Collection 1986 - The Trail To Crazy Man (v5.0) Read Free

from the mainmast.
    “You ready?”
    “Ready, Rock.”
    Two more men got up from the darkness near the foot of the mast, and all four hauled the boat from its place and got it to the side.
    “This the right place?” Penn asked.
    “Almost.” Caradec straightened. “Get her ready. I’m going to call on the old man.”
    In the darkness he could feel their eyes on him. “You think that’s wise?”
    “No, but he killed Rodney. I’ve got to see him.”
    “You goin’ to kill Borger?”
    It was like them that they did not doubt he could if he wished. Somehow he had always impressed men so, that what he wanted to accomplish, he would accomplish.
    “No, just a good beatin’. He’s had it comin’ for a long time.”
    Mullaney spat. He was a stocky, muscular man. “You’re cussed right he has! I’d like to help.”
    “No, there’ll be no help for either of us. Stand by and watch for the mate.”
    Penn chuckled. “He’s tied up aft, by the wheel.”
    Rafe Caradec turned and walked forward. His soft leather sandals made no noise on the hardwood deck or on the companionway as he descended. He moved like a shadow along the bulkhead and saw the door of the captain’s cabin standing open. He was inside and had taken two steps before the captain looked up.
    Bully Borger was big, almost a giant. He had a red beard around his jawbone under his chin. He squinted from cold, gray eyes at Rafe.
    “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Trouble on deck?”
    “No, Captain,” Rafe said shortly, “there’s trouble here. I’ve come to beat you within an inch of your life, Captain. Charles Rodney is dead. You ruined his life, Captain, and then you killed him.”
    Borger was on his feet, catlike. Somehow, he had always known this moment would come. A dozen times he had told himself he should kill Caradec, but the man was a seaman, a first-class, able-bodied seaman, and in the lot of shanghaied crews there were few. So he had delayed.
    He lunged at the drawer for his brass knuckles.
    Rafe had been waiting for that, poised on the balls of his feet. His left hand dropped to the captain’s wrist in a grip like steel, and his right hand sank to the wrist in the captain’s middle. It stopped Borger, that punch did, stopped him flat-footed for only an instant, but that instant was enough. Rafe’s head darted forward, butting the bigger man in the face, and Rafe felt the bones crunch under his hard skull.
    Yet the agony gave Borger a burst of strength, and he tore the hand with the knucks loose and got his fingers through their holes. He lunged, swinging a roundhouse blow that would have dropped a bull elephant. Rafe went under the swing, his movements timed perfectly, his actions almost negligent. He smashed left and right to the wind. The punches drove wind from Borger’s stomach, and he doubled up, gasping.
    Rafe dropped a palm to the back of the man’s head and shoved down hard. At the same instant, his knee came up, smashing Borger’s face into a gory pulp.
    Bully Borger, the dirtiest fighter on many a waterfront, staggered back, moaning with pain. His face expressionless, Rafe Caradec stepped in and threw punches with both hands, driving, wicked punches that had the power of those broad shoulders behind them, and timed with the rolling of the ship. Left, right, left, right, blows that cut and chopped like meat cleavers. Borger tottered and fell back across the settee.
    Rafe wheeled to see Penn’s blond head in the doorway. Roy Penn stared at the bloody hulk and then at Rafe.
    “Better come on. The cape’s showing off the starboard bow.”
    When they had the boat in the water, they slid down the rope one after the other. Then Rafe slashed it with his belt knife, and the boat dropped back. The black bulk of the ship swept by them. Her stern lifted and then sank. Rafe, at the tiller, turned the bow of the boat toward the monstrous blackness of the cape.
    ____________
    M ULLANEY AND PENN got the sail up when the mast was