New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1919-05-25

snow white beach was visible even In
the drenching darkness, Crest was
too badly winded from his tussle with
the storm to land without help. He
begged Novello to And his electric
torch in his grip and throw some light
on the "infernal situation"; but q
cropping search proved that the grip
had been washed overheard along with
everything else that had not been
nailed down, coats included, conse-
quently they had not match between
them.
Luckily we're on the right end of
the island, pretty close to Frawley's
camp" Novello consoled his detected
companion after a little prowling
investigation Of the cove, "and we can
get into shelter for the night may
even be able to get light from ma
tive family on the Point. Come, let's
go up to the cabin"
Crest let himself be led along q
little slithery path, ankle-deep in rot
ten vegetation, between drenched
bushes that slapped and scratched
hands and faces at every step; he
waited on the dripping cabin porch
while Novello felt his way through the
closed rooms to make sure there we're
no inhabitants, human or animal, so
achingly tired that he would have lain
down on the porch floor had he not
been afraid Of the snakes that usually
inhabit porch matches.
"Everything's all right" Novello
reported as he drew Crest into a per-
fectly dry room, $50 Just settle down
to rest while I run out to the Point
on the chance of getting q fire to
light up with"
He banged the door noisily after
him and Crest felt timidly about him
till he found a box that afforded q
good seat. He was worn out and
bruised and scratched, and decidedly
out of love with the pearling scheme
that had already brought him so much
discomfort, for his eight years of soft
living had made him loathe hardships
Of all sorts.
There was no draft where he sat,
yet an airless breeze suddenly brushed
the top Of his head, touched the tip Of
one ear and blew around to the other
ear. He put up a startled hand and
encountered fuzzy, pulsating some
thing, formless; then a fine, writhing
rain struck his forehead, trickled over
his cheeks and began to prick sharply
into the skin of his chin. There might
we'll have been leak in the roof
above him, but he instantly realized
that it was not water that dripped
down over him so crawlingly.
He sprang up in a dreadful panic,
and Immediately a hairy shower de-
scended about his head and shoulders,
little quivering threads dangled in his
face, squirmed down the neck Of his
torn shirt and wriggled up his sleeve
with intolerable pricklings. Wildly
he beat off the writing mass, for it
swirled back over him, emitting the
sickening, pungent odor of excited
insects.
Spiders! Thousands Of them! Mill
ions!
He shudderingly recalled the ghost
spiders of those fay southern islands
that feed on human and animal blood
when they can overcome either man or
beast. He shrieked frantically and
dashed for the door, but found it
immovably fastened from the outside.
Ferociously he beat against the heavy,
unyielding wood, squashing a horrid,
evil-smelling mass as he did so. Then
he CROPPED his anguished way to the
bamboo barred window, but the bars
were unbreakable. Still screaming
with all the power of his lungs, he
raked down the writing mass that
enveloped him, but as fast as he
stripped an arms length off another
mass descended from the ceiling webs
where the ghost spiders had swarmed
by the millions, In instructive expec-
tation Of the quarry that would now
and then seek shelter in there from
the equatorial storms that swept the
island so often.
In the midst Of Crest's frantic
brandishings a torchlight flashed be-
tween the window bars-a light broken
by myriads of dangling spider webs