Slug Brophy came up to the bridge. “Romberg was asking about you,” he said, winking. “When I told him you were on the bridge, he seemed surprised. Those guys got enough guns to arm the U.S. Navy.”
“Yeah?” Jim stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Let the Gunner handle this a bit longer. You come with me.”
He wheeled and ran down the ladder. Sakim and Longboy were painting amidships.
“Drop those brushes,” Jim snapped. “Slug, get them a couple of guns.”
When they were armed he went amidships. The three Germans were sitting in the petty officers’ mess, talking and drinking beer. Jim stopped in the doorway.
“I understand,” he said crisply, “that you men have guns aboard. I want them. Nobody packs a rod on this boat but my officers and myself.”
Romberg shrugged. “But in times like this maybe we need our guns,” he said softly.
“You get them when you leave the boat,” Mayo snapped. “All right, on your feet for a search.”
Romberg’s face whitened.
Kessler got to his feet, face flushing with anger.
“There will be no searching here!” he snapped. “This is insolence!”
“Yeah?” Ponga Jim chuckled without mirth. “You guys got a lot to learn. An’ when you talk about insolence, sourpuss, remember you’re not in the German army now. You’re on my ship, and I’m in command here!”
Kessler started forward and then stopped. “So? You know, do you? Well, what of it?”
Mayo’s gun slid into his hand. “You guys asked for transportation for yourselves and your cargo. You’re getting it. Get tough, and you’ll get a lot more. I said I’d get you there, but I didn’t say I’d get you there alive.” He shrugged. “Take their guns, Slug. The first one that peeps will have to digest some lead.”
The three men stood very still, hands raised, while Brophy frisked them expertly. Once Romberg’s eyes flickered to the port and he stared.
For outside was Sakim, with a rifle barrel resting on the edge. Longboy stood outside the other, his brown face eager.
Romberg’s eyes swung back to Mayo, and there was a hint of admiration in them. “You’d have made a good German officer, Captain Mayo.”
Jim snorted contemptuously.
Brophy passed out of the room with the guns tucked in his waistband. Then Ponga Jim slid his back into its holster.
“Sorry to have bothered you, Gents. Adios.”
Day slid into night. Mayo was worried. Something had to break. There was a possibility that disarming them had also wrecked their plans, but he had no faith in the idea. There was something else, something more to be expected. At twelve he would go on watch, and by that time if everything went well they would be entering the Banda Sea with a straight shot for Bangkulu before turning east for Banggai Bay.
Night had fallen and the stars were bright when he turned aft for a last look around before his night watch. The passage amidships was empty, but he heard voices in Romberg’s cabin.
For an instant, Ponga Jim hesitated outside the door. Kessler was talking. If Braunig was there he was not speaking. But that was usually the case. Jim walked aft to the sternpost and stood watching the wake, his back to the after deckhouse. Then he turned and started forward.
Sharp, fierce snarling and then a shrill, angry yapping shattered the still air. Puzzled, he hesitated. Something was bothering the orangutan. He went down the ladder to the storeroom beneath the after wheelhouse.
In the small space was the cage of the orangutan, a huge beast, almost as big as a gorilla. Foaming at the mouth, the big ape was screaming with fury and trying to get through the bars at Braunig, who was crouching before the cage. His wide, ugly face was contorted with sadistic frenzy as he stabbed at the ape with a pointed stick.
As Ponga Jim reached the foot of the ladder, the ape grabbed the stick and with a terrific jerk, ripped it from Braunig’s hands. The stick broke and the ape hurled the pieces at Braunig. The burly German roared with laughter, until one of the sticks hit him on the shoulder. Then, with a snarl of rage, Braunig jerked up a boathook and stabbed at the ape with the sharp end.
“I’ll show you!” Braunig snarled. “You slobbering beast!”
Jim crossed the intervening space in a leap, ripping the boathook from Braunig’s hands. “I’ll be damned if you will!” he snapped. “Get back to your cabin before I lose my temper.”
“You! Why, you—!” Braunig’s face purpled with fury.
Smack!
Jim’s right smashed into the big German’s mouth and knocked him skidding along the deck. The German sprang to his feet, crouched, and then lunged. Jim sidestepped.
“Better get on deck before I get peeved,” he said again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Braunig was powerful. He wheeled and rushed at Ponga Jim. But Mayo stepped back quickly. The German plowed ahead. Jim crossed a right, hooked both hands to the body, and jerked up a hard right uppercut. Braunig staggered, and Jim knocked him down with a hard left hook. He got up, and Jim floored him again. The big man lay there, groggy, but still conscious.
“All right,” Jim said coolly, “now go on deck.”
Slowly, heavily, the man climbed to his feet and staggered drunkenly up the ladder. Jim crossed to the cage where the big ape clung to the bars, staring.
“What’s the matter, old fellow?” he asked softly. “Been treated pretty mean, haven’t you?”
The orangutan stared back at him, its eyes bloodshot, ugly. Staring at the ape, Jim could see that the beast’s mind had been warped into a seething caldron of hatred where nothing lived now but the lust to kill. Through the red hair on its body he could see countless scars. Why, Jim wondered? Just cruelty? But why cart the ape around and suffer the expense of keeping it for only cruelty? He shrugged and went up the ladder to the deck.
Brophy was standing in the wing of the bridge when Jim came on watch. “This kind of gets a guy,” Brophy said softly. “Something’s in the wind, and you don’t know what or where it’ll come from.”
Mayo nodded. “Better get below and turn in,” he said. “They won’t wait much longer. They’ve got to strike between here and Banggai, because there’s a destroyer there now.”
He watched Brophy down to the main deck and then turned back. The visibility was good, for the night was clear and the stars were bright. Tupa, the Alfura seaman taken aboard in Bonthain, was at the wheel, Selim on watch in the bow.
His thoughts reverted to Romberg. There was more in the wind than a plan to eliminate him. That, he was certain, was only incidental to greater plans, and they must be plans with some bearing on the cargo below. Drilling machinery it might be, and some of it obviously was; but there were other supplies, also.
The sea was calm, just a light wind blowing. He took his glasses and scanned the sea thoughtfully. A sub? There hadn’t been a sub sighted since the affair off the New Guinea coast. True, there were German agents in the East Indies; there had been efforts at sabotage, but most of it ineffectual.
Aside from the attempts to create revolt among native tribes in Papua and to destroy shipping, things had gone along smoothly. It was so obvious a tactic to attack the far-flung British Empire at many points, and as Holland was supported by the British navy in the Indies, that included the Netherlands Indies.
Ponga Jim let one hand slip up to the gun butt in the shoulder holster. War couldn’t come to the Indies without becoming a personal problem.
ROMBERG WAS A wily customer. Had the plot to kill him in the Parakeet Nest succeeded, he would have been safely out of the way, and still the cargo would have gone on to Banggai Bay, and whatever else remained of the plot would have proceeded without further delay.
Sparks walked out on the bridge. “Message for you, Cap,” he yawned sleepily. “Just came in.”
“Suppose you turn in, Sparks? You may get another long shift tonight. I’ll listen in occasionally.”
McVey turned and left the bridge. The message was brief and to
the point. It said:
NO CARGO EXPECTED BANGGAI. ROMBERG, KESSLER, BRAUNIG UN -KNOWN. HAVE YOU GOT YOUR NECK OUT!
WILLIAM.
Ponga Jim frowned thoughtfully. He had suspected that it was some point near Banggai, but that they intended to transship there. He paced the bridge, his mind weighing the possibilities. When Gunner Millan came up to relieve him at four o’clock, he was still far from a solution.
THE HOURS SLIPPED BY. The sun came up and the day warmed. The crew was under a strain. The men were jumpy. Several times Jim saw his three passengers gathered in serious conversations, but he ignored them until late in the afternoon. Braunig, his face battered and swollen, had just returned from feeding the orangutan, and the three were standing amidships. Jim came out of the passageway and strolled up to them.
“Suppose you guys let your hair down,” he said slowly, “and tell me just where you think you’re going? I know it isn’t Banggai.”
Romberg’s lips tightened, and he glanced at Kessler. “Unfortunately, Captain Mayo, our plans have gone somewhat awry. However, it is true we don’t have any great desire to land at Banggai. We intended to see the cargo was taken to Tembau.”
“My deal says Banggai,” Ponga Jim said sharply. “And to Banggai we go.”
Romberg cleared his throat. “Captain Mayo, I know something of shipping conditions in these waters now and how difficult it is to keep busy. Suppose I offered you a bonus to carry us to Tembau.”
Jim shrugged. “You know my terms: cash first. It’ll cost you five thousand. If I don’t get it, you go to Banggai and you can deal with the native rajah there.” He grinned. “However, he has no love for Germans and is very pro-British.”
Romberg hesitated, but Ponga Jim had seen triumph leap into his eyes.
“All right, Captain Mayo,” Romberg said. “I’ll see you in the salon at dinner. It will take all my available funds and those of my friends. But we’ll manage.”
On the impulse of the moment, Jim stepped into the radio room when he went forward. Picking up a pencil, he wrote rapidly.
“Tear that up after you send it, Sparks,” he ordered. “And stand by.”
It read:
WILLIAM GIRARD,
HOTEL KONINGSPLEIN,
MAKASSAR, CELEBES, N. E. I.
DESTINATION TEMBAU. OUT OF THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE.
MAYO.
The Semiramis pushed her bows into the seas, rolling easily on a changed course. Tembau lay on the edge of the Greyhound Strait. There was one anchorage, Ponga Jim Mayo was remembering. It was one he had never seen, but it had become almost a legend in the islands. Tukoh Bay wasn’t a nice place, for it had become a resort for all the renegades in the islands. But if it was Tukoh Bay they wanted, to Tukoh Bay they would go.
Tupa was in the crow’s nest when the Semiramis slipped through the outlying reefs to Tembau. The island lifted itself high out of the water, and from the sea there was no evidence of the village at Tukoh Bay. Slug Brophy came up to the bridge. He had two guns strapped on. Gunner Millan was standing by on the poop deck with several of the crew.
Slowly the old tramp wallowed into Tukoh Bay, and Jim Mayo gave the word to let go forward. A few minutes later, the three Germans went over the side into a native sampan and were taken ashore. Lighters came alongside, and with them, Kessler and Braunig to superintend the discharge of their cargo.
When the last sling was going over the side with its cases, Romberg came aboard.
“Well, Captain, you promised delivery, and here we are. I want to thank you for a pleasant voyage. But as the tide is out, you won’t be leaving before daybreak. Perhaps I’ll see you before then.”
Daybreak! Ponga Jim felt himself turn cold inside. Night in Tukoh Bay? That was something he’d overlooked. The town was full of cutthroats ready for anything that promised payment. He watched the three men go ashore and saw the lighters pull away.
Red Hanlon, the chief engineer, came up from below, wiping his hands. Jim motioned to him.
“Listen, Red, I want you to keep steam up all night. We can’t get out of here until daybreak. And with that crowd ashore, anything may happen.
“Tell Slug and the Gunner I want to see them in my cabin, Li, and quick!” Jim ordered the steward.
IN A BUNGALOW BUILT back under the trees behind the little village of Tukoh Bay, the three Germans sat together. Behind a low table was another chair, and the man who sat there was thin and bald. He looked old, yet when he moved it was with a grace that proved him much younger than he appeared. His features were narrow, hawklike. A big man, powerfully built, lay on a divan nearby.
The man behind the table shuffled some papers on his desk. “How many men does he have?” he demanded harshly.
“Twenty-five in all,” Romberg said. “The steward is a Chinese and can be discounted.”
The man behind the desk stared at Romberg coldly. “A Chinese? Discounted? That was what the Japanese thought. Let us not make the same mistake.” He paused. “Armament?”
Romberg hesitated. “I’m not sure. Each of the officers is armed. I believe they have two rifles for game, and a shotgun.”
“You needn’t worry, Herr Heittn,” the big man on the divan said. “I’ve heard a lot of this Ponga Jim Mayo, and those boys of mine would like to take him.”
“Don’t forget, Petrel,” Heittn replied drily, “that a submarine has failed, that this man almost single-handed captured a ship and destroyed a sub. This man is not to be trifled with. No doubt,” he said, glancing at the discoloration on Braunig’s eye, “that our friend could tell us a little about him.”
Heittn glanced from one to the other. “We must not fail this time. The boat must be seized, the crew destroyed.”
IT WAS DARK in the cabin when Li entered, but he flashed no light. “Captain Mayo?” he whispered. “They come now.”
Silently, Ponga Jim got up and strapped on his guns. Then he took down the rifle. By the chronometer, which he struck a match to check, it was almost three in the morning. Another hour and it would be turning gray. He picked up the automatic rifle and walked to the bridge.
Brophy was leaning on the bulwark looking over the dodger. It was pitch-dark, but not far out there was a larger blob on the water.
“Tupa in the crow’s nest?” Mayo asked.
Brophy nodded. “Yeah, everybody’s at his station. What you going to do, Skipper? Hoist ’em aboard with the winches?”
“Wait and see. I’m going to give those boys a bellyful of war.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing. There’s more than two hundred men out there. Selim slipped ashore, and he says they’re armed to the whiskers.”
The boats were nearer now. Ponga Jim walked back slowly to the wheelhouse.
“All right, Sparks,” he commanded. “Lights!”
Suddenly the sea flashed into white brilliance under the rays of three great searchlights, and almost at the same instant, the whistle blew the fire drill signal. Hoses were strung out and connected. The boats swung alongside, and the attackers began swarming up the side.
“Steam!” Jim roared, firing a blast into the nearest boat.
In almost the same instant, a roar of steam belched from the fire hoses, full into the faces of the men swarming up the sides and clinging to the rail of the Semiramis!
One gigantic half-caste took the blast full in the face at scarcely a yard. His face vanished as if by magic, and screaming horribly, the man let go of the rail and tumbled back into the water.
It was all over in an instant. Screaming in agony, the attackers leaped into the sea. From the bridge, Ponga Jim waited, watching.
Unnoticed, a motor launch had slipped in close to the bow, and suddenly, there was a yell from forward. Ponga Jim spun around, firing as he turned. His shot knocked the gun from the hands of a big Swede he recognized as Hankins.
Then, with a rush, the group swept aft. Two of his own men went down. The others, caught from behind, rushed for shelter aft, unable to ha
ndle the hoses effectually without endangering others of the crew. The major attack was broken, but now, with dawn breaking and safety in sight, defeat swept down upon them behind a hail of lead. Jim ran down the ladder, and whirled at the foot of it to find himself face-to-face with Braunig.
The big German had rushed forward from the after part of the ship, and for an instant Jim failed to appreciate what it might mean. The German jerked up his gun and fired. Mayo dropped into a crouch, hammering a stream of slugs at Braunig. The first shot struck the man in the chest, but by some superhuman burst of strength he lunged forward, firing again.
A terrific blow slammed Mayo on the head, and he spun halfway around, but not before seeing Braunig topple over on his face, dead.
Romberg was nowhere in sight, but the battle had divided itself suddenly into a series of individual scraps. Kessler, leaping from the body of a Malay fireman, his knife red with blood, turned to see Ponga Jim, coming toward him. Kessler hurled the knife, but he missed. Then Jim leaped in a flying tackle, and they crashed to the hatch, rolling over and over.
Jim came up on top and leaped free. The German jumped up and landed a left that knocked Jim back on his heels. Kessler let go with another, but Mayo grappled with him and hurled the man back against a winch. As Kessler came at him, Mayo caught him with a short left hook that cracked against the German’s chin with a pop like the report of a pistol. Kessler toppled forward, unconscious.
Grabbing up his fallen gun, Ponga Jim ran aft. In the passageway he stumbled over a body. And on number four hatch was another, but the battle seemed to have centered forward. And Jim Mayo could only recall that Braunig had come forward. What could he have done aft? And how did he get there?
Suddenly, a shrill scream of horror sounded from the poop deck, and Mayo reached the stern in two bounds, just in time to see Li come staggering out of the passageway, screaming with fear.
The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Four Page 37