The Beasts of Tarzan - Edgar Rice Burroughs [ebook reader 8 inch txt] 📗

him out of the blackness of the night. No sound came from the vessel’s deck. Paulvitch drifted, unseen, close to the Kincaid’s side. Only the momentary scraping of his canoe’s nose against the ship’s planking broke the silence of the night.

Trembling with nervous excitement, the Russian remained motionless for several minutes; but there was no sound from the great bulk above him to indicate that his coming had been noted.

Stealthily he worked his craft forward until the stays of the bowsprit were directly above him. He could just reach them. To make his canoe fast there was the work of but a minute or two, and then the man raised himself quietly aloft.

A moment later he dropped softly to the deck. Thoughts of the hideous pack which tenanted the ship induced cold tremors along the spine of the cowardly prowler; but life itself depended upon the success of his venture, and so he was enabled to steel himself to the frightful chances which lay before him.

No sound or sign of watch appeared upon the ship’s deck. Paulvitch crept stealthily toward the forecastle. All was silence. The hatch was raised, and as the man peered downward he saw one of the Kincaid’s crew reading by the light of the smoky lantern depending from the ceiling of the crew’s quarters.

Paulvitch knew the man well, a surly cutthroat upon whom he figured strongly in the carrying out of the plan which he had conceived. Gently the Russ lowered himself through the aperture to the rounds of the ladder which led into the forecastle.

He kept his eyes turned upon the reading man, ready to warn him to silence the moment that the fellow discovered him; but so deeply immersed was the sailor in the magazine that the Russian came, unobserved, to the forecastle floor.

There he turned and whispered the reader’s name. The man raised his eyes from the magazine⁠—eyes that went wide for a moment as they fell upon the familiar countenance of Rokoff’s lieutenant, only to narrow instantly in a scowl of disapproval.

“The devil!” he ejaculated. “Where did you come from? We all thought you were done for and gone where you ought to have gone a long time ago. His lordship will be mighty pleased to see you.”

Paulvitch crossed to the sailor’s side. A friendly smile lay on the Russian’s lips, and his right hand was extended in greeting, as though the other might have been a dear and long lost friend. The sailor ignored the proffered hand, nor did he return the other’s smile.

“I’ve come to help you,” explained Paulvitch. “I’m going to help you get rid of the Englishman and his beasts⁠—then there will be no danger from the law when we get back to civilization. We can sneak in on them while they sleep⁠—that is Greystoke, his wife, and that black scoundrel, Mugambi. Afterward it will be a simple matter to clean up the beasts. Where are they?”

“They’re below,” replied the sailor; “but just let me tell you something, Paulvitch. You haven’t got no more show to turn us men against the Englishman than nothing. We had all we wanted of you and that other beast. He’s dead, an’ if I don’t miss my guess a whole lot you’ll be dead too before long. You two treated us like dogs, and if you think we got any love for you you better forget it.”

“You mean to say that you’re going to turn against me?” demanded Paulvitch.

The other nodded, and then after a momentary pause, during which an idea seemed to have occurred to him, he spoke again.

“Unless,” he said, “you can make it worth my while to let you go before the Englishman finds you here.”

“You wouldn’t turn me away in the jungle, would you?” asked Paulvitch. “Why, I’d die there in a week.”

“You’d have a chance there,” replied the sailor. “Here, you wouldn’t have no chance. Why, if I woke up my maties here they’d probably cut your heart out of you before the Englishman got a chance at you at all. It’s mighty lucky for you that I’m the one to be awake now and not none of the others.”

“You’re crazy,” cried Paulvitch. “Don’t you know that the Englishman will have you all hanged when he gets you back where the law can get hold of you?”

“No, he won’t do nothing of the kind,” replied the sailor. “He’s told us as much, for he says that there wasn’t nobody to blame but you and Rokoff⁠—the rest of us was just tools. See?”

For half an hour the Russian pleaded or threatened as the mood seized him. Sometimes he was upon the verge of tears, and again he was promising his listener either fabulous rewards or condign punishment; but the other was obdurate.

He made it plain to the Russian that there were but two plans open to him⁠—either he must consent to being turned over immediately to Lord Greystoke, or he must pay to the sailor, as a price for permission to quit the Kincaid unmolested, every cent of money and article of value upon his person and in his cabin.

“And you’ll have to make up your mind mighty quick,” growled the man, “for I want to turn in. Come now, choose⁠—his lordship or the jungle?”

“You’ll be sorry for this,” grumbled the Russian.

“Shut up,” admonished the sailor. “If you get funny I may change my mind, and keep you here after all.”

Now Paulvitch had no intention of permitting himself to fall into the hands of Tarzan of the Apes if he could possibly avoid it, and while the terrors of the jungle appalled him they were, to his mind, infinitely preferable to the certain death which he knew he merited and for which he might look at the hands of the ape-man.

“Is anyone sleeping in my cabin?” he asked.

The sailor shook his head. “No,” he said; “Lord and Lady Greystoke have the captain’s cabin. The mate is in his own, and there ain’t no one in