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

demanded.
    â€œSix!” For the first time Englehorn lost his customary complacency. He was like Denham now, staring intently, listening even more intently.
    â€œListen!” Ann whispered.
    â€œWhat do you hear?” Denham whispered back.
    Ann shook her head and with the other three continued to listen. Suddenly, the young, nervous voice of Jimmy dropped down from the crow’s nest: “Breakers!”
    â€œWhere away?” Driscoll shouted.
    â€œDead ahead! Not far off, either!”
    Driscoll leaped for the wheelhouse and the engine-room tube again. His order came out to the others sharp and clear, and its dying note was followed by the jangle of the engine room’s bells and the roll and thunder of the Wanderer ’s reversing engines.
    â€œTen fathoms!” called the man in the bow.
    â€œDrop anchor!” Englehorn shouted urgently.
    Up forward dim wraiths leaped into action. A chain clanked and rattled through a hawse pipe. An anchor splashed. More bells jangled below. The Wanderer suddenly lay motionless and still. Everyone listened.
    Driscoll frowned at the muffled sound he heard through the fog. Rhythmic, yes, but with none of the rush and growl of waves crashing into a shoreline. “That’s not breakers,” he declared roundly.
    â€œNo, it isn’t. It’s the sound of drums,” Englehorn murmured, placid once more.
    The fog, which had been thinning imperceptibly, tore itself to ribbons on a rising breeze while they listened. Before the edge of a growing wind, it parted and rolled away as though it were a curtain. The blue sea lay exposed under a faintly veiled sun. And a little way off, hardly more than a quarter of a mile, lay a vast wooded island dominated by an eerie skull-like dome. The grisly, gigantic face leered down at them, and Denham had the sensation of slowly waking from a troubled dream. The island dominated by the skull seemed to reach out toward the ship with a long brush-covered finger of sand and rocks.
    â€œWe’ve done it! Skull Mountain!” Denham flung out a victorious arm. “Do you see it? And look at the Wall! The Wall! The Wall!” He struck Englehorn’s back with a mighty blow. “See it for yourself, you old sea dog. Do you believe me now?” Just short of hysteria, he shouted to the men at the bow, “Get out the boats!”
    Beside him, Ann Darrow stared openmouthed at the green canopy of jungle, the bare gray slope of the mountain. “Jack!” she cried, “did you ever see anything like it? Isn’t it wonderful?”
    Denham turned to hear his reply, and saw the excitement drain out of Driscoll’s face as he looked down at her. Driscoll’s mouth tightened somberly. He strode forward to direct the lowering of the boats and the storing of the equipment.
    Carl Denham’s mind roiled with a thousand details. He hadn’t come all this way to miss the opportunity. He had made a dozen pictures before, but none like this one. This one would have it all. “Come with me,” he said, grabbing Ann’s arm. They half climbed, half slid down the ladder from the bridge to the deck and rushed forward to where the crew was lowering the boats. Denham let go of Ann’s arm and laughed. “Man, I can’t wait to set foot on that beach!”
    Ann gave him a sharp look. “I’m going ashore with you, aren’t I?”
    Denham laughed. “Are you kidding? Of course! Why do you think I brought you?”
    Ann’s excitement rang in her voice: “Thank you, Carl!”
    Driscoll must have overheard, for he turned away from his work and scowled at Denham. “Should she quit the ship before we find out what’s going on and what we’re likely to run into?”
    Nothing could dampen Denham’s mood. With a cheerful shake of his head, he replied, “Look here, Jack, who’s running this show? I’ve learned by bitter experience to keep my cast and