Part 21 (1/2)
Lund took a lurching step forward over the p.r.o.ne bodies of the men on the deck, that was splotched with blood.
”By G.o.d!” he said slowly, his arms opening, his great fingers outspread, his gaze on the girl, ”by G.o.d!”
The girl's face altered. Her eyes grew frightened, cold. The retreating blood left her cheeks pale, and she wheeled and fled, dodging behind Tamada, who gave way to let her pa.s.s, his ivory features showing no emotion, closing up the fore companionway as Peggy Simms dived below.
Lund did not follow her. Instead, he laughed shortly and appeared to see Rainey for the first time.
”Jumped me, the bunch of 'em!” he said, his chest heaving, his breath coming in spurts from his laboring lungs. ”Couldn't use my gun. But I licked 'em. d.a.m.n 'em! _Equals?_ h.e.l.l!”
He seemed to have a clear recollection of the fight. He smiled grimly at Deming, who glared at him, nursing his broken arm, then glanced at the man that Rainey had mastered.
”Did him up, eh? Good for you, matey! You didn't have to use your gun.
Jest as well, you might have plugged me. An' the gal had one, after all.”
He seemed to ruminate on this thought as if it gave him special cause for reflection.
”Game!” he said. ”Game as they make 'em!”
He surveyed the rueful, groaning combatants with the smile of a conqueror, then turned to the seamen.
”Here, you!” he roared, and they jumped as if galvanized into life by the shout. ”Chuck a bucket of water over 'em! Chuck water till they git below. Then clean the decks. Off-watch, you're out of this. Below with you, where you belong. Jump!
”They all fought fair,” he went on. ”Not a knife out. Only Deming there, when he knew he was licked, tried to git my gun. Yo're yeller, Deming,”
he said, with contempt that was as if he had spat in the hunter's face.
”I thought you were a better man than the rest. But you've got yores.
Git down below an' we'll fix you up.”
He strode over to Hansen, stolid at the wheel.
”Wal, you wooden-faced squarehead,” he said, ”which way did you think it was coming out? d.a.m.n me if you didn't play square, though! You kept her up. If you'd liked you could have chucked us all asprawl, an' that would have bin the end of it, with me down. You git a bottle of booze for that, Hansen, all for yore own Scandinavian belly. Come on, Rainey.
Tamada, I want you.”
While Tamada got splints and did what he could for the badly shattered arm, Lund taunted Deming until the hunter's face was seamed with useless ferocity, like a weasel's in a trap.
”I wonder you fix him at all, Tamada,” he said. ”He wanted to cut you out of yore share. Called you a yellow-skinned heathen, Tamada. What makes you gentle him that way? You've got him where you want him.”
Tamada, binding up the splints professionally, looked at Deming with jetty eyes that revealed no emotion.
Lund pa.s.sed his hand over his face.
”I'm some mess myself,” he said, stretching his great arms. ”Give me a five-finger drink, Rainey, afore I clean up. Some sc.r.a.p. h.e.l.l popping on deck, and a dead man in the cabin! And the gal! Did you see the gal, Rainey?”
Out of the b.l.o.o.d.y mask of his face his agate eyes twinkled at Rainey with a sort of good-natured malice. Rainey did not answer as he poured the liquor.
”Make it four finger,” exclaimed Lund. ”Deming's goin' to faint. One for Doc Tamada.”
The j.a.panese excused himself, helping Deming, worn out with pain and consumed by baffled hate, forward through the galley corridor. Then he came back with warm water in a basin--and towels.