Briscoe Goes Alone
I guess,” said Mike, solemnly scratching under his arm, “that this just about washes up the works. Me, I’m a diehard, but when it comes to running up against Schwenk, the armed Kanakas of two steamers, twenty armed white men and the officers and crew of a Dutch gunboat, I just can’t seem to work up any enthusiasm about our prospects.”
“I knew we’d all get killed sooner or later,” said Tim, morosely, “but I didn’t know the execution was goin’ to be so damned emphatic.”
Banjo had nothing at all to say about it. For the first time the other three whites and the native boat’s crew noticed that Banjo was carrying a weighty sack and seemed to have disposed of his Enfield and bandolier.
Banjo set down the sack in a clearing. It was a canvas sea bag, some four feet long, and it bulged unto bursting. Round, pasty face perfectly sober, Banjo began to extract things. He had a big roll of bills he had taken from the well-locked ship’s safe. He had a Very pistol and a box of shells. He had a pearl scarf pin.
Banjo rolled up his sleeves and dived again into the bag. He began to produce rapidly now. He stacked up a pile which consisted of dried beef, sea biscuits, strawberry jam, four shirts, four pairs of white pants, two razors, shaving soap, a mother-of-pearl knife, a belaying pin, three rings of keys, ten sticks of dynamite with caps and fuses terrifyingly attached, numerous papers, a sack of pearls, a gold watch, a silver pitcher, a dispatch box, a set of brass knuckles, a file, a can of sardines, a compass, two pairs of tennis shoes, a magazine, a pair of field glasses, two pairs of socks, a seaman’s cap, a ball of twine and a flashlight.
Banjo paused and sighed, “Doggone it, they must be in here someplace.”
He dived again and came up triumphantly holding a sheaf of papers.
“What’s that?” demanded Briscoe.
“They was on Swiney’s desk. Copies of radiograms he sent out on the Rangoon’s wireless.” Banjo handed them over, adding, “I thought we might want to know where we stood.”
Briscoe scanned them. His mouth went tight and his eyes blazed. “Damn him. That’s why that gunboat was out in the channel!”
“Why?” said Mike.
“When Rengarte acted up, Schwenk killed him and radioed to Borneo asking that a gunboat come in to help him quiet matters down.”
“Is that all?” said Tim.
“No. He asked the gunboat to bring him a minister.”
“That’s that dame’s hard luck,” said Mike. “Don’t you go getting any romantic ideas. We’re in enough trouble as it is. If she’s sap enough to love old Swiney, it’s just too bad.”
“She doesn’t love him,” snapped Briscoe. “She’s marrying him because she thinks she’s helping out her foster father. Martin is going to get fifty thousand dollars from Schwenk.”
“That’s a lot of bucks for a dame,” said Mike. “But it ain’t none of your business, Briscoe. We maybe can swipe a small boat and lam for British North Borneo across the strait. I’m for that. You’re a good guy, Briscoe, but if you think you’re a knight-errant on a galumphing horse, ready to jump into a dragon’s mouth to rescue a fair damsel, it’s quits.”
“You won’t go through with it?” demanded Briscoe.
“No,” said Tim.
“I … I guess not,” said Banjo.
“Okay,” said Briscoe. “Okay. You’re right. If you can steal a sailing canoe along the coast tonight, you may be able to make Tawan before dawn and be in British territory. God help you if you miss it.”
“What?” gulped Mike. “Ain’t you coming along?”
“No,” said Briscoe.
“But Schwenk will shoot you on sight!” yelped Tim.
“That gunboat captain will string you up for piracy!” cried Banjo.
“No dame’s worth it,” said Mike.
“If I think different, that’s my hard luck,” said Briscoe.
Without further parley, Briscoe helped himself to a razor, shirt, pants, socks and tennis shoes. He went down to a nearby jungle stream and cleaned himself up.
The others watched him sadly. When he had changed himself into something which looked more like a gentleman, Briscoe tossed back the razor, picked up an Enfield, inspected the chamber, buckled on a bandolier, lashed an automatic to his thigh, and gave them a pale, gaunt grin.
“I hope you make it,” said Briscoe. Abruptly he turned and strode up the winding, overgrown trail.
The four natives looked helpless and deserted. Banjo, Mike and Tim avoided each other’s eyes. Briscoe’s footsteps faded out.