Текст книги "Birds of Prey"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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"I have never been so pleased to be rid of somebody unpleasant and to be standing here on this beach and appealing to your friendship, as I am now."

Cumbrae looked at him shrewdly. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir," he said. "What indeed are you doing here, and what is it that I can do for you in good friendship?"

"Where can we talk?" Schreuder asked.

Cumbrae replied, "This way, my old friend and companion in arms," led Schreuder to his hut in the grove and poured him half a mug of whisky. "Now, tell me. Why are you no longer in command of the garrison at Good Hope?"

"To be frank with you, my lord, I am in the devil's own fix. I stand accused by Governor van de Velde of a crime that I did not commit. You know well how bitterly he was obsessed by envy and ill-will towards me," Schreuder explained, and Cumbrae nodded cautiously without committing himself.

"Please go on."

"Ten days ago the Governor's wife was murdered in a fit of lust and bestial passion by the gardener and executioner of the Company."

"Sweet heavens!" Cumbrae exclaimed. "Slow John! I knew he was a madman. I could see it in his eyes. A blethering maniac! I am sorry to hear about the woman, though. She was a delicious little muffin. put a bone in my breeches just to look at those titties of hers, she did."

"Van de Velde has falsely accused me of this foul murder. I was forced to flee on the first available ship before he had me imprisoned and placed on the rack. Llewellyn offered me passage to the Orient where I had determined to enlist in the war that is afoot in the Horn of Africa between the Prester and the Great Mogul."

Cumbrae's eyes lit up and he leaned forward on his stool at the mention of war, like a hyena scenting the blood of a battlefield. By this time he was heartily bored with digging for Franky Courtney's elusive treasure, and the promise of an easier way to fill his holds with riches had all of his attention. But he would not show this posturing braggart just how eager he was, so he left the subject for another time and said, with feeling and understanding, "You have my deepest sympathy and my assurances of any aid I am able to render." His mind was seething with ideas. He sensed that Schreuder was guilty of the murder he denied so vehemently but, guilty or not, he was now an outlaw and he was placing himself at Cumbrae's mercy.

The Buzzard had been given ample demonstration of Schreuder's qualities as a warrior. An excellent man to have serve under him, especially as he would be completely under Cumbrae's control by virtue of his guilt and the blood on his hands. As a fugitive and a murderer, the Dutchman could no longer afford to be too finicky in matters of morality.

Once a maid has lost her virginity she lifts her skirts and lies down in the hay with more alacrity the second time, the Buzzard told himself happily, but reached out and clasped Schreuder's arm with a firm and friendly grip. "You can rely on me, my friend," he said. "How may I help you?"

"I wish to throw in my lot with you. I will become your man."

"And heartily welcome you will be." Cumbrae grinned through his red whiskers with unfeigned delight. He had just found himself a hunting hound, one perhaps not carrying a great cargo of intelligence but, none the less, fierce and totally without fear.

"I ask only one favour in return," Schreuder said. The Buzzard let the friendly hand drop from his shoulder, and his eyes became guarded. He might have known that such a handsome gift would have a price written on the underside.

"A favour?" he asked.

"On board. the Golden Bough I was treated in the most shabby and scurvy fashion. I was cheated out of a great deal of money at Hazard by one of the ship's officers, and insulted and reviled by Captain Llewellyn and his men. To cap it all, the person who cheated me challenged me to a duel. I could find no person on board willing to act as my second, and Llewellyn forbade this matter of honour to be pursued until we reached port."

"Go on, please." Cumbrae's suspicions were beginning to evaporate as he realized where the conversation was heading.

"I would be most grateful and honoured if you could consent to act as my second in this affair, my lord."

"That is all you require of me?" He could hardly credit that it would be so easy. Already he could see the profits that might be reaped from this affair. He had promised Llewellyn his five hundred pounds, and he would give it to him, but only when he was certain that he would be able to get the money back from him, together with any other profit that he could lay hands upon.

He glanced out over the waters of the lagoon. There lay the Golden Bough, a powerful, warlike vessel. If he were able to add her to his flotilla, he would command a force in the oriental oceans that few could match. If he appeared off the Great Horn of Africa with these two vessels, in the midst of the war that Schreuder had assured him was raging, what spoils might there be for the picking?

"It will be my honour and my pleasure to act for you," he told Schreuder. "Give me the name of the Bastard who has challenged you, and I will see to it that you obtain immediate satisfaction from him."

When Llewellyn came ashore again for dinner, he was accompanied by two of his officers and a dozen of his seamen, carrying cutlass and pistols. Cumbrae was on the beach to welcome him. "I have the purse I promised you, my dear Christopher. Come with me to my poor lodgings and take a dram with me for loving friendship and for the memory of convivial days we passed in former times in each other's company. But first will ye no" introduce me to these two fine gentlemen of yours?"

"Mister Arnold Fowler, first mate of my ship. "The two men nodded at each other. "And this is my third officer, Vincent Winterton, son of my patron, Viscount Winterton."

"Also, so I am informed, a paragon at Hazard, and a mean hand with the dice." Cumbrae grinned at Vincent and the young man withdrew the hand he was on the point of proffering.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but what do you mean by that remark? "Vincent enquired stiffly.

"Only that Colonel Schreuder has asked me to act for him. Would you be good enough to inform me as to who is your own second?"

Llewellyn cut in quickly, "I have the honour to act for Mister Winterton."

"Indeed, then, we have much to discuss, my dear Christopher. Please follow me, but as it is Mister Winterton's affairs we will be discussing, it might be as well if he remained here on the beach."

Llewellyn followed the Buzzard to his hut, and took the stool that he was offered. "A dram of the water of life?" Llewellyn shook his head. "Thank you, no. Let us come to the matters at hand."

"You were always impatient and headstrong." The Buzzard filled his own mug and took a mouthful. He smacked his lips and wiped his whiskers on the back of his hand. "You'll never know what you're missing. "Tis the finest whisky in all the islands. But, here, this is for you." He slid the heavy purse across the keg that served him for a table. Llewellyn picked it up and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand.

"Count it if you will," the Buzzard invited him. "I'll take no offence." He sat back and watched with a grin on his face, sipping at his mug, while Llewellyn arranged the golden coins in neat stacks on the top of the keg.

"Five hundred it is, and fifty for the interest. I am obliged to you, sir." Llewellyn's expression had softened.

"It's a small price to pay for your love and friendship, Christopher," Cumbrae told him. "But now to this other matter. As I told you, I act for Colonel Schreuder."

"And I act for Mister Winterton." Llewellyn nodded. "My principal will be satisfied with an apology from Schreuder." "You know full well, Christopher, that my lad will no' give him one. I am afraid that the two young puppies will have to fight it out."

"The choice of weapons lies with your side," said Llewellyn. "Shall we say pistols at twenty paces?"

"We will say no such thing. My man wants swords." "Then we must agree. What time and place will suit you?"

"I leave that decision to you."

"I have repairs to make to my rigging and hull. Damage we sustained in the gale. I need Mister Winterton on board to help with these. May I suggest three days hence, on the beach at sunrise?"

The Buzzard tugged at his beard as he considered this proposal. He would need a few days to make the arrangements he had in mind. Three days" delay would suit him perfectly.

"Agreed!" he said, and Llewellyn rose to his feet immediately and placed the purse in the pocket of his tunic.

"Will you not take that dram I offered you now, Christopher?" Cumbrae suggested, but again Llewellyn declined.

"As I told you, sit, I have much to do on board my ship." The Buzzard watched him go down to the beach and step into his longboat. As they were rowed back to where the Golden Bough was anchored, Llewellyn and Winterton were in deep and earnest conversation.

"Young Winterton is in for a surprise. He can never have seen the Dutchman with a sword in his hand to have agreed so lightly to the choice of weapons." He swigged back the few drops of whisky that remained in his mug, and grinned again. "We shall see if we cannot arrange a little surprise for Christopher Llewellyn also." He banged the mug onto the keg top, and bellowed, "Send Mister Bowles to me, and be quick about it."

Sam Bowles came smarming in, wriggling his whole body like a whipped dog to ingratiate himself with his captain. But his eyes were cold and shrewd.

"Sammy, me boy." Cumbrae gave him a slap on the arm that stung like a wasp, but did not upset the smile on the man's lips. "I have something for you, that should be much to your taste. Listen well."

Sam Bowles sat opposite him and cocked his head so as not to miss a word of his instructions. Once or twice he asked a question or chortled with glee and admiration as Cumbrae unfolded his plans.

"You have always wanted the command of your own ship, Sammy me laddy. This is your chance. Serve me well, and you shall have it. Captain Samuel Bowles. How does that sound to you?"

"I like the sound of it powerful well, your grace!" Sam Bowles bobbed his head. "And I'll not let you down."

"That you won't!" Cumbrae agreed. "Or not more than once, you won't. For if you do, you'll dance me a merry hornpipe while you dangle from the main yard of my Gull."

The riverbanks were lined with wild willow and dark green acacia trees, which were covered with a mantle of yellow blossom. The river ran broad and deep, slow and green between its rocky piers. The sandbanks were exposed and, as they looked down upon them from the steep slopes of the valley, Sukeena shuddered and whispered, "Oh, what foul and ugly creatures! Surely these are the very dragons we spoke of?"

"They are dragons indeed," Hal agreed, as they gazed down on the crocodiles that lay sunning on the white beach. There were dozens of them, some not much larger than lizards and other brutes with the beam and length of a ship's boat, massive grey monsters, which surely could swallow a man whole. They had found out how ferocious these creatures were on their first attempt to ford the river, when Billy Rogers had been seized by one and dragged beneath the surface. They had not recovered any part of his body.

"I tremble at the thought of trying to cross again, with these creatures still guarding the river," Sukeena whispered tremulously.

"Aboli knows them from his own land to the north, and his tribe have a way of dealing with them."

On the -rocky bluff, high above the river where the crocodiles could not reach, they stacked the piles of eland meat, which were already beginning to stink, in the hot sunlight. Then Hal sent some of the men to search the forest floor for dried logs that would float high in the water. Under Ned Tyler's instruction they shaped them with the cutlasses, although Hal hated to see the fine steel edges dulled and chipped. While this was being done Althuda, with Sukeena helping him, carefully slit the wet eland hides into long tough ropes as thick as her little finger.

Aboli sought out the species of tree he needed, and then chopped short supple stakes from its branches and carried bundles of these back to where the others were working. Big Daniel helped him to sharpen both ends of these short, resilient pieces of green wood into spear points, and harden them in the fire. Then, using a log of the correct circumference as a template, the two powerful men bent each stake around the log until it formed a circle, the sharpened points overlapping. While they held them in place, Hal lashed the ends together with strips of the raw eland hide. When they gingerly released the tension the coiled stakes were like the loaded steel springs of a musket lock, ready to fly open if the retaining strip of hide was severed. By sundown they had finished work on a pile of these snares.

They had learned from their encounter with the lion pride, and on this night they hoisted the legs of eland meat high into the top branches of one of the tallest trees that grew along the banks of the broad river. They built their stockade well downstream from this cache of meat, and made certain that the walls were of sturdy logs, and that the entrance was blocked with freshly cut thorn branches.

Though they slept little that night, lying and listening to the hyena and the jackal howling and gibbering below the tree where the meat hung, the lions did not trouble them again. In the dawn they left the stockade to begin work once more on their preparations for the river crossing.

Ned Tyler finished the construction of the raft by lashing the poles together with rawhide rope.

"Tis a rickety vessel." Sukeena eyed it with obvious misgivings. "One of those great river dragons could overturn it with a flick of its tail."

"That is why Aboli has prepared his snares for them." They went back up the slope to where Althuda and Zwaantie were helping Aboli wrap the coiled green-wood circlets with a thick covering of half-putrid eland meat.

"The crocodile cannot chew his food," Aboli explained to them as he worked. "Each of these lumps of meat is the right size for one of the monsters to swallow whole."

When all the baits had been prepared, they carried them down to the water's edge. As they approached the sandbank where the great saurians lay like stranded logs, they shouted clapped their hands and fired off the muskets, creating a commotion that alarmed even these huge beasts.

They raised their massive bulks on short stubby legs and lumbered to the shelter of their natural element, sliding into the deep green pools with mighty splashes and setting up waves that broke upon the far bank. As soon as the sandbank was clear, the men rushed out and placed the lumps of stinking meat along the water's edge. Then they hurried back and climbed up to where the women waited on the safety of the high bluff above the river.

After a while, the eye knuckles of the crocodiles began to pop up everywhere over the surface of the pool, and then to move in slowly towards the sandbank.

"They are cowardly, sneaking beasts," Aboli said, with hatred in his tone and revulsion in his expression, "but soon, when they smell the meat, their greed will overcome their fear."

As he spoke one of the largest reptiles lifted itself out of the shallows at the edge and waddled cautiously out on to the sandbank, its massive crested tail ploughing a furrow behind it. Suddenly, with surprising speed and agility, it darted forward and seized one of the lumps of eland meat. It opened its jaws to their full stretch as it strained to swallow. From the bluff they watched in awe as the huge lump of meat slid down into its maw, bulging the soft white scales on the outside of its throat. It turned and rushed back into the pool, but immediately another of the scaly reptiles emerged and gobbled a bait. There followed a general melee of long slithering bodies, shining wet in the sunlight, that hissed and snapped and tumbled over each other as they fought for the meat.

Once every bait had been consumed, some crocodiles splashed back into the pool, but many settled down again in the sun-warmed sand from where they had been disturbed. Peace fell over the riverbank again, and the kingfishers darted and hovered over the green waters. A great grey hippopotamus thrust out his head on the far side of the pool and gave vent to a raucous grunt of laughter. His cows clustered around him, their backs like a pile of shiny black boulders.

"Your plan has not worked," said Sabah in Dutch. "The crocodiles are unharmed and still ready to fall upon any of us who goes near the water."

"Be patient, Sabah," Aboli told him. "It will take a while for the juices of their stomach to eat through the rawhide. But when they do the sticks will spring open and the sharpened ends will pierce their guts and stab through their vitals."

As he finished speaking, one of the largest reptiles, the first to take the bait, suddenly let out a thunderous roar and arched its back until the cox combed tail flapped over its head. It roared again, and spun round to snap with mighty jaws at its own flank, its spiked yellow fangs tearing through the armoured scales, ripping out lumps of its own flesh.

"See there!" Aboli sprang to his feet and pointed. "The sharp end of the stake has cut right through his belly." Then they saw the fire-blackened point of sharpened green wood protruding a hand's breadth through the scaly hide. As the bull crocodile writhed and hissed in his hideous death throes, a second reptile began to thrash about in gargantuan convulsions, and then another and another, until the pool was turned to white foam, and their terrible stricken cries and roars echoed along the bluffs of the river, startling the eagles and vultures from their nesting platforms high on the cliffs.

"Bravely done, Aboli! You have cleared the way for us." Hal leaped to his feet.

"Yes! We can cross now,"Aboli agreed. "But be swift and do not linger in the water or near the edge for there may still be some of the ngovenya who have not felt the spikes in their bellies."

They heeded his advice. Lifting the clumsy raft between them they rushed it down the bank, and as soon as it was afloat they flung aboard the baskets of provisions, the saddle-bags and the bags of gunpowder, then urged the two women and little Bobby onto the frail craft. The men were stripped to their petticoats, and swam the craft across the sluggish current. As soon as they reached the opposite bank they seized their possessions and scampered in haste up the rocky slope until they were well clear of the riverbank.

High above the water they could at last fall upon each other with laughter and congratulation. They camped there that night, and in the dawn Aboli asked Hal quietly, "How far now to Elephant Lagoon?"

Hal unrolled his chart and pointed out his estimate of their position. "Here, we are five leagues inland from the seashore and not more than fifty leagues from the lagoon. Unless there is another river as wide as this to bar our way, we should be there in five more days of hard marching."

"Then let us march hard," said Aboli, and roused the rest of the depleted band. At his urging, they took up their loads and, with the rays of the rising sun beating full into their faces, fell once more into the order of march that they had maintained through all the long journey.

The four longboats from the Golden Bough were crowded with seamen as they rowed ashore in that dark hour before the dawn. A sailor in the bow of each boat held high a lantern to light their way, and the reflections danced like fireflies on the calm black surface of the lagoon.

"Llewellyn is bringing half his crew ashore with him!" the Buzzard gloated, as he watched the little fleet head in towards the beach.

"He suspects treachery," Sam Bowles laughed delightedly, "so he comes in force."

"What a churlish guest, to suspect us of villainy." The Buzzard shook his head sadly. "He deserves whatever Fate has in store for him."

"He has split his force. There are at least fifty men in those boats, Sam estimated. "He makes it easier for us. From here it should all be plane sailing and a following wind."

"Let us hope so, Mister Bowles," the Buzzard grunted. "I go now to meet our guests. Remember, the signal is a red Chinese rocket. Wait until you see it burn."

"Aye, Captain!" Sam knuckled his forehead and slipped away into the shadows. Cumbrae strode down the sand to meet the leading boat. As it came in to the beach he could see in the lamplight that Llewellyn and Vincent Winterton were sitting together in the stern sheets. Vincent wore a dark woollen cloak against the dawn chill, but his head was bare. He had braided his hair into a thick pigtail down his back. He followed his captain ashore.

"Good morrow, gentlemen," Cumbrae greeted them. "I commend you for your punctuality."

Llewellyn nodded a greeting. "Mister Winterton is ready to begin."

The Buzzard waggled his beard. "Colonel Schreuder is waiting. This way, if you please." They strode abreast along the beach, the seamen from the boats following in an orderly column. "It is unusual to have such a crowd of ruffians to witness an affair of honour," he remarked.

"There are but a few conventions out here beyond the Line," Llewellyn retorted, "but one is to keep your back well covered."

"I take your point." Cumbrae chuckled. "But to demonstrate my good faith, I will not invite any of my own lads to join us. I am unarmed." He showed his hands, then opened the front of his tunic to demonstrate the fact. Making a comforting lump in the small of his back, where it was tucked into his belt, was one of the newfangled wheel-lock pistols, made by Fallon of Glasgow. It was a marvelous invention but prohibitively expensive, which was the main reason why it was not more widely employed. On pressing the trigger the spring-loaded wheel of the lock spun and the iron pyrites striker sent a shower of sparks into the pan to detonate the charge. The weapon had cost him well over twenty pounds but was worth the price for there was no burning match to betray its presence.

"To demonstrate your own good faith, my dear Christopher, will you kindly keep your men together at your side of the square and under your direct control?"

A short way down the beach, they came to the area where the sand had been levelled and a square roped off. A water cask had been set up at each of the four corners. "Twenty paces each side," Cumbrae told Llewellyn. "Will that give your man enough sea room in which to work?"

Winterton surveyed the square then nodded briefly. "It will suit us well enough." Llewellyn spoke for him.

"We will have some time to wait for the light to strengthen" Cumbrae said. "My cook has prepared a breakfast of hot biscuit and spiced wine. Will you partake?"

"Thank you, my lord. A cup of wine would be welcome." A steward brought the steaming cups to them, and Cumbrae said, "If you will excuse me, I will attend my principal." He bowed and went up the path into the trees, to return minutes later leading Colonel Schreuder.

They stood together at the far side of the roped square, talking quietly. At last Cumbrae looked up at the sky, said something to Schreuder, then nodded and came to where Llewellyn and Vincent waited. "I think the light is good enough now. Do you gentlemen agree?"

"We can begin." Llewellyn nodded stiffly.

"My principal offers his weapon for your examination," Cumbrae said, and proffered the Neptune sword hilt first. Llewellyn took it and held the gold-inlaid blade up to the morning light.

"A fancy piece of work," he murmured disparagingly. "These naked females would not be out of place in a whorehouse." He touched the gold engravings of sea nymphs. "But at least the point is not poisoned and the length matches that of my principal's blade." He held the two swords side by side to compare them, and then passed Vincent's sword to Cumbrae for inspection.

"A fair match," he agreed, and passed it back. "Five-minute rounds and first blood?" Llewellyn asked, drawing his gold timepiece from the pocket of his waistcoat.

"I am afraid we cannot agree to that." Cumbrae shook his head. "My man wishes to fight without pause until one of them cries for quarter or is dead."

"By God, sir!" Llewellyn burst out. "Those rules are murderous."

"If your man pisses like a puppy, then he should not aspire to howl with the wolves." Cumbrae shrugged.

"I agree!" Vincent interjected. "We will fight to the death, if that's the way the Dutchman wants it."

"That, sir, is exactly how he wants it," Cumbrae assured him. "We are ready to begin when you are. Will you give the signal, Captain Llewellyn?"

The Buzzard went back and, in a few terse sentences, explained the rules to Schreuder, who nodded and ducked under the rope of the barrier. He wore a thin shirt open at the throat so that it was clear that he wore no body armour beneath it. Traditionally, the brilliant white cotton would give his opponent a fair aiming mark, and show up the blood from a hit.

On the opposite side of the square Vincent loosened the clasp of his cloak and let it drop into the sand. He was dressed in a similar white shirt. With his sword in his hand, he vaulted lightly over the rope barrier and faced Schreuder across the swept beach sand. Both men began to limber up with a series of practice cuts and thrusts that made their blades sing and glitter in the early light.

"Are you ready, Colonel Schreuder?" After a few minutes, Llewellyn called from the side-line as he held on high a red silk scarf.

"Ready!"

"Are you ready, Mister Winterton?" "Ready!"

Llewellyn let the scarf drop, and a growl went up from the Gull's seamen at the far side of the square. The two swordsmen circled each other, closing in cautiously with their blades extended and their points circling and dipping. Suddenly Vincent, sprang forward, and feinted for Schreuder's throat, but Schreuder met him easily and locked his blade. For a long moment they strained silently, staring into each other's eyes. Perhaps Vincent saw death in the other man's implacable gaze, and felt the steel in his wrist, for he broke first. As he recoiled Schreuder came after him with a series of lightning ripostes that made his blade glint and glitter like a sunbeam.

It was a dazzling display that drove Vincent, desperately parrying and retreating, against one of the water kegs that marked a corner of the square. Pinned there, he was at Schreuder's mercy. Abruptly Schreuder broke off the assault, turned his back contemptuously on the younger man and strode back into the centre. There, he took up his guard again and, blade poised, waited for Vincent to engage him once more.

All the watchers, except Cumbrae, were stunned by the Dutchman's virtuosity. Clearly Vincent Winterton was a swordsman of superior ability but he had been forced to call upon all his skill to survive that first blazing attack. In his heart Llewellyn knew that Vincent had survived not because of his skill but because Schreuder had wanted it that way. Already the young Englishman had been touched three times, two light cuts on the chest and another deeper wound on the upper left arm. His shirt was slashed in three irregular tears and was turning red and sodden as the wounds began to weep profusely.

Vincent glanced down at them, and his expression mirrored the despair he felt as he faced the knowledge that he was no match for the Dutchman. He lifted his head and looked across to where Schreuder waited for him, his stance classical and arrogant, his expression grave and intent as he studied his adversary over the weaving point of the Neptune sword.

Vincent straightened his spine and took his guard, trying to smile carelessly as he steeled himself to go forward to his certain death. The rough seamen who watched might have bayed and bellowed at the spectacle of a bull-baiting or a cockfight, but even they had fallen silent, awed by the terrible tragedy they saw unfolding. Llewellyn could not let it happen.

"Hold hard!" he cried, and vaulted over the rope. He strode between the two men, his right hand raised. "Colonel Schreuder, sir. You have given us every reason to admire your swordsmanship. You have drawn first blood. Will you not give us good reason to respect you by declaring that your honour is satisfied?"

"Let the English coward apologize to me in front of all the present company, and then I will be satisfied," said Schreuder, and Llewellyn turned to appeal to Vincent. "Will you do what the colonel asks? Please, Vincent, for my sake and the trust I pledged to your father."

Vincent's face was deathly pale but the blood that stained his shirt was bright crimson, as full blown June roses on the bush. "Colonel Schreuder has this moment called me a coward. Forgive me, Captain, but you know I cannot accede to such conditions."

Llewellyn looked sadly upon his young protege. "He intends to kill you, Vincent. It is such a shameful waste of a fine young life."

"And I intend to kill him." Vincent was able to smile now that it was decided. It was a gay, reckless smile. "Please stand aside, Captain." Hopelessly Llewellyn turned back to the sidelines.

"On guard, sir!" Vincent called, and charged with the white sand spurting from under his boots, thrust and parry for his very life. The Neptune sword was an impenetrable wall of steel before him, meeting and turning his own blade with an ease that made all his bravest efforts seem like those of a child. Schreuder's grave expression never faltered, and when at last Vincent fell back, panting and gasping, sweat diluting his streaming blood to pink, he was wounded twice more. There was black despair in his eyes.

Now, at last, the seamen from the Golden Bough had found their voices. "Quarter! You bloody murdering cheese head they howled, and "Fair shakes, man. Let the lad live!"

"They'll get no mercy from Colonel Cornelius," Cumbrae smiled grimly, "but the din they're making will help Sam to do his job." He glanced across the lagoon to where the Golden Bough lay in the channel.