by Don Wilcox
Allan and Jimmy drew back from the fray, like interested spectators who saw that they had bet on the losers.
Allan felt that Jimmy was looking at him with an expression of disappointment.
“Darned if that crew ain’t lost a lot of their good behavior. I always figured they was a pretty decent bunch of sailors when you was their captain,” Jimmy commented. “What’d they do, Captain, if you was to walk up to ‘em, Sully an’ the others—not now, but at some favorable time like after a hearty meal an’ calmly announce that you aim to be their captain again?”
Allan said lightly that he already knew the answer to that one. They’d knock him unconscious and put him behind the bars; for that was what had already happened. They were in no mood to put themselves under the thumb of a long-forgotten captain.
Nevertheless, the idea of declaring himself had begun to tantalize Allan more than he had admitted to Jimmy.
Jimmy stayed on the trail. “Look, Captain, if you put Bandy on the shelf, why not use the same prescription on the others?”
“There are seventy-nine others.”
“There’s two of us. And some of the others would join us quick, that’s for sure. And the rest, heck we could pick ‘em off one at a time.”
“I’m way ahead of you, Jimmy, but keep coming.”
“Well, it could happen. Look, you’ve got Bandy. Then there’s Gallagher—he’d be a pushover. That’s two. An’ like you say, there’d be some we could win over to our side right off. Like Pakkerman, maybe. I wish I’d had time to get him off in a corner.”
“Pakkerman? Have you seen him?”
“I wasn’t too sure about it. In all this dizzy light it’s hard to tell who’s who. Everybody comin’ and goin’ an’ everyone wearing some sort of goofy uniform.”
Allan was disappointed. He had kept his eyes peeled for Pakkerman. But there hadn’t been much chance, during the riot and chase, to sift the crowd for familiar faces.
“We’ll think it over,” Allan said, not too optimistically. “We can’t take for granted that the whole crew are vicious. It looks as though they’ve all degenerated, one way or another. But some of those Rocky Chests are too simple to be either good or bad, for my money . . . Pakkerman we should find. There’s a chance he might unlock a whole chest full of mysteries for us. He was smart enough, if you could keep him in the groove.”
Skirting along the darker pathways with Jimmy, Allan watched the last of the retreating tribe. They were taking refuge in a mountain shelf where the cavern ceiling came down low, and deep green lights shone from the rocks.
Koo-Jop had suffered a bad defeat, but he was making the best of it. He had herded his people into the tortuous ravines where they could defend themselves. The White Sharks and their subordinates gave up the chase and turned back toward the Glass Arena.
CHAPTER XX
The battle was over.
The Bunjojops hastily built a barricade of stones across the entrances to their chosen shelf. Allan saw that the shelf led into another room beyond, from which the dark green light emerged.
“Temporarily they’re safe,” Allan said. “At least they can get their breath and ask their tribal gods what to do next.”
Jimmy gave him a questioning look.
“Ya reckon? If I was a tribal god I would tell ‘em to get the heck out of this mountain the quickest way.”
Allan gave an amused laugh. “You’re no tribal god.”
“I said if.”
“You’re a White Shark. But I predict you won’t stay that way long. As soon as the White Sharks find Bandyworth, we’re both on the spot.”
“Gosh, the dickens, he will be mad, won’t he!” Jimmy looked around anxiously. “Wanna know something?”
“What?”
“Bandy is already runnin’ loose. I saw him on the chase about five minutes ago.”
“Steady, Jimmy. Someone should tell us these things. You saw him?”
“It looked like him. I couldn’t be sure it was him because he didn’t have his uniform on. An’ we was too far away to see his tattoos plain.”
“No uniform? What did he have on?”
“Not much. Just like I left him. I reckon it was Bandy, all right.”
Allan snorted. “You reckon! Well that could complicate matters in a hurry. It was time to get moving. As soon as the White Sharks got together and compared notes, the news would spread to everyone to be on the lookout.
Allan wondered. Would the Sully gang have enough control over all the others to send everyone out on a man hunt—Rocky Chests as well as Green Coats? Probably so. They had all pitched in and helped batter down the tribe at the risk of getting their own heads broke.
“Don’t look so gloomy, Captain. That’s just what we want, ain’t it? If they come out in bands of three or four, we’ll either win ‘em over or give ‘em the works.”
Allan nodded. “We’ll either proselyte them or pulverize them.”
Jimmy swallowed and said he guessed so, if it didn’t take too much equipment.
“It’s your lead again,” Allan said. “You had an excursion down the line on that glide-walk that I missed. You never did tell me what you saw on that jaunt. But if there’s any good ambushing, let’s find it.”
They hiked along almost silently. At their nearest approach to the Glass Arena, they could see that the whole crew had come in toward the “press box.” The Rocky Chests were working with the Bunjojop casualties, putting the finishing touches to some of the victims, under Sully’s supervision. The bodies were laid in a row. Then everyone—or so it seemed—gathered around the White Sharks for some sort of curtain lecture. Some new plan of action would be born in that conference, Allan guessed. He could see Sully strutting, gesturing.
The assembly was more than a hundred yards away—not so far but what Allan could single out several of the well-remembered figures from his old crew.
“If they’re all there, he whispered to Jimmy, “we should be able to spot Pakkerman from here.”
“I’m lookin’,” said Jimmy. They paused to watch, and Allan began to count. But Jimmy added, “I don’t figure he’s there. If he was dressed the way I saw him up by the glidewalk, he’d show up plain.”
“You saw him? What is this? Come on, give! What’d he look like? What was he doing?”
“All I can say is, I got a glimpse somewhere along the glide-walk of this tall husky fellow dodgin’ around under this ball of fire. And it was the way he stepped that made me think it was Pakkerman.”
“Ball of fire?”
“A great big blazin’ ball of orange fire. The dangdest thing. You’ve got to see it.”
“What do you mean, great big? Big as a grapefruit? Or a basketball? Or a dishpan?”
“Big as the biggest snowball you ever rolled down the hill. It hung over his head and shoulders like a shell.”
“Did Pakkerman see you?”
“He was too busy to see anyone.”
“Did you yell at him?”
“Captain, I haven’t yelled at anyone down here. Except you. I’m too darned scared. My own echo would jump me right outa my shoes. Besides, Pakkerman was too busy to be yelled at. This ball of fire—uhmm, I wish I could describe it. Can you imagine what cotton candy would be like if it was made of little veins of fire instead of candy—and it was hoverin’ over a man’s head as big as a big barrel?”
“A head as big as a barrel? Or the cotton candy?”
“The candy. I mean the fire. A barrel-size -ball of cotton fire. Orange colored—”
“My imagination fails me,” Allan muttered, growing exasperated over Jimmy’s fabulous descriptions. “I’d better see it for myself. The main thing is, I’d like to see Doc Pakkerman. If we can catch him in a lucid moment, without too much cotton candy floating around his head, maybe we can get some answers.”
They hurried on. Along the way, Allan questioned Jimmy for more details of his recent adventure on the glide-walk.
“That was the darnedest ride
I ever rode,” Jimmy confessed, giving an audible gulp. “I can’t begin to tell you all I saw. Strangest feelings. Sights that maybe they were there and maybe they weren’t. Didja ever go to an amusement park, Captain? Didja ever ride through the love tunnel?”
“I’ll’ spare you the secrets of my private life,” Allan said dryly. “What else did you see?”
But Jimmy’s mental images were too hazy to mean much.
“Sure I had my eyes open,” he would say, trying to defend himself. “But I’ve seen so darned many things—”
“Mostly spots, I guess,” Allan suggested. “This orange fireball hovering over Pakkerman was probably just another spot.”
“Then it was one devil of a spot. Remember, Captain, all this time I was lost. Lost and scared. And worryin’ about you. Whenever I saw forms or heard voices, I was all fer makin’ myself scarce. The first time I spotted some Green Coats trudgin’ along on solid ground I snuck after ‘em. An’ when I heard them say they were on their way back to the Glass Arena, I said to myself, that’s for me. So I headed back the shortest way, trailin’ ‘em. But not wantin’ to renew old acquaintances, I did the fast dodge act. Then somewhere along the line, I picked up your trail, and let my eyes feast on the happy sight of you tyin’ Bandyworth into knots. From there on—”
“S-s-sh!” Allan whispered, stopping short. “There’s someone hiding beyond that next rock.”
They scrambled up the bank of dark rocks and thought for a moment that they had made a clean getaway. The yellow glow of the Glass Arena was back of them now. The deep blue and purple tunnels were only a few yards ahead, and the glide-walk would be somewhere beyond.
“Gosh-ding-it!” Jimmy spluttered, kicking at the loose earth. “Got my foot caught in something. Vine or something.”
Allan whirled to help him. Instantly he knew. “It’s a rope. Shake it off! Off!”
Allan leaped and caught the line as Jimmy started tumbling down the bank. At the same instant a loop fell over Allan’s shoulders. He was jerked off his feet. He fell to one elbow, still trying to hold the line that was hauling Jimmy away. Another rope whizzed through the air and caught his foot.
A dozen Green Coats and White Sharks bobbed up from four sides and bounced in upon them. The trap had sprung. They were caught. A triumphant shriek cut through the excited voices—a shriek that was Bandyworth piping his revenge.
“How ‘bout it, Bandy?” someone demanded. “Are these your invaders?
One of ‘em is wearin’ a White Shark uniform.”
“Shake him out of it,” Bandyworth yelled, stomping forward with a comical display of bruised arms and legs. “Don’t damage the clothes. That’s my uniform.”
“Hey, I’ve seen this guy before!”
“Me too. I’d know that mug anywhere. What’s he doin’ here?”
“Invaders!” Bandyworth growled. “Gimme my pants.”
“But what’s he doin’ runnin’ around with this big black pojak?”
“Pojak, hell!” Bandy retorted.
“That’s your old captain. Bring ‘em in boys. Sully’s gonna make ‘em sing.”
CHAPTER XXI
But Jimmy wasn’t the only one who lost his clothes. The rugged treatment in store for Allan began with ripping his pojak costume off his body. The men jeered as they marched him and Jimmy back to the conference. Two choice prisoners—a fat one and a skinny one—a white one and, ostensibly, a black one.
“It’s the captain. He’s got a deep sunburn, all except around his middle. Black on both ends and white in the middle. Look at him, boys, meet the captain! It ain’t a Holstein bull, boys, it’s the captain!”
Sully and the men roared with sinister mirth. They were intoxicated over their blood bath. Their Bunjojop victims lay around the edge of a white tile plaza a little distance from the Glass Arena. Two live captives from the outside world were all that the gang needed to make their victory hilarious.
Sully swaggered toward the thick row of stalagmites beyond the plaza of white tile, and motioned the marchers to follow him. Guards blew whistles and hooted. The Rocky Chests and Green Coats—every man who was not preoccupied with some urgent responsibility—crossed the white tile floor and joined the jeering throngs.
Allan found a chance to spill a few words to Jimmy. “They’ll take me for a ride, Jimmy. There’s no way out of it. It’s their chance to lord it over their captain. But you can break out of it. Watch for a chance when I start talking up to them.”
“I’ll watch,” Jimmy promised. “But I think they’re gonna make hash outa both of us.”
The jibes were for the captain. Already Jimmy was all but forgotten. Bandyworth was the only one still concerned with getting revenge on him. But Bandyworth had emerged as a power second only to Sully himself, as a result of his successful capture.
Outside the stretch of white tile floor, the uneven ground among the stalagmites provided a natural pit about eight feet deep shaped like the inside of a cup. The guards pushed Allan and Jimmy into this. They scrambled to regain their footing as they tumbled down its irregular sides.
“Take it easy, Captain!”
“On your toes, there, Captain. Inspection!”
“Swab the deck, Captain. Lively, lively, lively there, or we’ll throw you overboard.”
Allan straightened and looked his men over. Only his manner was dignified. His appearance, he knew, was a sorry spectacle. He was painted black, his hair was matted, with mud, he was naked. And these jeering men—his crew—were crowding the edge of the pit, making the most of his ugly plight. Stormy weather ahead, he thought. At least, they had removed the ropes.
“Listen; Men!” He lifted a hand slowly. “Listen to me. You’re in for trouble. I can help you.”
For all his disadvantages, his voice and his manner won him a respect. A little more of this and he’d have a fighting chance to take command.
“I can help you. I came to help you. Listen to me!”
Silence. Was he winning their respect? Or was it only curiosity? That was it. They only wanted ammunition for their mockery. Sully spoke and acted fast enough to check any quavering loyalties. He spit at Allan.
“That’s what we want to hear, Captain! You came to help us! We just been waiting for you. Holding our breath, waiting for you to come get us out of trouble.” Sully spit again. “It’s all right, boys. The captain’s here now. Everything’s safe.”
White Sharks guffawed; and their subordinates joined in like a chorus.
“Maybe he’s come to take care of our wounds,” one of the White Sharks hooted. “Wanna see my scar where you shot me, Captain. Bring us any Scotch tape, Captain?” Some punctuated his shout by kicking some rock dust into the pit. Allan stood and let the dust shower over him.
The show went on for several minutes. It was marred somewhat for Sully by the fact that Allan was still blacked up and didn’t look like himself. To the stupid Rocky Chests he was just a painted man standing there; imaginations were slow to identify him. But Sully soon went to work on that. He had several of the Rocky Chests shower buckets of water over Allan to convince themselves.
If the action was intended as a torture, Allan welcomed it. The mud streamed out of his hair, and the slime rained off his body.
“There, boys, he is the captain. Surprising what a good bath will do for the captain. Now for a good rub down. Anybody got any hot tar?”
Allan took advantage of his moment of naked dignity to try again. “Men, listen to me. You—Danswell—you, Johnson—you know I’ve come to help you. You—and you, Richardson, remember the last words I said to you? I’ve dreamed of those last minutes a thousand times. I’ve come to help you get back—”
Plop! A gob of mud struck Allan in the face. He edged to one side of the pit, clearing the mess from his eyes and nostrils. He hoped Jimmy might have been able to take advantage of this moment for a leap into the open. But it was too much to hope. The crowd was all around the pit. The ordeal would run its course.
T
hey hurled gravel. They dashed water then kicked rock dust again. And with each attack, Bandyworth saw to it that Jimmy got his share as well.
After the second bath, there followed a hail of stones. Small ones first. “Had a massage lately, Captain?”
“Make him dance, boys!”
“Here’s a free tattoo for the old boy.”
“Make him dance! Make him dance!”
Allan didn’t dance. He stood and took what came. He saw that Jimmy was taking it, too, gritting his teeth and snapping his eyes defiantly.
“This is a sample of the hailstorms we have down in our private world,” Sully said. “Strange thing, the hail keeps getting bigger. Look out, here come the hen eggs!”
The Rocky Chests were kept busy gathering up stones. But the Green Coats were entitled to their share of the sport. Soon everyone was in on it, tossing scores of stones into the air, so that they fell like rain.
There was a limit to human endurance. Allan couldn’t avoid being beaten down time and again by the deluge. Up again, he dodged about to avoid the worst of it. For three or four minutes the game went on, and now the stones were clunking down with enough weight to split a man’s skull.
“Keep out from under them,” Allan barked at Jimmy, as the two of them crossed paths in the center of the pit. On the next, jump, Allan added, “Watch for a break. Take it—”
Allan had gripped a baseballsized stone in each hand and suddenly he let fly with them. One at Sully. One at Bandyworth. Bandy went down with a yowl.
Sully dodged. The stone missed him, but the defiant act struck hard.
“Leave him to me!” Sully thundered. “I’ll bust his skull wide open. Stop it! Leave him to me!”
The stone game came to a stop as Sully marched to the edge of the pit. Allan thought, here it comes. The long-smouldering hatreds within Sully would have full play. Why didn’t Jimmy make a run for it?