The Python

CHAPTER XI ODDS PREVAIL

A DYING flambeau etched against the sky. Such was the steamship Tropical as it floated northward, still within sight of those aboard the tug Colonia. The liner had passed to leeward of the lurking tug; its course had carried the big ship a few miles ahead.

Darkness still persisted aboard the Colonia. From the heaving tugboat, The Shadow had watched the progress of the fire. He had seen the glare subside. He knew that the stout crew had won their battle with the devastating flames.

The only clue to the tragic happenings aboard the Tropical had been the sight of a single lifeboat, pulling away within the circle of the firelight.

Crouched by the forecastle of the Colonia, The Shadow had guessed the lifeboat’s purpose. It was coming seaward instead of heading for the shore. That fact betokened one logical answer. Those in the lifeboat knew of the tug’s presence. They intended to contact the Colonia.

THE SHADOW shifted away from the forecastle entrance. He crossed the brine-soaked deck and reached the windward side of the pilot house. He sensed that men were absent here; they were all to leeward, watching.

The Shadow found an iron ladder in the darkness. He moved upward, silently, on the side of the pilot house opposite the door. He reached the broad, flat roof above and crouched there, just in front of the tug’s single funnel.

A flare squidged from the darkness — the lifeboat’s first cautious signal. The Shadow heard a growl from the deck below; an answering flare fizzed to indicate the tug’s position. Minutes passed; the creak of oarlocks reached the ears of listeners. A flashlight blinked from near the tugboat’s stern.

There was no need of further caution. The Tropical was far away; those aboard it would not recognize the significance of distant lights. A small searchlight came into play, its beams directed toward the water. It picked out the lifeboat; soon the bobbing craft hung almost at the tug’s side.

Lanterns glimmered. The Shadow could count the crew members. He saw boathooks grip the lifeboat; a gangway swung open and half a dozen men clambered forward from the lifeboat. They stopped at Duronne’s order, long enough to raise a heavy coffer from beneath a canvas covering. The treasure chest came aboard.

The Shadow had gained and lost by waiting. He saw booty, ready to be regained — for like Duronne, he believed that the chest must contain Revoort’s Cuban wealth. But now the number of his enemies had been increased. There were half a dozen more with whom The Shadow must deal.

One procedure alone was possible. The Shadow knew that he must eliminate more foemen.

Furthermore, The Shadow needed a vantage spot; and he had picked one. His design was to capture the pilot house, directly beneath the roof whereon he lay. One man — Jake Baliss — was alone in the pilot house.

The first task was to capture him; then wait for others to arrive. There was a great chance for The Shadow to repeat the mode of operation that he had employed within the forecastle.

EIGHT men were hoisting the near gunwale of the lifeboat that had brought Duronne with the metal coffer. Heaving together, they overturned the craft and let it pitch away from the tug. Satisfied growls followed.

That lifeboat would be found later. The verdict would be that it had capsized in the rising swells. The deserters from the Tropical would be listed as lost.

“Good stuff,” Lem Hurdy was growling to Luke Duronne. These Coilmasters were planning their next moves together. “We’ll get under steam and reach Norfolk first thing in the morning. We’ll get rid of this tub as soon as we arrive.”

The door of the pilot house had opened. Jake Baliss was on the platform at the top of the steps, waiting for orders from the captain.

“Just one thing, though,” added Lem, harshly. “There’s a mug we’ve got to get rid of; a dope that a couple of the crew pulled out of the East River. They’ve got him in the fo’c’s’le; we’ll heave him over alongside that capsized lifeboat. If his body drifts ashore, they’ll think he was from the Tropical.

“Better see to it that he’s done for,” suggested Duronne. “Might just as well load him with some bullets. My outfit will be listed as mutineers. If one body is found full of lead, the coast guards will think we had a battle.”

“That’s the right idea,” agreed Lem. “Say — what’s been keeping Tanker and Pete?”

“Guess they thought you wanted ‘em to stick in the fo’c’s’le,” put in Jake from above. “Send one of the crew down to get ‘em.”

“I’m going there myself,” returned Lem. “There’s no time for any more fooling.”

Lem Hurdy started for the forecastle, while Luke Baliss remained outside the pilot house. The Shadow’s need for action was urgent.

Drawing his larger revolver — Pete’s .38 — he edged over the roof and raised one white-shirted hand to deliver a downward stroke upon Jake’s skull.

One more man out — another gun — the pilot house as a fighting turret — these were The Shadow’s hopes. But into his plan came a freak of chance that nipped his first intended stroke. One of the crew had turned the small searchlight on the capsized lifeboat, which was drifting away from the tugboat’s side.

Satisfied that the boat would fool those who found it, the man swung the searchlight inward. It tilted upward. The beam swept full upon Jake Baliss, beside the pilot house.

“Douse that glim!” howled the mate. “Say, you dub—”

Luke Duronne had looked up with the glare. He saw more than Jake Baliss. He spied The Shadow, head and shoulders over the roof edge, beginning his downward gun swing. Luke yanked a revolver, shouting an order.

“Hold that light!” cried. Duronne. “The man on the roof! Get him!”

JAKE BALISS recoiled as The Shadow’s arm came down. The driving revolver glanced from the mate’s skull. The blow felled Jake and he sprawled backward through the open door of the pilot house.

Other guns barked. Vicious crew members were joining in the fire. Swaying on hands and knees, The Shadow returned it with volleys from his guns. He did not aim for the searchlight. That would have been useless; for his cramped quarters offered a definite target, even in darkness.

Moreover, the outspread beam showed scurrying figures along the deck. The Shadow was dispatching swift, crippling shots. Rats were sprawling while their pals dived for cover.

Duronne, his revolver emptied all too hastily, went bounding down into the engine room. Unscathed by the wild shots aimed for him, The Shadow had used his own barrage to lay five men writhing on the deck; and drive the rest to cover.

Twelve shots had rifled from his revolvers. His ammunition gone, he was rising, ready to spring from the roof and enter the pilot house to grab Jake’s gun.

But before The Shadow could make the move, a bellow sounded from the forecastle. Lem Hurdy had found Tanker and Pete; hearing shots on deck, he had dashed up to spy the escaped prisoner atop the pilot house.

Lem opened fire, savagely. His bullets tore the ornamental “gingerbread” that fronted the pilot house roof. Other revolvers joined in long-range fire. Crew members who had dived beyond the forecastle entrance were rising to follow their captain.

Lem must have guessed that The Shadow’s guns were empty. He was driving forward as he fired; half a dozen howling men were bounding close behind the Coilmaster.

For an instant, The Shadow stood outlined on the roof. Then a wild cry sounded from his lips. His body spun about; his arms swung wide and his hands launched the useless guns.

To the edge of the roof he twisted; there he went whirling in one long writhing dive. Clearing the narrow deck below, he shot beyond the tugboat’s side and plunged into the trough of a long swell.

LUKE DURONNE saw the splash. He leaped out to the deck and called for the searchlight. Lem Hurdy arrived; they sent the gleam along the blackened water. Minutes passed while they explored the depths. There was no sign of a body.

“I clipped him clean,” growled Lem. “Saw him spin around; the tug was rolling and he took a nose dive. He won’t be up again — not for a while. Well — it’s the way you wanted it. A body loaded with lead.

“We’re getting under way. I’ll take the helm. Stow that chest in the rear cabin. We’ll take a look at the swag when we’re heading past the capes.”

Crew members were lugging Jake’s slugged form from the pilot house. Others were carrying the coffer at Duronne’s bidding. The searchlight was playing its final gleams out across the waves, where nothing showed except the drifting hulk of the overturned lifeboat.

Lem Hurdy took his station at the wheel and clanged the bells. Chugs came from the tug’s engine. The Colonia steamed southward, gaining speed as it rolled through the swells. Once more The Python’s men had triumphed. The Shadow, like Louis Revoort, had been consigned to the blackened sea.