Adventure, July 1, 1928 — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

THE ROARING HORN 91 ai “Oh, nothin’. Heave ahead, sir. Let’s put it to a survey!” Bohannon unstrapped the suitcase, which here or there showed charred spots. He opened the lock, raised the cover. “Mmph!” he grunted. “Only a female fit out, I reckon. Not much here! And what there is, it’s all like an old fireship’s garret, everythin’ on top and nothin’ handy!” His huge and tattooed hand pawed at feminine small wares and apparel. He was about to close the suitcase again, when his fingers touched metal. His half embarrassed ineptitude vanished. “Hello! What’s this, now?” he ex- claimed with an oath. “A gun?” It was not, however, a gun. As Bohannon dragged out the metal object, it stood revealed as a japanned dispatch box, with J. D. L. painted on its lid. “What the devil’s this?” the captain repeated. “Tt’s a tin box, sir.” “Oh, it is, eh? Thanks for tellin’ me!” Bohannon gibed, his scarred lip asnarl. “You’re a man of grand observation, Mr. Furlong. I ain’t blind. A box, yes. But what’s into it? That, ah, that’s the question now!” Setting the box on his desk, he turned a key still in its lock. “By Judas Priest, sir,” Leadspitter protested, “that’s mebbe sailin’ a bit too free, openin’ that there!” “Who knows but what the pistol’s in here?” demanded the captain. “I got the legal right to know. It’s my duty, by jolly, to know, and I’m goin’ to!” Whereupon, without further ado, he opened the metal box. 93> OR A moment they remained there, meshed in silence; a silence into which intruded only the creak of masts and yards, the whispering of cloven waters along the hull, the various voices of a ship at sea. But all at once— *Thunderin’ God!” the captain gulped. Leadspitter reached out, uncertainly touched the contents of the box, drew back again. The mate’s eyes were wide, his jaw hanging. The pipe fell, spark throwing and unheeded, to the floor. “By the jumpin’ Jehosophat!” he stammered. Bohannon fell to pawing over the cash. Under his rough and trembling fingers the sheaves of yellow backs crumpled, the bonds wrinkled. A lust of greed burned in his eyes, which had become those of a wolf. Eagerly he licked his lips. “Hell’s bells, Furlong—what a find!” “Tt’s all o’ that, by the Judas! Looks like a little million. But, but what d’you mean, sir, a find?” : “A find is a find, ain’t it, you lump- head? Money’s money!” “Yes, but that’s ’cordin’ to whose it is. And this here—it ain’t ourn.” “No, not now. But, it might be! Eh, what?” “Might be, sir? I—I don’t quite fathom it out. Where you drivin?” Silence again, while eye met eye, lips tightened. The captain’s scar had grown livid. He swallowed mechanically. “Are you a mouse or a man?” he shot at Leadspitter. “You'd oughta know! What’s on your chist? Heave it off!” “Pull up your braces and square your- self fore an’ aft, Mr. Furlong. Take your bearin’s. Let’s see how much guts you got!” “Well, sir?” “Who does all this here stuff belong to?” “Them two. An’ when the old ’un slips his wind, it’s the gal’s. I—I ain’t quite got the lay of it yet, sir.” “You ain’t got the wit of a louse!” Bohannan growled. “Just supposin’ that there gal—somethin’ was to happen her—” “Ah! Meanin’—” “You damn’ muttonhead! Supposin’—” and Bohannon’s voice lowered to hardly more than a thread of sound—“‘supposin’ some dark night she was to get lost over- board, or the like o” that?” “By God!” “We could take care o’ that part of it slick as pins. But there’d have to be two of us, savvy? One reports it. T’other comicloooks.com