anything?"
"No, sir."
"Hear anything?"
"I hear lots of things in the woods. But I don't see anything."
"Good. You can get dinner, now. We're going to start to work this afternoon over on the island. We'll work two at a time. You and I, or McCobb and I, or you and McCobb."
"Yes, boss."
"Baby asleep?"
"Yes, indeed. That's the sleepinest baby I ever saw. First he sleeps on one side.
Then he wakes up and if you put him on the other he goes to sleep again. He can't seem to do nothing but sleep."
"Good. It's going to be hard work."
Jack showed his teeth. He hesitated and then asked an oblique question:
"I heard a shot--or maybe I didn't hear no shot."
"That was a shot."
"Trying out the guns?"
"Snake," Stone said.
Jack stiffened a little but his smile did not fade. "That's what I thought."
The setting sun had brought a little wind from the sea. McCobb stood on the broken stern and sniffed it. He took out his tobacco and filled his pipe reluctantly. All afternoon he had been plagued by the thought that soon he would cease smoking. He sighed. His mind ran in a medley that was partly irregular because of fatigue and partly stirred by the variety of experiences he had undergone during the day.
He thought about Stone's opinion of women. It must have been due to the fact that Stone had had very little experience with women. There was, McCobb's daydream reminded him, a Malay girl who had worn a flower in her hair, and an Irish trollop in San Pedro, and a girl with devious eyes who had called to him on the street in Buenos Aires.
These women were all bad, but their badness had not affected him the way the flight of one woman had affected Stone.
He was too hard. Too idealistic. Too impetuous. Too much a man of brain and too little a man of honest passions. There was a girl here and a girl there, McCobb's senses whispered.
Now there would be no more girls.
No more.
He might die here. He discarded that thought. He had a certain faith in Stone's brain. That faith had increased during the afternoon when he hade assisted in the unloading of the first, forward hatch. It had contained precisely what they would need to commence their siege for occupation of the island. Precisely. Nothing missing. Stone was a great organizer.
McCobb whispered pipe-smoke into the air and watched it make a personal cloud against the soft indigo of the harbor and the uplifted verdure of the island.
The hills were rank with growth. They had a luster. They were ominous and pregnant. They had been sitting there for thousands and thousands of years generating their own life. Now they were invaded. Now man had come there.
How big was the island? Three or four miles in diameter, perhaps. What lived on it? Insects, birds, monkeys, snakes. What else? Who knew?
There came a coughing from the forest, and a dismal wail; McCobb's spine tingled. It grew dark.
Stone was in his quarters. He unlocked an immense book, dipped a pen, and began to write. His brow was lined and his fingers slowly traced long sentences:
November 3rd, 1898. After leaving Aden, where I made the preparations already detailed here; I proceeded south and east to the island mentioned in a foregoing portion of the diary and, after a stormy passage, sighted it early this morning. The harbor I had previously glimpsed was deep and ended in a fairly precipitous beach upon which I ran the Falcon under a full head of steam.
He adjusted the oil lamp and continued:
My plan thus culminated, I hastened to explore the immediate shore line, after finding the spirits of my engineer to be good and the Negro's reaction puzzled but in no way overwhelmed. It--the shore--rose in a small hill which lent itself admirably tor a building site, inasmuch as it is protected tram the south and east by a small mountain and is surrounded by large trees.
We have commenced unloading. The baby appears to be in fine health and sleeps most of the time under heavy mosquito bars. He has
"No, sir."
"Hear anything?"
"I hear lots of things in the woods. But I don't see anything."
"Good. You can get dinner, now. We're going to start to work this afternoon over on the island. We'll work two at a time. You and I, or McCobb and I, or you and McCobb."
"Yes, boss."
"Baby asleep?"
"Yes, indeed. That's the sleepinest baby I ever saw. First he sleeps on one side.
Then he wakes up and if you put him on the other he goes to sleep again. He can't seem to do nothing but sleep."
"Good. It's going to be hard work."
Jack showed his teeth. He hesitated and then asked an oblique question:
"I heard a shot--or maybe I didn't hear no shot."
"That was a shot."
"Trying out the guns?"
"Snake," Stone said.
Jack stiffened a little but his smile did not fade. "That's what I thought."
The setting sun had brought a little wind from the sea. McCobb stood on the broken stern and sniffed it. He took out his tobacco and filled his pipe reluctantly. All afternoon he had been plagued by the thought that soon he would cease smoking. He sighed. His mind ran in a medley that was partly irregular because of fatigue and partly stirred by the variety of experiences he had undergone during the day.
He thought about Stone's opinion of women. It must have been due to the fact that Stone had had very little experience with women. There was, McCobb's daydream reminded him, a Malay girl who had worn a flower in her hair, and an Irish trollop in San Pedro, and a girl with devious eyes who had called to him on the street in Buenos Aires.
These women were all bad, but their badness had not affected him the way the flight of one woman had affected Stone.
He was too hard. Too idealistic. Too impetuous. Too much a man of brain and too little a man of honest passions. There was a girl here and a girl there, McCobb's senses whispered.
Now there would be no more girls.
No more.
He might die here. He discarded that thought. He had a certain faith in Stone's brain. That faith had increased during the afternoon when he hade assisted in the unloading of the first, forward hatch. It had contained precisely what they would need to commence their siege for occupation of the island. Precisely. Nothing missing. Stone was a great organizer.
McCobb whispered pipe-smoke into the air and watched it make a personal cloud against the soft indigo of the harbor and the uplifted verdure of the island.
The hills were rank with growth. They had a luster. They were ominous and pregnant. They had been sitting there for thousands and thousands of years generating their own life. Now they were invaded. Now man had come there.
How big was the island? Three or four miles in diameter, perhaps. What lived on it? Insects, birds, monkeys, snakes. What else? Who knew?
There came a coughing from the forest, and a dismal wail; McCobb's spine tingled. It grew dark.
Stone was in his quarters. He unlocked an immense book, dipped a pen, and began to write. His brow was lined and his fingers slowly traced long sentences:
November 3rd, 1898. After leaving Aden, where I made the preparations already detailed here; I proceeded south and east to the island mentioned in a foregoing portion of the diary and, after a stormy passage, sighted it early this morning. The harbor I had previously glimpsed was deep and ended in a fairly precipitous beach upon which I ran the Falcon under a full head of steam.
He adjusted the oil lamp and continued:
My plan thus culminated, I hastened to explore the immediate shore line, after finding the spirits of my engineer to be good and the Negro's reaction puzzled but in no way overwhelmed. It--the shore--rose in a small hill which lent itself admirably tor a building site, inasmuch as it is protected tram the south and east by a small mountain and is surrounded by large trees.
We have commenced unloading. The baby appears to be in fine health and sleeps most of the time under heavy mosquito bars. He has
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