Collection 1980 - Yondering (v5.0) Read Online Free Page B

they’ve gone off and left you,” he commented, glancing at the sack.
    “They’ll be back.”
    “Douglas? Don’t bet on it. He calls in here about once every six months. Sometimes it’s a whole year.”
    “It’s different this time,” he lied. “He’s spending about three months in the Louisiades and Solomons. He expects to be calling in here three or four times, so I’ll just settle down and wait.”
    “We could make a deal,” the man said. “I could sail you to the Solomons.” He jerked his head. “I’ve got a good boat, and I often take the trip. Come along.”
    “Why? When he’s coming back here?”
    Deliberately he turned his back and walk away. Zimmerman—this would be Zimmerman.
    At the trade store they told him where he could find Sam, and he found him, a wiry little man with sad blue eyes and thin hair. He shook his head. “I have to live here.”
    “Douglas said—”
    “I can imagine. I like Douglas. He’s one of the best men in the islands, but he doesn’t live here. I do. If you get out of here, you’ll do it on your own. I can tell you something else. Nobody will take the chance. You make a deal with them, or you wait until Douglas comes back.”
    Twice he saw the boy, and he was watching him. He lingered near the trees where he’d been when he first followed him, so he started back. He’d have to see the old man, and packing that gold was getting to be a nuisance.
    When he got back to the shack, the woman was at the door, mashing something in a wooden dish. “He’s dying,” she said. “He hasn’t talked since you left.”
    “Who is it?” The voice was very weak.
    He went inside and told the old man he would have to leave his gold. The schooner was gone, and he had no way to get to Woodlark and overtake her.
    “Take my boat,” he said.
    His eyes closed, and nothing Dugan said brought any response. And Dugan tried. He wanted to get away, but he wanted no more of his gold. From Sam’s manner he knew Zimmerman was trouble, very serious trouble.
    The woman was standing there. “He is dying,” she said.
    “He has a boat?”
    She pointed and he walked through the trees to the shore. It was there, tied up to a small boat dock. It wasn’t much of a boat, and they’d make a fit pair, for he wasn’t much of a small-boat sailor. His seamanship had been picked up on freighters and one tanker, and his time in sail was limited to a few weeks where somebody else was giving orders. He’d done one job of single handing with a small boat and been shot with luck. On one of the most dangerous seas he had experienced nothing but flying-fish weather all the way. Still, it was only eighty miles to Woodlark, and if the weather remained unchanged, he’d be all right. If—
    The boy was there. “Three of them,” he said, “three mans—very bad mans.” And then he added, “They come tonight, I think.”
    So how much of a choice did he have? He left at dark or before dark, or he stayed and took a chance on being murdered or killing somebody. Anyway, the sea was quiet, only a little breeze running, and eighty miles was nothing.
    The best way to cope with trouble was to avoid it, to stay away from where trouble was apt to be.
    The only thing between where he was and Woodlark were the Alcesters. He had sailed by them before and would know them when he saw them.
    He glanced down at the boy. “I’ll leave the boat on Woodlark.”
    The boy shrugged. “Wherever.”
    He had shoved off at sundown with a good breeze blowing, and even with his caution he made good time, or what was good time for him. He had the Alcesters abeam before daybreak, but there was a boat behind him that was coming on fast. His silhouette was low, so he lowered the sail a little to provide even less and gradually eased the helm over and slid in behind one of the Alcesters.
    It was nearing daylight, but suddenly it began to grow darker, and the wind began blowing in little puffs, and there was a brief spatter of rain. He