Read Online West from Singapore (Ss) (1987) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L'amour
Ads: Link
hard-bitten. His jaw was strong, and his face was tanned by wind, sun, and brine.
Arnold shrugged. "Maybe," he said softly, "maybe he can do it. If ever a man could go through hell barefooted, that's the one!"
Makassar was dozing in the heat of a tropical evening. Like many tropical towns it can sleep for weeks or months and then suddenly explode with volcanic force, releasing all its pent-up violence in one mad burst and then falling quietly into the doldrums once more.
Now it was quiet, but with an uneasy stillness like the hush before a storm. Ponga Jim stopped on the end of the Juliana Quay, and Slug Brophy walked up.
"Been around the joints?" Jim asked him.
Brophy nodded. He was a short, thickset man with enormously broad shoulders and a massive chest. His head was set on a short, thick neck. His heavy jaw was always black with beard. He was wearing whites, with shirt-sleeves rolled up and his cap at an angle.
"Yeah," Brophy said, "but I came back. I don't like the looks of things. Everything is quiet enough, but some of the bad ones are looking wise. I saw Gunong, Stello, and Hankins. They've all been drinking a little, and they've got something up their sleeves."
"Crew aboard?" Jim asked.
"All but Li Chuang, the Chinese steward you picked up in Perth. He's ashore picking up something extra special for you."
Jim nodded. "I'm going to look him up. We're getting under way as soon as this new cargo gets loaded. The Gunner watching it?"
Brophy nodded. "Cap," he asked, "is there anything funny about this cargo?"
"Trouble. Those Nazis want me out of the picture. This whole deal is a trap. But they pay in advance."
Brophy grinned widely. "In advance, huh? Okay, Cap. Let's go!"
Ponga Jim turned and started back up the street. A month before, he had bought the Semiramis in Melbourne, a battered old tramp with too many years behind her. From the beginning, there had been trouble finding a steward. Then he had stumbled across Li in Perth and had shipped the Chinese at once.
Since then life aboard ship had improved. Li knew how and where to buy supplies, and he always managed to save money. In short, he was too close to a miracle to have running around loose, Jim thought.
Jim was passing the Parakeet Nest, a dive near the waterfront, when he heard a fist smack and a rattle of Chinese in FRONT HERE TO BANGGAI vigorous expostulation. His pulses jumped at the sound, and he wheeled, pushing through the swinging doors.
Hankins, a burly beachcomber with an evil reputation; Gunong, a Buginese; and Stello, a Portuguese Malay were gathered about, shouting. On the floor lay Li Chuang, his packages scattered about, his face livid with anger.
Hankins stood over him, kicking the slender Chinese in the ribs.
With one bound, Mayo was through the door. Gunong shouted and Hankins whirled, and even as he turned he unleashed a terrific right. It was a killing punch, and Jim Mayo was coming fast. It caught him full on the chin and sent him crashing against the wall. His head bounced, and he slid to the floor.
For just an instant, everyone stared, unbelieving. Then, with a roar, Burge Hankins leaped to finish the job. But that instant had been almost enough, and Jim rolled his head away from the wild kick launched by the raging beachcomber.
Hankins' recklessness cost him victory. The kick missed, and Mayo lurched drunkenly to his feet. The room swam before him in a smoky haze. A punch slid off the side of his head, and he staggered forward, fighting by instinct while Hankins wasted his fury in a mad rain of blows when one measured punch would have won.
Ponga Jim Mayo was out on his feet. The room circled him dizzily, and through the haze he saw the horror-stricken face of Li squatting on the floor, blood trickling through his lips.
Ponga Jim was punch drunk and he was still groggy, but suddenly he was a fighting man. With a growl like a wounded beast, he struck savagely. His left smashed into Hankins' face and knocked the surprised
Arnold shrugged. "Maybe," he said softly, "maybe he can do it. If ever a man could go through hell barefooted, that's the one!"
Makassar was dozing in the heat of a tropical evening. Like many tropical towns it can sleep for weeks or months and then suddenly explode with volcanic force, releasing all its pent-up violence in one mad burst and then falling quietly into the doldrums once more.
Now it was quiet, but with an uneasy stillness like the hush before a storm. Ponga Jim stopped on the end of the Juliana Quay, and Slug Brophy walked up.
"Been around the joints?" Jim asked him.
Brophy nodded. He was a short, thickset man with enormously broad shoulders and a massive chest. His head was set on a short, thick neck. His heavy jaw was always black with beard. He was wearing whites, with shirt-sleeves rolled up and his cap at an angle.
"Yeah," Brophy said, "but I came back. I don't like the looks of things. Everything is quiet enough, but some of the bad ones are looking wise. I saw Gunong, Stello, and Hankins. They've all been drinking a little, and they've got something up their sleeves."
"Crew aboard?" Jim asked.
"All but Li Chuang, the Chinese steward you picked up in Perth. He's ashore picking up something extra special for you."
Jim nodded. "I'm going to look him up. We're getting under way as soon as this new cargo gets loaded. The Gunner watching it?"
Brophy nodded. "Cap," he asked, "is there anything funny about this cargo?"
"Trouble. Those Nazis want me out of the picture. This whole deal is a trap. But they pay in advance."
Brophy grinned widely. "In advance, huh? Okay, Cap. Let's go!"
Ponga Jim turned and started back up the street. A month before, he had bought the Semiramis in Melbourne, a battered old tramp with too many years behind her. From the beginning, there had been trouble finding a steward. Then he had stumbled across Li in Perth and had shipped the Chinese at once.
Since then life aboard ship had improved. Li knew how and where to buy supplies, and he always managed to save money. In short, he was too close to a miracle to have running around loose, Jim thought.
Jim was passing the Parakeet Nest, a dive near the waterfront, when he heard a fist smack and a rattle of Chinese in FRONT HERE TO BANGGAI vigorous expostulation. His pulses jumped at the sound, and he wheeled, pushing through the swinging doors.
Hankins, a burly beachcomber with an evil reputation; Gunong, a Buginese; and Stello, a Portuguese Malay were gathered about, shouting. On the floor lay Li Chuang, his packages scattered about, his face livid with anger.
Hankins stood over him, kicking the slender Chinese in the ribs.
With one bound, Mayo was through the door. Gunong shouted and Hankins whirled, and even as he turned he unleashed a terrific right. It was a killing punch, and Jim Mayo was coming fast. It caught him full on the chin and sent him crashing against the wall. His head bounced, and he slid to the floor.
For just an instant, everyone stared, unbelieving. Then, with a roar, Burge Hankins leaped to finish the job. But that instant had been almost enough, and Jim rolled his head away from the wild kick launched by the raging beachcomber.
Hankins' recklessness cost him victory. The kick missed, and Mayo lurched drunkenly to his feet. The room swam before him in a smoky haze. A punch slid off the side of his head, and he staggered forward, fighting by instinct while Hankins wasted his fury in a mad rain of blows when one measured punch would have won.
Ponga Jim Mayo was out on his feet. The room circled him dizzily, and through the haze he saw the horror-stricken face of Li squatting on the floor, blood trickling through his lips.
Ponga Jim was punch drunk and he was still groggy, but suddenly he was a fighting man. With a growl like a wounded beast, he struck savagely. His left smashed into Hankins' face and knocked the surprised
Similar Books
