The Headhunters
Down in the hold of the King Solomon, a Polynesian sailor was piling up crates of canned food and humming a little under his breath.
It was cool in the hold, but not so outside in the pounding glare of the equatorial sun which, even this late in the afternoon, was scorching Kieta, Solomon Islands.
A footstep sounded behind the naked sailor and he turned, a grin on his face. Slowly the grin faded, to be replaced by a scowl.
Standing easily in the gloom was a dirty-faced white man of chunky build. In his hand he held a snub nosed .45.
“If it an’t Hihi,” said the white man. “’Oo would have thought to meet you here?”
“You more better get out,” snapped Hihi, straightening up. “If boss comes, he killum plenty along you.”
The white man grinned. “’E won’t be along, Hihi. I left him passing the time o’ day at the club.”
Hihi looked uneasily up at the bright square of blue sky which filled the hatch opening. He realized that he was alone aboard the schooner and that this man would show very little mercy if he took it into his head to shoot.
The white man, Punjo Charlie, looked amiable enough except for one eye which jiggled up and down and slid back and forth as though well greased. The other eye, being made of glass, stared steadily ahead. Punjo stood for “tough one” in the dialect.
“No,” said Punjo Charlie, “’e won’t be down for a bit. And I think mybe you’d be so good as to tell me right quick something I want to know about Tom Christian.”
Hihi made a stealthy move toward the keen dirk in his belt, but Punjo Charlie raised the gun ever so little and grinned a little harder.
“You went upcountry with Christian, Hihi. ’E found hisself too much gold for one man, him and Larsen. Mybe you’d like to tell me where it was, Hihi. Or mybe you’re tired of life. Remember what happened to Larsen, Hihi?”
Hihi looked levelly at the white man, not a little contempt in his brown, handsome face. “Yes, I was with boss, but you no get nothing along me. More better you go before boss knock hell outa you.”
“Now see here, Hihi,” said Punjo Charlie in a whining drone, “you’re mighty fond of life, an’t you? I wouldn’t want nothink to ’appen to you.”
Punjo Charlie stepped slowly forward. Hihi backed up until he was against the damp ribs of the schooner’s hold.
Punjo Charlie came on. Hihi suddenly gripped his knife hilt and sprang forward and sideways, weapon upraised, ready to strike.
Punjo looked fat and greasy but he could move like a striking snake. He did not fire, for that would bring down the town upon him. He raised his weapon, caught Hihi’s knife and brought the .45 butt crashing down on Hihi’s curly hair.
The brown man folded up and sank back, his eyes rolling, a seep of blood coming down his face. Punjo Charlie, with a glance at the hatch overhead, picked up several strands of hemp and lashed Hihi’s arms and legs together in such a way that Hihi could not move.
The loyal Polynesian showed no immediate signs of waking up and Punjo Charlie had to resort to a full fire bucket which stood to one side. He sent the contents cascading down over Hihi and stood back, his good eye jiggling from the inert brown man to the hatch.
Hihi came awake slowly and then, with an attempt to leap up, felt the force of his ropes and fell violently back, cursing in several languages.
“You wait,” cried Hihi. “Boss kill along you plenty, you bet. I not tell you nothing.”
“No?” said Punjo Charlie, grinning evilly. “No?”
Punjo took the dirk and felt its edge. Slowly he leaned over the helpless brown man and drew a small pattern of red lines upon the shrinking chest. Hihi clenched his teeth and said nothing.
“Don’t bother you none,” said Punjo Charlie in disappointment. “Mybe if I was to hack off an ear careful-like you might like to say something about it. After all, Hihi, it an’t nothink hard I wants of you. Just tell me where you left that pool full of gold dust and I’ll let you stay right where you are. It an’t anythink hard to arsk, Hihi.”
“I not tell nothing,” snapped Hihi.
Punjo Charlie regretfully took hold of Hihi’s ear and fondled it. He tested the edge of his knife, assured himself with a glance that Hihi was not going to talk after all and then, raising the blade, prepared to lop off the ear.
But before the knife could descend, heavy footsteps sounded overhead. Hihi started to cry out. Punjo Charlie slapped half a gunnysack into the open mouth, without any regard for Hihi’s feelings in the matter. The sack was crawling with copra bugs.
Overhead, a clear, strong voice said, “Hihi! Where are you, you lazy devil?”
Punjo Charlie moved slowly back behind the stacks of crates until he could no longer be seen in the gloom. The footsteps came close to the hatch and Punjo Charlie raised his .45.
“Hihi!”
Punjo Charlie licked his puffy, greasy lips. That was Tom Christian’s voice. Punjo had a score to settle with Tom Christian.
A white-clad man in a sailor cap thrust his shoulders and head over the coaming and yelled, “Hihi! You down there?”
Christian swung himself over the edge and clattered down the ladder. He was a little better than six feet tall and his shoulders were wide and straight. His gray eyes were clear and he had the air about him of a man who knows exactly what he wants to do and exactly how he will do it.
Christian reached the bottom and, stooping his head a little to pass under the crossbeams, looked down the length of the gloomy hold.
“Hihi!”
A slight movement in the darkness caused Christian to turn his head. His sun-dazzled eyes were long in picking up the silhouette of brown on the packs.
“What the devil. . . .”
Christian strode over and yanked the gunny sacking out of Hihi’s mouth and started in on the strands of rope.
“Boss,” whispered Hihi, “Punjo Charlie . . .”
“If you don’t mind, Christian,” said Punjo in his whiny voice, looking down the sights of his .45, “if you don’t mind, just stand there a bit, old fellow. I wouldn’t move none if I was you, Christian.”
Christian turned slowly and stared at the dirty, blue-jowled face and the jiggly eye. “You!”
“Ra’t you are, Christian. Me, Punjo. Owh, I’ve been looking forward to this, I can tell you. And how are you feeling, Christian?”
“So you’ve been looking forward to it, have you?” said Christian, acidly. “Well, so have I. I’ve been looking for you all over the Solomons. I believe I’ve got something to say to you, Punjo. Something about my partner, Larsen. Of course you wouldn’t know anything about his being murdered, would you?”
“Of course not, Christian.”
“Oh, of course not,” said Christian, bitterly. “Of course not. You caught Larsen when he went back to clean out that pool and you murdered him.”
“Why, Christian,” reproved Punjo Charlie. “’Ow could you think of such a thing?”
“I can think it all right. But you made a mistake, didn’t you? You killed him before he could lead you to the place we had placered out. And now you’re here, are you? It’ll be a long time, me bucko, before you spend any of that gold.”
“Do tell,” said Punjo. “Now an’t that too bad. Beg pardon, Christian, but would you mind sitting down there on those crates for just a moment? Long enough for me to put some rope on you? Hi don’t want to kill you, Christian. Mybe maim you a little bit, but not kill you. Dead men,” he added with a chuckle, “wasn’t never known to talk very much.”
“Take my advice,” said Christian, “and clear out while you’re still in one piece. I might change my mind and knock hell out of you.”
“Listen to the brave lad,” crowed Punjo. His good eye glittered and grew hard and he bared his teeth and his voice dropped down into a snarl. “So help me, Christian, you’ve stolen that mine off me and I’m going to get you for that. I’ve got contacts upcountry, Christian. I know Togu and his Kris and you can’t arsk for a better lot of murderers than them. You tell me now and I’ll let you go. Mybe I’ll even split up with you when I get back. But if you think you can get it, Christian, you’re a fool. Set one foot upcountry and I’ll kill you.”
