A Man to His Mate (Action Thriller). J. Allan Dunn

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      J. Allan Dunn

      A Man to His Mate

      (Action Thriller)

      Treasure Hunt Thriller

      Published by

      Books

      - Advanced Digital Solutions & High-Quality eBook Formatting -

       [email protected]

      2017 OK Publishing

      ISBN 978-80-272-2094-6

Table of Contents

       CHAPTER I BLIND SAMSON

       CHAPTER II A DIVIDED COMPANY

       CHAPTER III TARGET PRACTISE

       CHAPTER IV THE BOWHEAD

       CHAPTER V RAINEY SCORES

       CHAPTER VI SANDY SPEAKS

       CHAPTER VII RAINEY MAKES DECISION

       CHAPTER VIII TAMADA TALKS

       CHAPTER IX THE POT SIMMERS

       CHAPTER X THE SHOW-DOWN

       CHAPTER XI HONEST SIMMS

       CHAPTER XII DEMING BREAKS AN ARM

       CHAPTER XIII THE RIFLE CARTRIDGES

       CHAPTER XIV PEGGY SIMMS

       CHAPTER XV SMOKE

       CHAPTER XVI THE MIGHT OF NIPPON

       CHAPTER XVII MY MATE

       CHAPTER XVIII LUND'S LUCK

      CHAPTER I

       BLIND SAMSON

       Table of Contents

      It was perfect weather along the San Francisco water-front, and Rainey reacted to the brisk touch of the trade-wind upon his cheek, the breeze tempering the sun, bringing with it a tang of the open sea and a hint of Oriental spices from the wharves. He whistled as he went, watching a lumber coaster outward bound. The dull thump of a heavy cane upon the timbered walk and the shuffle of uncertain feet warned him from blundering into a man tapping his way along the Embarcadero, a giant who halted abruptly and faced him, leaning on the heavy stick.

      "Matey," asked the giant, "could you put a blind man in the way of finding the sealin' schooner Karluk?"

      The voice fitted its owner, Rainey thought — a basso voice tempered to the occasion, a deep-sea voice that could bellow above the roar of a gale if needed. For all his shoregoing clothes and shuffle, the man was certainly a sailor, or had been. All the skin uncovered by cloth or hair was weathered to leather, the great hands curled in as if they clutched an invisible rope. He wore dark glasses with side lenses, over which heavy brows projected in shaggy wisps of red hair.

      Blind as the man proclaimed himself with voice and action, Rainey sensed something back of those colored glasses that seemed to be appraising him, almost as if the will of the man was peering, or listening, focused through those listless sockets. A kind of magnetism, not at all attractive, Rainey decided, even as he offered help and information.

      "You're not fifty yards from the Karluk," Rainey replied. "But you're bound in the wrong direction. Let me put you right. I'm going that way myself."

      "That's kind of ye, matey," said the other. "But I picked ye for that sort, hearin' you whistlin' as you came swingin' along. Light-hearted, I thinks, an' young, most likely; he'll help a stranded man. Give me the touch of yore arm, matey, an' I'll stow this spar of mine."

      He swung about, slinging the curving handle of the stick over his right elbow as the fingers of his left hand placed themselves on Rainey's proffered arm. Strong fingers, almost vibrant with a force manifest through serge and linen. Fingers that could grip like steel upon occasion.

      Rainey wonderingly sized up his consort. The stranger's bulk was enormous. Rainey was well over the average himself, but he was only a stripling beside this hulk, this stranded hulk, of manhood. And, for all the spectacled eyes and shuffling feet, there was a stamp of coordinated strength about the giant that bespoke the blind Samson. Given eyes, Rainey could imagine him agile as a panther, strong as a bear.

      His weight was made up of thews and sinews, spare and solid flesh without an ounce of waste, upon a mighty skeleton. His face was heavy-bearded in hair of flaming, curling red, from high cheek-bones down out of sight below the soft loose collar of his shirt. The bridge of his glasses rested on the outcurve of a nose like the beak of an osprey, the ends of the wires looped about ears that lay close to the head, hairy about the inner-curves, lobeless, the tips suggesting the ear-tips of a satyr.

      Mouth and jaw were hidden, but the beard could not deny the bold projection of the latter. About thirty, Rainey judged him. Buffeted by time and weather, but in the prime of his strength.

      "Snow-blinded, matey," said the man. "North o' Point Barrow, a year an' more ago. Brought me up all standin'. What are you? Steamer man? Purser, maybe?"

      "Newspaperman," answered Rainey. "Water-front detail. For the Times."

      "You don't say so, matey? A writer, eh?"

      Again Rainey felt the tug of that something back of the dark lenses, some speculation going on in the man's mind concerning him. And he felt the firm fingers contract ever so slightly, sinking into the muscles of his forearm for a second with a hint of how they could bruise and paralyze at will. Once more a faint sense of revulsion fought with his natural inclination to aid the handicapped mariner, and he shook it off.

      "The Karluk sails to-morrow," he said.

      "Aye, so — so they told me, matey. You've bin aboard?"

      "I had a short talk with Captain Simms when she docked. Not much of a yarn. She didn't have a good trip, you know."

      "Why, I didn't know. But — hold hard a minnit, will ye? You see, Simms is an old shipmate of mine. He don't dream I'm within a hundred miles o' here. Aye, or a thousand." He gave a deep-chested chuckle. "Now, then, matey, look here."

      Rainey was anchored by the compelling grip. They stood next to the slip in which the sealer lay. The Karluk's