King Kong Read online

  “Dia malem!” the king hurried on.

  “Six women!” Englehorn said swiftly. “He will give six for yours of gold.”

  Ann gasped and tried to smile.

  “You got Ann into this, Denham!” Driscoll cried. “What’s our cue?”

  Denham smiled briefly, and with an unhurried gesture called up his two carriers.

  “Tell him, as politely as you can,” he said to Englehorn, “that we’d rather not swap.” Out of a corner of his mouth he added, to Ann, “This isn’t my trading day, sister.”

  “Tida!” Englehorn murmured to the king in sorrow-stricken tones. “No! Malem ati rota na ni! Our woman is our luck and we dare not part with her.”

  Against that refusal, bland though it had been, the witch doctor cried in fury. “Watu!” he screamed. “Tam bisa para Kong di wana ta!”

  “They can’t lose Kong’s gift.”

  “That’s enough for me,” Driscoll growled, as Englehorn tossed back the swift interpretation, “I’m taking Ann back to the ship.”

  “We’d all better slide out,” Englehorn warned Denham casually, “before that smart old witch doctor thinks to send out a war party to get between us and our boats.”

  “I suppose so!” Denham spoke reluctantly, with all the white explorer’s confidence in his racial superiority. “But don’t let’s leave the old coot so mad, Skipper. Tell him we’ll be back tomorrow to make friends and talk things over.”

  “Dulu!” Englehorn promised the chief and the witch doctor gently. And the promise made cover for the quick retreat of the men who bore the camera and the tripod. “Tomorrow! Hi tego nah! We return then.”

  “En Malem?” the chief insisted. “Malem ma pakeno?”

  “The woman of gold?”

  “Get going!” Denham ordered briskly to the crew. “And keep smiling, Ann. Don’t you realize the chief’s just paid you a whopping compliment? Six for one! Smile at Jack. And keep your chin up.”

  “Dula, bala!” Englehorn told the chief reassuringly. “Tomorrow, friend.”

  The retreat gathered speed; but not too much speed. There was no lagging, but on the other hand there was no undue haste. Only an expeditious, smiling withdrawal. A half dozen sailors led by Driscoll went first, with Ann in their center. Next the main body moved, rifles alert. Englehorn followed these and Denham went last.

  As a parting sign of friendship his hand tossed the witch doctor a debonair salute. The same hand cocked his hat over one eye, and as the hand dropped, to a holstered pistol, his lips puckered up to whistle a marching tune. While the natives’ eyes widened in surprise he slid briskly around the corner of the house and out of the tribe’s sight.

  Following the narrow paths, among houses as silent and seemingly as uninhabited as had been encountered on the inward trek, the Wanderer’s party came at length to the edge of the village. Forward extended the almost treeless stretch of land running down to the beach and the boats.

  “Don’t tell me there wasn’t nobody in them houses,” Jimmy snorted, shifting his box of bombs to the other shoulder. “I heard a kid squall once. And boy! What a smack his mama handed him. I heard that, too.”

  Driscoll, with a half laugh of relief, let go the small hand he had held protectingly all along the march.

  “Believe it or not,” he said with a last backward glance, “nobody is following us. And if that isn’t a surprise as unexpected as it was pleasant, I want to know.”

  Denham and Englehorn came trotting up.

  “I hope,” Ann laughed, half at them, and half at Driscoll, “that you all know me well enough to understand I’m no warlike, bragging Brunhilde. But just the same, I want to say I wouldn’t have missed it for the mint.”

  She nodded emphatically, and with a broad pretense of pride began to fluff out the hair which had been so much admired.

  Driscoll eyed her provoking mouth with an exasperation which did not conceal his admiration for her courage.

  “You can be my next leading lady, too,” Denham promised.

  Englehorn cut himself a fresh chew and waved them all to the boats.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “we’ll break out the trade goods. I think, Mr. Denham, a few presents to that witch doctor ought to get us somewhere.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When they were gathered in the skipper’s cabin back on the Wanderer, Denham put the question which had grown steadily in all minds during the long row out from the beach. He spoke somberly, to a somber audience. In the moment of arrival at the boats, their mood had been one of exhilaration over the lucky outcome of their encounter. Now, however, they had had time to ponder the danger they had run…and even more than that, the ominous mystery which prompted Denham to speak.

  “I want to know,” he said, “who this Kong is, that the king and the witch doctor jabbered about.”

  “Mightn’t he be the king himself?” asked Ann.

  “No,” Englehorn declared. “You saw how frightened that young girl was. She wouldn’t have been frightened, not much anyway, if they’d fixed her up for the boss. She’d have been happy, more likely. Going to him would have been big luck. But she was scared half out of her senses.”

  “I think those fellows dressed up as gorillas are the key,” Driscoll said.

  “Why?” Denham wanted to know, and eyed his assistant speculatively.

  “Just a hunch. I figure they were acting as the real bridegroom’s representatives. On top of that big gate, there hung a huge metal drum. And beside it I saw a native ready to sound off. And I’m ready to swear that when the king saw us and stopped the show, he was about to direct the opening of the gate.”

  “I think I follow you,” Denham said.

  “Well, I don’t!” Ann exclaimed. “I’m completely in the dark.”

  “The king,” Driscoll explained slowly, “was about to send the girl out to whatever is beyond the gate. Now what could that be? The whole village is on this side, safely behind the wall. Beyond, there could be nothing but wild jungle—and that danger against which the tribe maintains the wall.

  “The king was going to open the gate in order to offer the girl to whatever feared thing lives in the jungle. He was sending out a bride to Kong. And the fellow up at the drum was going to call Kong to come and get her.”

  Denham nodded.

  “My guess,” Englehorn murmured, “is that today’s pretty little girl wasn’t by any means the first of Kong’s brides.”

  “You mean…” Ann felt suddenly sick.

  “He means,” Driscoll broke in roughly, “that the girl was a sacrifice. And that there is a fresh sacrifice at regular intervals…every time the moon is full, or something like that.”

  “But even agreeing to all this,” Englehorn puzzled, “I haven’t yet any clear idea of what Kong is.”

  “I have,” Denham said with abrupt conviction. “That wall wasn’t built against any pint-sized danger. There were a dozen proxy bridegrooms because only with so many could the natives approximate the size of the creature which was getting the sacrifice. And those gorilla skins that the dancers wore didn’t mean that Kong is a gorilla by a long shot. If he’s really there, he’s a brute big enough to use a gorilla for a medicine ball.”

  “But there never was such a beast!” Ann laughed uncertainly. “At least not since prehistoric times.”

  Denham shifted in his seat to stare.

  “Holy Mackerel!” he whispered. “I wonder if you’ve hit it, Ann?”

  “Rot!” Driscoll exploded.

  Englehorn shook an unbelieving head.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Denham argued, and excitement mounted in him again, as it had at the first sight of land. “Remember? Both of you said we wouldn’t find any Skull Mountain Island. But here it is.

  “Why shouldn’t such an out-of-the-way spot be just the place to find a solitary, surv
iving prehistoric freak?” His eyes flashed. “Holy Mackerel! If we did find the brute, what a picture!”

  The shock of that expressed hope sent Driscoll to his feet.

  “Where will Ann figure in a picture like that?” he demanded.

  Denham rose, too, in angry response to the challenging question. But, after an instant, he laughed.

  “Jack,” he said plaintively, “can’t you let me run my own show? I suppose you had to go soft. And I guess Ann is plenty excuse. But don’t expect me to pass up the picture there’ll be if we really get the break I’m imagining.”

  He pulled thoughtfully at one ear.

  “I’ll admit,” he conceded, “that right now I can’t think just where any of us will figure. That’ll need a lot of doping out.”

  “Um-m-m-m!” Englehorn agreed.

  “Here’s what!” Denham went on. “We’ll sign off everything until after supper. By then I’ll have at least the next step planned.”

  “In the meantime,” Englehorn said, “you see to posting a few guards with rifles, Mr. Driscoll. That old witch doctor is up to something. The drums have started up again.”

  While the four talked the drums had indeed gradually renewed their rolling. Their cadence was different now: a low drone, as of men thinking aloud, or better yet of the sound primitive hands might beat out in order to make easier for primitive minds the hard business of thinking.

  With the guards posted, Driscoll came back to Englehorn, and looked toward the sky.

  “There’ll be plenty of clouds to hide the moon,” he predicted. “It’ll be a dark night. And that isn’t going to help.”

  “Mr. Denham is right,” the Skipper joked him placidly. “You’ve gone soft over Ann. A dark night won’t hurt. We’re too far off shore for the natives to try a surprise.”

  “I don’t like those drums!”

  The drums continued to trouble Driscoll as the quick, tropic twilight fell and deepened, but when he sat down to supper he tried to conceal his anxiety. This was harder because Denham kept them all waiting for his promised plan.

  “I told you I’d figure out the next step,” he finally began at the close of the meal, “and I have. I’ve got no further; but at least I’ve made up my mind to this. I’m going ashore bright and early tomorrow. With a strong party there’ll be no danger. And I’ve absolutely got to find out about Kong.”

  Driscoll pushed his coffee cup away and looked toward Ann.

  “Drink hearty, Jack,” Denham smiled. “Ann will stay snug and safe on board ship.”

  “Good,” murmured Englehorn.

  “I’m ready to go if you need me,” Ann spoke up.

  “No. Ordinarily, I’m dead against separating my cast from my camera. But ordinarily my people have to face only dangers I can measure and prepare against. Here we have an unknown quantity. So I’ll leave you in safety while I go for a look-see.”

  “Let me look for you,” Driscoll said eagerly. “Of course there won’t be any danger, with a strong party. But if you should happen to get hurt, the picture would be held up. If I bump into a tree, or something, it won’t matter.”

  “Oh, won’t it?” Ann cried.

  “Ready to die for dear old Rutgers, Driscoll, now I’ve let Ann off?” Denham chuckled. “Well, you can go straight to hell, son. When I organize a parade, I always lead it.

  “But just the same,” he went on, “I take back part of what I said about you going soft. I guess you’re soft in only one spot.”

  Driscoll flushed down to his neck and back to his closely set ears.

  “I’ve got some work to polish off below,” he said and retreated before Englehorn’s and Denham’s laughter.

  “I,” said Ann with great dignity, getting up, too, “am not amused.” But she smiled back at them as she went out to the deck.

  The drums were still droning thoughtfully on Skull Mountain Island. On the deck, at intervals, the armed guards made watchful silhouettes. A few other sailors were out, too, seeking relief from the heat which had succeeded the fog. Lumpy was one of these. Stretched out on a hatch, in his frayed trousers, he played lazily with Ignatz.

  “Good evening, Lumpy.”

  “Evenin’, Miss Ann. Move over, Ignatz; give the lady a seat. I hear you had a big time ashore.”

  “I was pretty scared.”

  They sat for a little, Lumpy too lethargic to talk, Ann soothed by the soft blackness.

  Denham and Englehorn halted on their way to the bridge.

  “Hear those drums!” Denham said. “Damn it, if I could take moving pictures by firelight, I’d sneak back there this minute.”

  “You’re a lot better off here, Mr. Denham.”

  “I know! But I hate to miss anything.”

  “It’s all right with me if we miss a lot.”

  “Look here, Skipper! It’s enough to have Driscoll worrying.”

  “I’m hardly worrying. But I’m glad a guard is set. And I have a notion not to turn in.”

  “Pshaw! All the natives are busy ashore.”

  “I suppose so. But still, I think I’ll stay around.”

  “I’ll stay, too, then,” Denham laughed. “We’ll start a good game of pinochle.”

  Lumpy sat up and peered at Ann through the darkness.

  “What ever happened ashore to get that cold old turtle so het up?” he demanded.

  “I think,” said Ann slowly, “that it must have been the girl.”

  “Girl?”

  “The one they were sacrificing…to Kong.”

  “Oh, yeah!” Lumpy nodded. “Some of the boys were telling me. The bride.”

  “The bride of Kong!” Ann whispered, and shivered. “Lumpy, what do you suppose Kong is?”

  “Ah-h-h!” Lumpy declared scornfully. “Just an old heathen god. Every tribe has a god. Usually an old log or mud statue. I’ll bet Kong’s just a lump of mud, and that the bride never gets within a mile of him. The old witch doctor probably could tell you better where she goes. Them old witch doctors usually have a harem hid off somewheres.”

  Ann laughed, and shifting a little for a more comfortable position sat on Ignatz’s leg. That sensitive monkey squeaked and fled indignantly.

  “Catch him, Lumpy,” Ann said. “He’ll get into the cabins and break something.”

  “Here, you varmint!” Lumpy called and ran.

  Ann rose, and lifted her arms sleepily. She was rested and relaxed by the talk with Lumpy; she could forget Kong now. She walked slowly down to where the deck became a narrow alley leading past the deckhouse.

  For just an instant she hesitated there. The light from the deckhouse glinted on her yellow hair, before she moved on, into the thick swallowing darkness. The drums on Skull Mountain Island swelled to a deafening clamor, then fell to a low chuckling tattoo.

  Up on the bridge Denham talked confidently to Englehorn.

  “We’ll make friends with ’em, all right, Skipper. They didn’t like our breaking into the ceremony. But we can convince them that was an accident.”

  “I don’t know,” Englehorn demurred. “They said we spoiled the show. They probably meant they’d have to find Kong another bride.”

  “Great! If they do it all over again, I’ll get a picture as sure as shooting.”

  Englehorn looked at his employer in incredulous admiration.

  “You’re the limit,” he declared, and felt around with a foot for the cuspidor he knew was somewhere in the darkness.

  Driscoll came up, wiping his forehead.

  “I’ve just made the rounds,” he said, “and everything looks as right as rain. Where’s Ann?”

  “On deck somewhere, I suppose. How long is it since you saw her?” Denham chuckled. “A whole half hour?”

  “I’m glad,” Driscoll drawled, “that I’m no cold-blooded fish,” and he strolled down
to the main deck.

  Lumpy was there, looking at the hatch with an air of puzzlement.

  “Seen Miss Darrow, Lumpy?”

  “She was here ten minutes ago, sir. We wuz talkin’ and the monk got loose, and she sent me off to catch him. I thought she’d still be here when I got back.”

  “Probably she went in to her cabin,” Driscoll surmised.

  Lumpy, leading Ignatz, started away in disappointment. His path led down the narrow alley into which Ann had disappeared, and as he stepped into it, his foot struck something. He stooped, picked it up, brought it back to the lighter area by the hatch.

  “On deck!” he shouted the next instant. “On deck! All hands on deck!”

  The guards took up the cry, and sailors appeared from everywhere. Driscoll, running back, came up against Englehorn and Denham as they raced down from the bridge. All three closed in on Lumpy.

  “Look, sir!” the old sailor stammered. “I found this on deck!”

  “A native bracelet!” cried Denham.

  “Some of them heathens’ve been aboard, sir!”

  “Search the ship, Skipper,” Denham ordered.

  “Where’s Ann?” Driscoll cried.

  Englehorn and Denham looked at one another; then the Skipper flashed off to direct the search.

  “In her cabin…” Denham began soothingly.

  “She isn’t! I’ve just looked!”

  The voice of a guard on the island side of the Wanderer floated to the two men: “No, sir! I never heard a sound. Not a thing.” Then Englehorn’s crisp, commanding tones. “Bos’n. Man the boats. A rifle to every man.”

  The darkness became alive with sounds. The bos’n’s whistle. The creak and thump of davits. The rattle of arms. The low, directing cries of the sailors at work.

  Denham stared at Driscoll.

  “The boats!” he said explosively. “The boats! Here, Skipper! You don’t really think…”

  “I don’t know,” Englehorn replied. “But we won’t lose any time finding out. Mr. Driscoll, you take charge of the party searching the ship. And work fast, my boy! Work fast!”