts and papaw,” he sneered. “Avian is only a boy; he is soft as a girl, but brave as the Malayan tiger. Yet he is too soft, Palotta.”

  Palotta drew breath sharply; the stockade and house seemed to reel in the blinding glare of the sun. “It must be stopped!” she flung out. “I will prohibit the fight. It would be murder!”

  “The chiefs are preparing them already,” Sagon told her. “The canoe to take them to the Red Reef is being got ready. The people expect the fight to take place. Listen!”

  A murmur of many voices came from the bay. Men called to each other in joyous anticipation of the coming struggle between the brother of the queen and the accursed papalagi. Children and dogs ran toward the beach, followed by crowds of women. Laborers in the fields dropped tools and donned gala attire.

  The holiday cries reached the swooning Palotta as she leaned against the stockade. She could think of Avian only as a wayward boy, who had clung to her in her hours of peril when famine and war threatened extermination. All the wealth of her mother’s vast hoard counted for naught if evil befell him. The day could end only with a cup of poison for her if the white man triumphed.

  “Sagon, you must help me!”

  “Show me, Palotta!”

  “Speak to Mace. Promise him safety if he will hold his hand.”

  The old doctor made a gesture of despair. “There is only one way known to me. The stranger can be bought over.”

  “How much?”

  Sagon clawed his chin and ruminated for a period that ached like eternity to the waiting Palotta. When he looked up his nose seemed as sharp as a wolf’s.

  “A great matter needs large rewards, Palotta. Give me that pearl necklace of your mother’s. I shall offer it to Mace; he will take it as the price of your brother’s life. Give me the necklace at once! Mace will be on the Red Reef before I can speak in his ear. Quick, or they will be at each other’s throats!”

  Palotta blanched and threw up her hands. “Follow me to the house!” she said faintly. “I cannot hand it to you here.”

  Sagon bent his head and followed in her footsteps in the direction of the house.

  CHAPTER V

  A SCENE OF CONFUSION

  For the time being Mace was a prisoner in the hands of a dozen armed natives. When it became known that he was to meet Avian in fair fight on the Red Reef, their ferocious manner relaxed. They brought him cooked meats and fruit in abundance, after the manner of jailers who bestow favors on prisoners doomed to die.

  Mace ate sparingly although his healthy appetite craved for more of the delicacies spread before him. The meal over, they escorted him down a palm-shaded path in the direction of the limestone cliffs that shut in the bay of Langos. Halting on the beach, the leader of the escort indicated the red, table-shaped reef that stood in the center of the bay.

  “You go there,” he announced with a flourish of his short stabbing spear in Mace’s direction. “You get planta fight wi’ Av’an. Month ago he fight Malinga, the big, big man from Java.”

  “How did they fight?” Mace questioned easily, his glance fixed on the smooth slopes of the reef.

  The chief of the escort showed his dazzling white teeth for a moment. “They fighta anyhow,” he responded. “They get holda one anotha. Malinga no holda queen’s brother long. Queen’s brother play him to edge of rock, an’ over he go to the sharks!”

  “No funeral and no flowers, eh?” Mace laughed. “Just hit the blamed water and shook hands with the sharks!”

  A big canoe ferried him across the bay to the almost perpendicular slopes of the Red Reef. Some steps had been hewn out of the side. Clambering on top, a distance of fifteen feet, Mace found himself on a perfectly flat, tablelike surface of footworn coral, with slightly more space at his disposal than he had found in twenty-four-foot rings. His curiosity took him to the slope that fronted the bay entrance. Peering down he beheld the shadows of a dozen reef monsters of the hammerhead variety, basking in the hot sun rays that poured down on the still waters.

  In spite of his debonair manner, Mace was guilty of a slight shudder as he stared down at the family of man-eating sharks. No craftsman of the ring could escape those jaws once his footwork on the coral table betrayed him. There was no referee to call off their torpedo-like rushes and rending jaws. Mace heaved a big sigh and then cast aside his coat and vest, revealing to his escort the wonderful lines of his arms and torso. They drew aside in amazement.

  “There is no such man among us,” they cried. “Look, brothers, the skin is like the milkwood tree! There can be no strength in it, yet it is like nothing we have ever seen!”

  It was low tide and the high cliffs shut out the cool trade wind. A palpitating heat swam over the island and beach. Mace returned to the edge of the reef and continued to peer down at the gray-throated hammerheads sunning their bladelike fins. At sight of his figure above they stirred sulkily away, their swinish eyes following each movement of his shadow. Glancing back at the beach he saw hundreds of villagers streaming toward the sands, where a large crowd had already assembled, squatting near the water’s edge, eating fruit and cooked bananas after the manner of holiday folk.

  Another canoe put off from the beach; in it were Avian and Sagon accompanied by several chiefs. The brother of Palotta was first up the steps and with a bound reached the top. After him came Sagon, slowly, painfully, like a tree-climbing crab. Breathing in short gasps, the old doctor shuffled to the spot where Mace was still contemplating the dusky shadows below. He looked up quickly as Sagon touched his arm.

  “Listen!” the old man whispered with a back glance in Avian’s direction. “You must not harm this boy!”

  Mace flung around, his eyes kindling strangely. “What’s the scrap about, anyway? And say, old man, who’s going down that slope, me or him?” He indicated the gray, gleaming hides of the ocean monsters below.

  Sagon made gestures of disapproval. “We must think of the young queen,” he warned. “She bears you good will. And there is a way out of this trouble, papalagi. Spare the boy and obey me. Now, while these chiefs are telling Avian how to kill you, look down the slope near the sharks. You will see a crevice in the coral. In the fight you must slip down—your muscles are young—and creep into the crevice. There is a big space inside. Wait for me until dark. The people will think the sharks have eaten you. They cannot see this side of the reef from the beach. You will find some pig’s blood in a gourd. Cast it into the water. Sabe?”

  Mace allowed his swift glance to traverse the southern slope of the reef. He discerned a narrow cleft in the coral, about a foot from the tide level. He nodded thoughtfully and then turned to the center of the reef to find Avian awaiting him.

  Sagon shuffled back to the steps, followed by the chiefs and escort, leaving Mace and Avian alone. A thunderous shout went up from the beach as the two faced each other. Avian was naked except for the silk trunks he wore. His body gleamed like beaten gold in the tropic sun glare; his sleek, black hair was brushed back from his broad brow. From his small, Arablike feet to his shapely throat, he was a moving-picture ideal of a Greek Adonis.

  He approached Mace, body bent forward, his hands outspread as one about to enter the water. For a fraction of time Mace was puzzle
d. Against the brother of Palotta he bore no shadow of malice or anger, and for the first time in his life he stood irresolute before his opponent without any fixed scheme of attack or defense.

  Avian, with shining eyes and body, did not keep him long in doubt. With a darting feint at Mace’s throat, he doubled to the floor, snatching at the American’s ankles, and in a flash Mace was flung backward to the foot-beaten floor of the reef.

  Mace broke the fall with his elbows and was on his feet almost before Avian had straightened his body.

  “Guess you’re some ankle-fighter, kid! A rougher man than me would have kicked your face away!”

  Avian laughed in the sudden glory of his achievement and stepped round with pantherlike watchfulness to gain another opening. “I shall get you again,” he predicted, “and then you will go over.”

  Mace’s eyes grew narrow, but not with anger. Then, with scarcely a motion of his body, he flung forward and boxed Avian’s ears, left and right, with his open hands.

  “Sorry to do it, kid,” he declared. “I’ve got to put the wind up you to keep you in order. Sabe?” Then his right shot in under Avian’s heart. The blow was timed with the ease of a champion, and scarcely a muscle of Mace’s body stirred as he delivered it.

  Avian recoiled, his head jerked forward, knees sagging as if a knife had reached his spine. For an instant he rocked to and fro within a few feet of the perilous declivity. Mace called to him in sudden anxiety.

  “Don’t fall off this rock, or those darned goldfish will get you! I just gave you a medicine ball to keep you from curling round my waist. Don’t dive at my feet any more!”

  Avian rallied with the young blood spinning through his veins. The swooning mist which followed the heart punch vanished. In another instant he was bunching for a leap at Mace.

  Curiously enough Mace forgot his man entirely. He was thinking of Palotta and could almost feel that she was a terrified spectator of the present conflict. She was watching from the beach each movement of the boy before him. Mace sighed to think, as Avian crouched in front of him, that her heart would be filled with joy if the boy gladiator could only succeed in hurling him from the reef.

  Avian sprang in with a cry of victory, his lithe arms pinning Mace with the strength of a bull-hide thong. With incredible agility he executed a body twist that he evidently had learned from a Japanese wrestler, and in a moment had the American “half-scissored” and apparently sprawling.

  A great shout rent the beach; a forest of spears and clubs waved and quivered along the lines of warriors and chiefs.

  “The papalagi is finished! The fist-fighter is already in a strangle hold. Wonderful is the strength of our queen’s brother!”

  “Now for the slow music!” Mace whispered without an effort to change his position. “Put me over the side, kid,” he intimated softly. “No rough stuff, or I might put you over instead. Sabe?”

  Locked in a seemingly unbreakable hold, Mace was forced to the edge of the reef. Here their white and brown bodies swayed and oscillated to the fierce rhythm of a war song chanted from the beach.

  “Down with him, O Avian! Let the sharks tear his body! Down, down, down!”

  Mace stumbled, regained his balance, but only to be thrust over and down the steep slope. Avian drew back, lurching blindly after his exertions, and collapsed limply on the floor of the reef.

  Realizing that the white man had gone over the side, a scene of indescribable confusion mingled with screams of triumph and joy was visible on the beach. Black shapes capered wildly to and fro, while a dozen canoes put off to bring the victorious Avian home.

  CHAPTER VI

  TREASON IN THE AIR

  Mace’s strong fingers clutched the sides of the reef as he slithered over from the gaze of the war-whooping multitude on the beach. But even the abnormal strength of his hands failed to steady his downward rush. His feet struck the water, and the contact sent a chill spasm to his brain. His fingers fought desperately to find the crevice edge, while his glance went out to the slinking gray shadows of the reef monsters that had been visible only a few minutes before.

  His grip closed on the edge of the crevice as his body sank into the water. Just here a triangle of fin skated in his direction, the snout of a giant hammerhead heaved its dripping jaws to the surface, the sawlike fangs flashing in the hot sunlight. Mace drew up his knees as though an ax had sliced the air, and with a frantic heave drew his chest and head through the opening in the reef.

  The snout of the hammerhead lunged with terrific impact against the wet slope, while the savage rush and thrashing of water showed that the school of sharks had just missed their man.

  Inside the crevice Mace discovered a small, cavelike apartment, dark except for the slit of light that streamed through the narrow opening. The floor was of fine coral sand, inviting to the man who had just completed a dangerous trick at the end of a strenuous rough-and-tumble.

  Mace stretched himself on the sand, his glance fixed on the crevice through which gleamed the open waters of the bay. Above the crevice he noted a big, native gourd hanging from a peg in the roof. He recalled instantly Sagon’s reference to the pig’s blood. Rising, he took it down and poured the contents into the shark-infested depths outside.

  The sound of voices above warned him that the chiefs had returned to the reef to compliment Avian on his victory. To and fro they paced, acclaiming in loud tones the skill and deftness of Avian’s methods of attack and defense. The voices surged nearer, and Mace knew that they were standing directly above the spot where he had pitched over.

  “See where the sharks are even now at their work!” a voice exclaimed.

  Mace saw by the furious thrashing and leaping of the excited monsters outside the crevice that the chiefs were watching the sharks’ unholy scramble in the blood-wash from the gourd. One by one the voices retreated, and a few minutes later the sound of the canoe paddles told him that the party had returned to the beach with the triumphant Avian.

  During the long afternoon Mace was afflicted with a great thirst as he lay with his face to the opening in the reef, not daring to show himself lest some watcher on the cliffs might detect his presence.

  The tropic night came swiftly, bringing slants of cool air into his rocky prison. He felt that he was at the mercy of Sagon whose influence over the natives would keep wandering canoemen from the vicinity of the Red Reef. Oaf Palotta he had no doubts. She would not betray him. Treachery, if it came, would emanate from the wily old medicine man.

  He dozed fitfully in his thirst torment and awoke at the slightest sound from the starlit bay. Occasionally the phosphorescent streaks and flashes of water reminded him of the eternal presence of the shark-shoal cruising like sentinels of an enemy squadron through every passage in the reef-lined bay. Without a canoe or vessel of some kind, he was in a death trap from which there was no escape.

  The wisp of moon edged over the forest and showed him the ocean passage through the frowning cliffs. Then his roused ear caught the soft whir of a propeller churning somewhere across the bay. It came nearer, and Mace squeezed through the crevice and peered out.

  A twenty-ton launch was gliding toward the reef; it slowed suddenly and swung in a half circle to where he stood.

  “Hi, there!” a voice hailed softly. “Get ready to come aboard!”

  The launch rounded the curve gracefully and swung with her open gangway close to the reef opening. Mace needed no second invitation; clutching her fender as she squeezed near the rock, he clambered aboard feeling certain that his fate was now in friendly hands.

  The launch carried no lights, but the starshine revealed her snow-white decks and glittering brass rails. A native stepped near him, thrusting a silk coat upon him to hide his naked chest. Mace drew it on with a nod of thanks and turned quickly to the wheelhouse and beheld Sagon standing near Palotta and Avian.

  The old doctor addressed him curtly. “Our queen is here to help you, papalagi. This vessel will carry you to Nukahiva in the Marquesas, w
here you will soon find a bigger ship to carry you home. There is nothing more to say.”

  “Except that I’m grateful to the queen for her kindness,” Mace supplemented, conscious that her dark eyes were devouring him from the shelter of the house.

  “Brave men are the children of the gods!” she murmured gently. “I thank you for your chivalry and forbearance.”

  Avian came forward, his boyish face rent with his sense of humiliation and defeat. There were tear stains under his lowered eyes. “You did not fight me in true fashion!” he burst out passionately. “I was like a stick in your hands. The honorable death I deserved was denied me. The fight was a lie! I cannot look my chiefs in the face, never, never!” he cried bitterly.

  Mace’s hand rested consolingly on his bent shoulder. “Avian, you had me stretched and guessing in the first clinch. You could have rolled me over to those cannibal fish with your feet. Don’t worry about the fight bein’ a frame-up. You gripped me so darned hard in the second session that I was almost cryin’ out for my mammy. I’ll never get over that squeeze. I’ve been coughing queer ever since.”

  “He is too young for these life-and-death bouts,” Palotta declared, Avian’s hand held in her own. “In a year or so he will—”

  “Walk away with the world’s championship,”

  Mace broke in with an air of sincerity that made even the unhappy Avian smile.

  The sound of paddle strokes sent the old doctor to the rail, peering across the starlit bay, mumbling incoherently. “They are coming!” he chattered excitedly; “Enos, Ganda, and Oke. They suspect treason. We had better beware!”

  A big war canoe shot out of the darkness of the wooded shore and approached the launch with swift, measured strokes.

  Avian turned quickly to his sister, “Ganda and the others are against us,” he intimated under his breath. “We cannot trust this forest spider, Sagon. He is working for our ruin. The canoe carries a dozen spearmen!” he announced with a shrewd glance across the bay.

  CHAPTER VII

  NO ROOM FOR ARGUMENT