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CALL of the HEART 

By BERNARD A. BRAXTON

Why Did Peter Travers Throw Aside Power and Gold in a Strange Land? What Grave Decision Faced Him—What Memories Plagued Him? 

[[image]] Illustrated by Raymond St. John

IT was no wonder that the Morinda had been wrecked; that nothing was left of the Morinda, perhaps nothing left of her crew and passengers, but a young man and the girl who clung to him in a tearful embrace of utter despair when the ship was sinking into the mad, turbulent sea. And now they were alone on the solitary shore of this strange island. 

They had won in a heroic contest with death. In last night’s dreadful confusion, after the Morinda had dashed into the rock, they were among the last to leave the sinking ship, because the girl refused to obey the officer’s urgent command: “Women and children first!” She would not leave the man behind. When everything seemed hopeless, they were pushed into the little life boat—and were soon tossed madly, and cruelly battered by terrific winds and torrents of rain. Then came angry billows to hurl everything that was human from the life boat into the yawning sea. But the girl still clung to the man.

For what appeared hours, they battled desperately against the immense insanity of the deep. They swam constantly and blindly in pitch darkness, and somehow reached the rugged shore of this island, which was now clearly revealed to them in the early sunlight.

THE girl, with sorrowful eyes, turned from the great expanse of troubled waters, and gazed again at the vast thicket of cocoanut [[coconut]] palms and tall bamboo reeds that extended from the narrow beach toward the lofty mountains. 

“Oh, what’re we going to do, Peter?” she asked hopelessly, looking to her companion’s haggard face. 

“Don’t talk like that, Rita,” Peter Travers implored. “Don’t lose heart. There may be human beings here. Even some natives who’ll be friendly.”

They started to walk along the shore. Two forlorn and wretched creatures they were—a man and a girl in tatters and rags. Peter’s shirt was gone, and a little was left of what had been his white trousers. In the thin tatters that the wind was whipping from around her slim body, Rita Eaton could scarcely recognize the exquisite pink frock of last night, the flimsy little thing she had chosen because she thought that Peter would like her best in it. 

SHE saw him for the first time on the Morinda—and liked him. She was a dancer at a cabaret in 

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for MAY, 1931   
                  
Honolulu, she told him the first night they sat together out on deck, in the moonlight. She hadn’t been dancing at the cabaret very long, but she had soon “danced l’il Rita sick.” (That was how she always expressed it.) Now she was on her way to Australia to take the short vacation, which the doctor advised. 

It hurt her terribly: that it was possible for Peter to spend ten days in Honolulu, and hear nothing of “l’il Rita” and the notorious La Boheme Cabaret. She couldn’t believe that there was no more pleasure for him in night-life and other so-called civilized amusements, in spite of his five years of carefree roaming about the South Sea Islands. And she didn’t know what to say, two nights later, when he related how his former friends spoke of him as the American “gone native,” for he had lived nearly two years among the natives of Tahiti. 

That was the mystery. Maybe that was why he was sometimes so listless, why his kisses were so lacking in warmth when she confessed her love for him. Last night, she remembered, while they stood together on deck, just as the storm was rising, he kissed her the second time. She was no longer able to keep her secret: she had changed her plans, and was going to Tahiti with him. For a moment he stood there and stared at her! She could tell by the frown on his face that he was actually angry! Then she heard his words, hurting words that were so cruel in their frankness: he was asking her to forget him, and go out of his life forever; he could not marry her...

“Peter, I think I hear voices! Listen!” Rita said, seizing his arm. They stopped walking and listened intently. 

“Somebody’s coming this way, Rita.”

SUDDENLY, from around a sharp bend of the shore, appeared two eight-paddled canoes. They approached rapidly, headed straight toward Rita and Peter, Here were two canoes full of natives, however friendly or horribly barbarous they might be.

The canoes hit the shore, and fourteen stalwart golden skinned men dashed forward, their long knives glittering in the sunlight. They soon caught Peter and Rita who, frightened, were fleeing down the beach.

"Don't try to fight back—maybe they won't get rough," Peter told Rita.

Her face gone dead white from terror, she wanted to shriek, fight back like a raging tigress, and tear those big heavy hands from her wrists, from her body. But she knew she was helpless in their grip. These strange men, almost naked, with powerful muscles rippling on their arms and shoulders--what were they going to do to her and Peter?

The natives carried them to the canoes, where four more of their men where waiting. They put Peter in the first one. Rita was more horrified still, when she saw that she would be left behind with the eight men in the other canoe.

[[image]]
Raymond St. John

[[caption]] In the center of the room sat Chief Ouma Ati, a white haired old man, with peaked features and a wizened yellow face—a tall slim beautiful young woman stood at his side.
[/caption]]

"Oh, Peter, wait for me! Make them wait!" she cried in despair, knowing that he could not make them wait.

She was frantic and desperate. They were taking Peter away from her, and she felt as if she was drowning and they were snatching away the last straw, leaving her nothing to cling to.

"That's all right Rita," Peter called back. She knew he was trying to reassure her, and for a moment her heart seemed to stop sinking. "There isn't enough room for both of us in one canoe," he added.

THE canoes were paddled swiftly down towards the other end of the island. The turns of the shore appeared endless and sometimes Rita couldn't see Peter's canoe. Once when it came into view, he called to her but it was impossible for her to understand what he said, because the distance between them had become too great. Then she realized that her canoe wasn't moving as fast as it had been. Three of the men were talking loudly, angrily, staring at her and making wild gestures at the two men who held her wrists. Still terrified, she wondered what they were getting ready to do.

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