Page:The Gates of Morning - Henry De Vere Stacpoole.pdf/135



S they rowed making for the schooner with the light of the westering sun in their eyes, they could see the head of the swimmer as he made back for the shore, and away on the beach near the trees they could see the great gulls congregated around the forms of the four dead men, a boiling of wings above the reef line and against the evening blue of the sky.

Predatory gulls when feeding on a carcase do not sit and gorge, they are always in motion more or less, especially when they are in great numbers as now. Far at sea and maybe from a hundred miles away guests were still arriving for the banquet spread by death—late comers whose voices went before them sharp on the evening wind, or came up against it weak, remote and filled with suggestions of hunger and melancholy.

“God’s truth,” said the beachcomber, spitting as he rowed.

They were coming on towards the ship and it was the first word spoken.

They had defeat behind them, and even if it were only momentary defeat, ahead of them lay expla-