Adventure, July 1, 1928 — page 100: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

94 GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND Eloquently he touched his thin and gash- like mouth. “So—you know!” “Vm wise, Cap’n. But what you goin’ to do with the stuff, for now?” “Do? Goin’ to give it back to the gal, e’ course. Arfter that, well, if I spilled all the wind out o’ my sails, you’d know as much as what I do!” An’ that’s just what I got to know!” the mate declared with choleric insistence. “We're into this here now, together. We're pardners. That means we got to work together!” “Yes, just as far as I’m willin’, and no farther. Stow that stuff, Mr. Furlong! I’m runnin’ this here business. But you'll get your whack. Don’t you worry none about that. I’m honest, I am. When I say I'll do a thing, by the Law Clink, I'll do it. First thing, though, the stuff goes back to the gal. It’s hers, now the old man has lost the number of his mess. Hers for a while. Arfter that—” “Arfter that?” “Leave it to me. Take your bearin’s, close your windbag and keep it closed. That’s all!” “Look a’ here, Cap’n! play square—” “That “Ildo you! What? Threatenin’ your superior officer? Hell’s bells, but that’s nigh hand to mutiny!” Bohannon’s pale eyes bored through the mate, gimlet- like. Leadspitter’s own fell. “Now then, mum’s the word. And here goes to put the stuff back, all proper and honest- like!” HILE Leadspitter keenly watched him, he got up and unlocked the door. Taking the suitcase, he swung across the slant of the main cabin floor to the girl’s cabin, knocked, got no answer, and entered. He set the case down beside the berth where she was lying; then for a moment he stood watch- ing her with evil and prehensive cal- culation. All at once the girl’s dark eyes opened; and Bohannon found himself enveloped in a gaze whose steady scrutiny, for all his bravado, just a little abashed him. If you don’t “My father?’ the girl asked, weakly. “Is he better?” “Miss,” replied the captain, with rather a failure of trying to render his tone sym- pathetic, “miss, I wish you was a little stronger. The news I got for you—” Her look widened. She struggled up and sat there trembling in the berth. “You mean—” Bohannon boggled the divulgation clumsily as an elephant trying to play a harp. “IT mean—don’t take it too hard, miss,” he mustered enough hypocrisy to condole, “I mean as how there’s things happen to all of us, now and again.” “You mean he’s dead?” “Well, his moorin’s has slipped, for a fact, in a manner of speakin’. His anchor chain has parted, I got to admit.” “Tf he’s dead, tell me!” *Ain’t that just what I’m doin’, miss? When I tell you he’s topped his boom, as you might say—parted his gear—”’ “Where is he?” she cried, and got to her feet, holding unsteadily to the side of the berth. “Where is he?” “Next cabin, miss. But you hadn’t oughta—” “Let me go to him! Let me go!” “Oh, all right.”” Then, as she tried to reach the door, he caught her arm, half supported her. “But don’t take it too hard. Not too doggoned hard, miss!’ He led her to the cabin where the dead man lay, and opened the door for her. “Don’t come in, please,” she whispered brokenly. “I just want to be alone with him, for the last time—alone . . .” ALF an hour on—a half hour during which Bohannon had sat herding his thoughts about rob- bery, Leadspitter, Bahia Blanca and the roaring Horn—the captain spatted out the last of several pipefuls and betook himself to the cabin of death. He knocked and entered. He stood a moment in the doorway, covertly smiling, his heart granitic with exultation that things were so aptly fall- ing to his hand. But— comnicloooks.com