Adventure | Page 4

forced to concentrate with all his
will in order to remember which of them could stand ipecacuanha, and
which of them were constitutionally unable to retain that powerful drug.
One who lay dead he ordered to be carried out. He spoke in the sharp,
peremptory manner of a man who would take no nonsense, and the well
men who obeyed his orders scowled malignantly. One muttered deep in
his chest as he took the corpse by the feet. The white man exploded in

speech and action. It cost him a painful effort, but his arm shot out,
landing a back- hand blow on the black's mouth.
"What name you, Angara?" he shouted. "What for talk 'long you, eh? I
knock seven bells out of you, too much, quick!"
With the automatic swiftness of a wild animal the black gathered
himself to spring. The anger of a wild animal was in his eyes; but he
saw the white man's hand dropping to the pistol in his belt. The spring
was never made. The tensed body relaxed, and the black, stooping over
the corpse, helped carry it out. This time there was no muttering.
"Swine!" the white man gritted out through his teeth at the whole breed
of Solomon Islanders.
He was very sick, this white man, as sick as the black men who lay
helpless about him, and whom he attended. He never knew, each time
he entered the festering shambles, whether or not he would be able to
complete the round. But he did know in large degree of certainty that, if
he ever fainted there in the midst of the blacks, those who were able
would be at his throat like ravening wolves.
Part way down the line a man was dying. He gave orders for his
removal as soon as he had breathed his last. A black stuck his head
inside the shed door, saying, -
"Four fella sick too much."
Fresh cases, still able to walk, they clustered about the spokesman. The
white man singled out the weakest, and put him in the place just
vacated by the corpse. Also, he indicated the next weakest, telling him
to wait for a place until the next man died. Then, ordering one of the
well men to take a squad from the field- force and build a lean-to
addition to the hospital, he continued along the run-way, administering
medicine and cracking jokes in beche-de-mer English to cheer the
sufferers. Now and again, from the far end, a weird wail was raised.
When he arrived there he found the noise was emitted by a boy who
was not sick. The white man's wrath was immediate.

"What name you sing out alla time?" he demanded.
"Him fella my brother belong me," was the answer. "Him fella die too
much."
"You sing out, him fella brother belong you die too much," the white
man went on in threatening tones. "I cross too much along you. What
name you sing out, eh? You fat-head make um brother belong you die
dose up too much. You fella finish sing out, savvee? You fella no finish
sing out I make finish damn quick."
He threatened the wailer with his fist, and the black cowered down,
glaring at him with sullen eyes.
"Sing out no good little bit," the white man went on, more gently. "You
no sing out. You chase um fella fly. Too much strong fella fly. You
catch water, washee brother belong you; washee plenty too much, bime
bye brother belong you all right. Jump!" he shouted fiercely at the end,
his will penetrating the low intelligence of the black with dynamic
force that made him jump to the task of brushing the loathsome swarms
of flies away.
Again he rode out into the reeking heat. He clutched the black's neck
tightly, and drew a long breath; but the dead air seemed to shrivel his
lungs, and he dropped his head and dozed till the house was reached.
Every effort of will was torture, yet he was called upon continually to
make efforts of will. He gave the black he had ridden a nip of trade-gin.
Viaburi, the house-boy, brought him corrosive sublimate and water,
and he took a thorough antiseptic wash. He dosed himself with
chlorodyne, took his own pulse, smoked a thermometer, and lay back
on the couch with a suppressed groan. It was mid-afternoon, and he had
completed his third round that day. He called the house-boy.
"Take um big fella look along Jessie," he commanded.
The boy carried the long telescope out on the veranda, and searched the
sea.

"One fella schooner long way little bit," he announced. "One fella
Jessie."
The white man gave a little gasp of delight.
"You make um Jessie, five sticks tobacco along you," he said.
There