pulse. Like the spark that closes contact
on his great chest, bending his bull neck until between two charged poles, something
his beard brushed her cheek.
bridged between them, something rose in their
He set her down with a great guffaw,
eyes and ran, each to each, along that bridge.
releasing her almost as violently as he must
For a moment everything else was forgotten
have clutched her and, still laughing, strode
except each other. The surf boomed and the
off among the guavas toward the buildings.
sunset deepened, the world rolled on, but they Bud came leaping over the lava rocks, his fists stood still until there came the sound of the
clenched, and his gray eyes blazing.
man’s voice shouting, “Purdy, Oh Purdy!
He had glimpsed scarlet streaks on the
Where are you, you blighter!”
man’s nose and the barer parts of his cheeks as
“I’ve got to go back to my uncle,” said
his big bulk wheeled and disappeared. The girl the girl. “He’s dying. There’s nothing much I
in blue reeled, steadied herself, rubbed can do for him, but——”
violently at one cheek, and then her eyes, wild
“I heard what that blackguard said to
with resentment and fear, dilated suddenly at
you,” said Bud. “My name’s Barrett—Cyrus
sight of Bud. He was catapulting toward her
Barrett—Bud Barrett. I deserted from the
with his scorched face, unshaven, hatless, his whaler that put in this morning for water
slop-chest clothing grimed and torn, but, lower down the beach.”
nevertheless, to her woman’s instinct a knight
“You don’t talk like a sailor?” There
charging to her rescue, or her avenging.
was no real criticism in the words, rather
She shook her head at him, and a mass
compliment.
of redgold hair, already disarranged, came
“I’m not much of one,” said Bud. “But
Short Stories
6
you don’t have to go with that skunk, whether
had scored.
he’s got a gun or not. So don’t let that worry
“Who’s yore pickup, Thelma?” he
you.”
asked. His dark eyes flashed in swift anger as She gave him a look that was reward
he advanced threateningly toward Bud, plainly
in advance. But she shook her head.
resenting the intrusion. “Where did you come
“You’ll only get into trouble,” she from?” he demanded. Bud held his ground, said. “Watterson’s killed more than one man,
looking at him equably, though, what with the
they say. There are the others with him. need of water, and his leg weariness, his And—I couldn’t stay here alone with you.”
judgment quailed a little at the size and brawn
“I don’t see why not. What’s of the man.
convention got to do with a deal like this? I’m
“Off the whaler Flying Cloud, ” he
square—you know that.”
He had no doubt
answered.
of her conviction along that line, but he saw in
“She’s out to sea. Flew the coop, did
the same instant that she was right. He had to you? Fo’c’sle too tough for you? Rather shirk
protect her that way, too.
than work? Thought you’d hit the beach an’
“He isn’t going to shoot me in cold
bum yore livin? Well, you’ve come to the
blood,” he said, “though he might have if I’d
wrong port, sonny. We don’t like sandlice
interfered just now. I’m sorry I didn’t get here round here. Git!”
soon enough to do that. A man that would
“You own this place?” asked Bud. He
bully a girl in the fix you’re in is yellow,
knew he was inviting a row and, aside from
the gun, knew the chances were that he was
happen along just as I would have anyhow.
going to get the worst of it, but the girl’s
What’s the matter with your uncle?”
presence, the still keen memory of the man’s
“Heart trouble, island fever and trade
attack on her, did more than merely bolster
gin,” she said, her voice suddenly hard and
him; they charged him with challenge,
bitter. “A combination of the three.”
regardless of consequence. Neither was he
Bud saw, in her young, brave face,
going to be entirely helpless. He kept his eye contempt, worry, weariness, the lack of sleep, on the holster, he set his stance for a spring.
the long trial of nursing.
He knew the girl was standing with one hand
“I’ve got to go,” she said shortly. “You
at her heart, fearful for him, and he knew it
must be all tired out—hungry and thirsty. It’s was going to come out all right.
good of you to want to help me.”
Here was more magic—the escape
“I’m going to. Have you got a gun up
from the watering party, the first glamor of the at the house?”
bush, the wild fury of the storm, the swinging She nodded, though she seemed to be
skull and the trapped trail, the girl, and now listening to something else. A forefinger shot this encounter.
up to her lips, her pupils enlarged again until Swift as the impression of a dream all
her eyes seemed black. She looked like a
this projected itself upon the screen of Bud
startled deer, Bud thought, remembering Barrett’s brain before the man answered.
Californian days.
“I own half of it, if that’s anything to
The bearded man had stepped silently
you.”
as a cat out of the guavas, and stood looking at
“And the other half is mine,” said the
them with a mirthless laugh. It showed his
girl.
white teeth amid his uncombed whiskers,
The man’s face twitched with rage.
puckering close the scratches the girl’s nails
“Then you go ’tend to it,” he snarled at
The Pendulum of the Skull
7
her. “You, you scupper pup, git to hell out of down.
here.”
The triumphant face was again
With the roar of a brute, his eyes convulsed, this time in sudden agony. It felt to glaring in his convulsed face, the big man
Watterson as if a redhot wire had been
leaped with dynamic force and swiftness. One
inserted below his left biceps, midway of the
hand was out to clutch at Bud’s shoulder, to
great muscle, burning, searing, paralyzing.
spin him about while he kicked him down the
Strength went out of his left arm, the
gully for the pithless scarecrow he looked; the scarecrow sailor tore loose, leaped in. One
other was clubbed for a blow, ignoring his
blow, cushioned by his beard, but jarring him, gun, a man proud of his bull strength, eager to crashed hard and close to the point of
demonstrate it.
Watterson’s jaw, the other landed full on his
It was a costly mistake in judgment.
mouth as he floundered forward, beside
He had expected the scarecrow to turn and
himself with rage, his left arm tempo
rarily
run; expected nothing else from a runaway
impotent, numbed.
sailor. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred he
Bud slipped the rush, panting, his wind
would have been right. As it was, Bud stooped
broken, his heart pounding, but game and
a little, his two hands shot out, and clamped
cool. The fruit he had eaten since his meager
on the other’s right wrist, twisting and breakfast on the Flying Cloud had given him wrenching the arm until Watterson yelled with
nothing beyond filling space in his clamoring
the pain of it, swinging a flailing blow that
stomach. Sun and the struggle over the beach
Bud neatly ducked. Then, while he let go the
had taken full toll. He was in the condition of tortured arm with his left hand for a moment,
a tired athlete who attempts to wrest honors
he deftly plucked the gun from the holster, as from a fresh boxer, after a long program of
the bearded man wrenched free and rushed
grueling contests. His two tricks of jujitsu had him, flinging about him hairy arms that were
served him well once, but the nerve paralysis
hard as timber and flexible as rubber.
would not last much longer, Watterson would
The gun went flying, and Bud spared a
be on his guard against repetition. Bud had
glance over his shoulder as he fought to free
weight against him, power, the sustained vigor himself from the grip.
of a well-fed man. His tongue stuck to the
“Get it, get that gun!” he gasped, and
inside of his mouth—the thirst that had
saw the girl retrieve it, then step back with the gradually augmented all through the afternoon
weapon in her hand, her young face fierce
now attacked him viciously, making him a
with the look of a tigress, cruel and watchful.
little dizzy, robbing him of all elasticity.
All functioning ceased in him save that
The sun was glaring straight up the
of preservation. He was on the defensive, his
ravine, close now to the rim of the sea, turning ribs bowing out of shape, his breath being
the gray rocks red as blood. Bud sidestepped,
slowly crushed out of him, his arms pinioned,
working round to get it at his back. Watterson while the bearded face close to his was followed him, rubbing his tingling left arm gloating, vindictive.
into which strength was slowly returning,
Bud’s right hand worked up the other’s
murderous rage flaming in his eyes. Bud
left by jerks, feeling the great muscles pliant found himself backed against a boulder just as in their sheaves, constricting him; feeling for the girl gave a cry of warning, and his
something else, finding the place, fingers opponent, with a grunt of content, started a digging fiercely, frantically, in between left swing that came down on Bud’s guard like tendon and nerve, touching a vein, clamping
a sledgehammer. He used the slowly
Short Stories
8
revitalizing limb as a club, while he drove
schooner. Get outside the reef as soon as the
hard to the body with his right. It shook Bud
tide will let you. Go on, down the gully to the hard, and it hurt badly. The vitality seemed
beach. Your boat’s waiting for you.”
suddenly sapped out of him, and he sagged
Bud freed his ankle from the
down on his heels, covering, with Watterson
treacherous loop, and got up painfully. His
stepping back a little, grinning, set to send in foot was hurt and wrenched, but it was still
the finishing blows. Under one wrist Bud serviceable. Watterson’s scowling glimpsed the face of the girl, anxious, astonishment changed to a leer.
alarmed. This brute, if he downed Bud, would
“That’s how the land lies, is it? That’s
kick most of the life out of him, would have
why you deserted? I reckon yore ship called
the girl at his mercy.
here before, mister. Want to leave the two of
Bud saw the right fist start and, with
you together.”
his own anger and hatred surging back,
Bud hobbled forward, but the girl was
bringing fresh energy on its flood, he ahead of him. Her eyes flared, her jaw was crouched suddenly and lashed out while hard set, and there was no mistaking the Watterson’s blow sickled the empty air above
determination that spoke in her words, her
him, and its launcher stumbled forward. Bud
pose, as she stood with the big Colt pressed
was inside the guard, and the smash he sank in close against her hip, slanting upward,
the other’s plexus—with the second higher
covering Watterson.
and under the heart—were vicious and hard
“Wattle, if you say another word I’ll
enough to brake the fighting impetus of the
shoot the tongue out of your mouth. You’ve
bearded man. They left him winded, gasping
shown yourself what I’ve always thought you
while Bud slid away from the rock that had
were—rotten. I’m through with you.”
trapped him, whipped in a short, lifting
Watterson nodded, a bit grimly, yet
uppercut to the hairy, deceiving jaw and, with the air of a winner for all his ignominious trying for a left hook to the pit of the stomach retreat. The girl watched him down the slope,
once more, felt his foot slip under a looping
standing poised on a boulder where she could
vine. It twisted into a crevice, and gave away command the gully and Watterson’s descent
under him as he fell sprawling, and saw to the beach.
Watterson, still gasping horribly, his great
When Watterson had turned toward his
chest pumping spasmodically as he strove for
boat, Bud helped her down, and noticed that
full lungs, stooping. His face was bestial with her firm chin quivered. She caught up a
triumphal ferocity as he lifted a booted foot to trembly lip with her little white teeth. “He’ll kick Bud in the head, the ribs, anywhere that
get all the best of it, at that,” she said. “He’s would maim and hurt, leave him crippled and
got the copra and the schooner, and that’s
senseless.
really mine. I’ll tell you all about it presently,”
Bud could not help himself, the she went on wearily. “You need food, and treacherous vine was still snared about his
uncle——”
ankle, and he was on all fours.
A shrill wailing cry started in the
There was the bark of a shot, the whine
direction of the buildings, repeated,
of a bullet overhead, sudden stupid surprise on augmented by a score of alien throats.
Watterson’s face. The girl’s voice sounded
“He’s dead,” she said in a low voice.
clear as crystal, hard as metal.
“The boys have found it out. I left Tiri, the
“I’ll hit next time, Watty. You know I
foreman, with him.”
can. Now, get out of here. Get off to the
The boys, Bud supposed, were the
The Pendulum of the Skull
9
plantation hands. The mournful sounds were
care of herself after all—unless Watterson had weird in the dusk that was rapidly sifting
caught her unawares. It was up to him to solve down as they walke
d toward the house. He
the situation. As night swiftly fell, he squared remembered what Watterson had said about
his shoulders while he limped along, shaking
the bushmen learning swiftly of the death, and off the depression of the darkness, the dead
that she was alone. She was not quite alone
man waiting for them in the house, the black
now, but he had been forced upon her. Unless
boys working themselves into an ecstasy of
he went into the bush they would have to defy
mock grief that might swiftly change to
the conventions until the next ship called. His something far more fiendish, if they sensed
presence would embarrass her. And he could
that the white girl was unprotected.
not leave her with her black boys, savages
So far the presence of the schooner
themselves, and liable to reversion to the restrained them. When that left it was up to wildest type. He had attempted to rescue her
Bud, inexperienced in such conditions but
from Watterson’s frying-pan, only to resolved to find some solution.
compromise her, or leave her exposed to perils The stars were coming out, the wailing
not to be thought of.
hands, naked save for loin cloths, their eyes
Plain before him he could see the rolling and their heads flung back like howling pendulum of the skull.
dogs, had lit palm torches, where they
Suddenly the wailing was punctuated
squatted outside the trader’s bungalow. They
with something that sounded like distant gaped at the sight of Bud. The girl dismissed thunder from the heights that still held a them tersely, snapping commands at them in flaring light on their fantastic crags. It was too Beach English, and they slunk off to their
regular for that. It was the sound of drums—