Read Online West from Singapore (Ss) (1987) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis L'amour
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This was no place for an honest policeman.
The streets were silent and still very suddenly, as a silent body of men walked out on Juliana Dock and aboard the Semiramis.
The Gunner was standing by the gangway, gun in hand. Ponga Jim came up, staggering.
His face was smeared with dried blood and his shirt was gone. The holster with the gun was still hanging from his shoulder. As the men trooped slowly aboard, Ponga Jim turned to the Gunner.
"All aboard, Millan? If they are, get the anchor up. There'll be hell from here to Batavia for this night's work." He glanced across at the Carlsberg, her shadow looming large in the darkness.
He walked to his cabin and fell across the bed. There were things to be done, but they would have to wait. With a sigh Ponga Jim fell asleep.
It was morning when he awoke. He took a shower, washing away the dried blood from his face and hair. Gingerly, he bathed a swollen lip and hand. There was a bad gash on his scalp, too, and a lump under one eye. Casually, he dressed then and checked his gun.
The morning sun struck him like a blow, and he stood still for a moment, looking out over the sea. It was calm, with the wind about force two. Ponga Jim climbed the ladder to the bridge. The Gunner came out of the wheelhouse. He looked worried, but brightened when he saw Mayo.
"Hi, Cap. Glad to see you around."
Jim grunted. "Yeah, I'm glad to be around."
"That must have been some fight!" Gunner exclaimed. "That fight was a plant, a put-up job!" Ponga Jim looked off over the sea astern. To the south loomed the heavy shoulders of a mountainous island. "Kabalena?" he asked Gunner. "That's Batu Sengia, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Millan agreed. "We're doing okay. You want to take over now?"
Jim shook his head. "Hold it till noon. I'll take the twelve to four. "
Ponga Jim walked into the wheelhouse and stood staring down at the chart spread on the table. Major Arnold had been right. That effort in the Parakeet Nest had been the first attempt. That failing, there would be something else. The only question was when and where. Soon his ship would be in Tioro Strait, then Wowoni Strait and the Banda Sea. These islands, Muna and Butung, were little known, their inhabitants strange tribes of Malay-speaking people who kept to themselves.
Ponga Jim had taken the cargo with the full knowledge that it meant trouble, confident of his ability to cope with it. Remembering the icy flecks in Romberg's eyes his scalp tightened. He glanced at the passenger list lying on the desk. Romberg, Kessler, and Braunig. Kessler was the thin, hardfaced man, Braunig the burly, silent fellow.
The Gunner came in. "How's it look, Jim?" he asked softly. "We got some tough babies aboard?"
"Yeah," Ponga Jim said. "Keep your eyes on them, and tell your watch to do the same thing. Keep a rod handy."
The Gunner slapped his waistband. "I got one." His brow wrinkled. "I'm more scared of that damned orangutan than I am of any of them."
"That what?"
Jim wheeled. "Did you say orangutan?" "Sure, didn't you know?" Millan was astonished.
"Braunig says it's a pet. Biggest one I ever saw. He feeds it himself, won't let anybody else get close."
"Pet, is it?" Ponga Jim's left eyebrow squinted and his eyes narrowed. "In a strong cage?"
Millan nodded. "Yeah. It would be a hell of a thing to tackle in the dark. Or in the daytime, for that matter."
Mayo shrugged. "It won't get out. Put ~ an extra lock on it. And if Braunig kicks, send him to me."
He watched the blunt-bowed Semiramis plow through the seas. Old she might be, but she was dependable. Ponga Jim knew that peace in the East Indies might erupt into war at any moment. The war that had thrown all Europe into arms and that threatened at any moment to turn cities into a smoking shambles, was already eating at the shores of these lonely islands. Twice, Ponga Jim Mayo had been involved in attempts to create strife here, at this furthest limit of the British Empire. An American adventurer and master of
The streets were silent and still very suddenly, as a silent body of men walked out on Juliana Dock and aboard the Semiramis.
The Gunner was standing by the gangway, gun in hand. Ponga Jim came up, staggering.
His face was smeared with dried blood and his shirt was gone. The holster with the gun was still hanging from his shoulder. As the men trooped slowly aboard, Ponga Jim turned to the Gunner.
"All aboard, Millan? If they are, get the anchor up. There'll be hell from here to Batavia for this night's work." He glanced across at the Carlsberg, her shadow looming large in the darkness.
He walked to his cabin and fell across the bed. There were things to be done, but they would have to wait. With a sigh Ponga Jim fell asleep.
It was morning when he awoke. He took a shower, washing away the dried blood from his face and hair. Gingerly, he bathed a swollen lip and hand. There was a bad gash on his scalp, too, and a lump under one eye. Casually, he dressed then and checked his gun.
The morning sun struck him like a blow, and he stood still for a moment, looking out over the sea. It was calm, with the wind about force two. Ponga Jim climbed the ladder to the bridge. The Gunner came out of the wheelhouse. He looked worried, but brightened when he saw Mayo.
"Hi, Cap. Glad to see you around."
Jim grunted. "Yeah, I'm glad to be around."
"That must have been some fight!" Gunner exclaimed. "That fight was a plant, a put-up job!" Ponga Jim looked off over the sea astern. To the south loomed the heavy shoulders of a mountainous island. "Kabalena?" he asked Gunner. "That's Batu Sengia, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Millan agreed. "We're doing okay. You want to take over now?"
Jim shook his head. "Hold it till noon. I'll take the twelve to four. "
Ponga Jim walked into the wheelhouse and stood staring down at the chart spread on the table. Major Arnold had been right. That effort in the Parakeet Nest had been the first attempt. That failing, there would be something else. The only question was when and where. Soon his ship would be in Tioro Strait, then Wowoni Strait and the Banda Sea. These islands, Muna and Butung, were little known, their inhabitants strange tribes of Malay-speaking people who kept to themselves.
Ponga Jim had taken the cargo with the full knowledge that it meant trouble, confident of his ability to cope with it. Remembering the icy flecks in Romberg's eyes his scalp tightened. He glanced at the passenger list lying on the desk. Romberg, Kessler, and Braunig. Kessler was the thin, hardfaced man, Braunig the burly, silent fellow.
The Gunner came in. "How's it look, Jim?" he asked softly. "We got some tough babies aboard?"
"Yeah," Ponga Jim said. "Keep your eyes on them, and tell your watch to do the same thing. Keep a rod handy."
The Gunner slapped his waistband. "I got one." His brow wrinkled. "I'm more scared of that damned orangutan than I am of any of them."
"That what?"
Jim wheeled. "Did you say orangutan?" "Sure, didn't you know?" Millan was astonished.
"Braunig says it's a pet. Biggest one I ever saw. He feeds it himself, won't let anybody else get close."
"Pet, is it?" Ponga Jim's left eyebrow squinted and his eyes narrowed. "In a strong cage?"
Millan nodded. "Yeah. It would be a hell of a thing to tackle in the dark. Or in the daytime, for that matter."
Mayo shrugged. "It won't get out. Put ~ an extra lock on it. And if Braunig kicks, send him to me."
He watched the blunt-bowed Semiramis plow through the seas. Old she might be, but she was dependable. Ponga Jim knew that peace in the East Indies might erupt into war at any moment. The war that had thrown all Europe into arms and that threatened at any moment to turn cities into a smoking shambles, was already eating at the shores of these lonely islands. Twice, Ponga Jim Mayo had been involved in attempts to create strife here, at this furthest limit of the British Empire. An American adventurer and master of
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