Merian C. Cooper's King Kong by Joe DeVito Page B

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!”
    â€œDula bala,” Englehorn told the chief reassuringly. “Tomorrow, friend.”
    The retreat gathered speed, cautiously. No one lagged behind, but no one ran, either. They made an expeditious, smiling withdrawal. A half dozen sailors, led by Driscoll, went first, with Ann in their center. Next the main body moved, rifles held easily, not pointing at anyone, but ready to fire if need be. Englehorn followed these, and Denham came last of all.
    Ann had to admire Denham’s coolness. As a parting sign of friendship he tossed the witch doctor a debonair salute. Then with the same hand he cocked his hat over one eye, and as the hand dropped, coming to rest on the butt of his holstered pistol, his lips puckered to whistle a jaunty marching tune. While the native’s eyes widened in surprise he slipped briskly around the corner of the house and out of the tribe’s sight.
    Following the narrow paths among houses, silent and seemingly uninhabited, the Wanderer ’s party came to the edge of the village. Ahead of them lay the almost treeless slope of land running down to the beach and the boats.
    â€œDon’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 squeal once. What a smack his mama handed him. I heard that, too.”
    Driscoll, with a half laugh of relief, let go of Ann’s hand. He had held it all the way through the march. “Believe it or not,” he said with a last backward glance, “nobody is following us. I call that a pleasant surprise.”
    Bringing up the rear, Denham and Englehorn strode to the crest of the rise.
    â€œI hope,” Ann said with a laugh, half at them and half at Driscoll, “that you all know me well enough to understand that I’m no Brunhild. I don’t consider myself very warlike or even very brave, but just the same, I want to say that I wouldn’t have missed that for the mint. Woman of gold—not a bad compliment at that.” With a broad pretense of pride she began to fluff out the hair which had been so much admired.
    Driscoll eyed her provocative mouth with an exasperation which did not conceal his admiration for her courage.
    â€œSister, you were cool as a snowdrift. You can be my leading lady in all the pictures I make from here on in,” Denham promised.
    Englehorn stood waving them all into the boats. He took his briar pipe from a pocket and clenched it between his teeth, though he did not load or light it. “Tomorrow we’ll break out the trade goods. I think, Mr. Denham, a few presents might get us somewhere.”
    â€œTo the king, you mean,” Denham said.
    â€œI think the witch doctor’s the better bet,” Englehorn told him. “He’s the power behind the throne.”

8
    SKULL ISLAND
MARCH 12–13, 1933
    Launching the boats rasped everyone’s nerves raw, though they all tried to look calm. Denham took the lead in that regard, acting purposefully, calmly, as though he didn’t anticipate the slightest danger. Still, he and the others knew that spears might come whistling down if the natives had a change of heart and decided to attack. “Let’s move it along,” Englehorn said in a firm but quiet command.
    Denham approved of the efficiency as the men stowed the boats and piled in. Four of the strongest sailors in each boat waited to run the craft out into the low waves of the lagoon before climbing in themselves. Immediately the sailors at the oars put their backs into their rowing. Denham settled back, sure that within seconds they would be beyond spear-cast and safe, at least for the time being.
    â€œNo one on the beach,” Englehorn muttered. He called to the other boat: “Mr. Driscoll, do you see any sign of the