Adventure, July 1, 1928 — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

THE ROARING HORN 93 third is what you get, and that’s a damn’ sight more ’n you deserve, too, me thinkin’ up the whole scheme and all. One third, all snug and tidy. Take it or leave it! Well, what say?” A moment, it seemed that Leadspitter was minded to contest. But the cap- tain’s brow was heavy with menace. He threatened. “You're liable not to get a cent, if you don’t speak up lively!” “All right, sir,” the mate conceded. “Have it your own way. One third. That’s sixty for my cut, anyhow. An’ them there stones?” “Same share. But—” TIMID knocking’ at the door checked him. “Who the devil’s that?” “Me, sir,” sounded Abey Buzzard’s voice. “I just wanted to say, sir, the old man—it’s all off with him.” “Kicked the bucket, you mean?” “Yes, sir. Thought you’d oughta know.” “Allright. Sheer off!” To Leadspitter he muttered, “I hope, by jolly, that old fool of a stewart ain’t noticed we got ‘the suitcase in here!” “He don’t notice nothin’,” the mate hardly more than whispered. “He don’t notice not even the sun, don’t know he’s alive. I ain’t worryin’ none about Abey!”’ Already Bohannon was tying up the gems in the buckskin bag, replacing bag, money, bonds much as they had been, in the metal box. He closed the box and locked it, then shoved it back into the suitcase which he tightly strapped. A moment he pondered, with another and a new idea pulling him by the ear. Lead- spitter watched him keenly; he smeared sweat from his forehead, heavily beaded, and huskily breathed— “Man Aloft, but it’s hot here!”’ “Harkee, Mr. Furlong,” the captain suddenly spoke. “You and me, we’re pardners mto this here, now, one third for you and two for me. That’s a say so, both of us, and stands. But I’m thinkin’ this here may not besuch a picnic, at that. It’s all up to you to keep a stopper on your jaw. If this here, if any breath o’ this money now, was to get forrard—” “Among them beggars forrard?”’ “That’s it. If they was to suspi- cion it—” “You mean they might start a manus? Mutinize, on us?” “You’re a good guesser. We might have a racket with ’em, all right. That gang o’ hell benders, they’d tear the hearts out of us through our teeth, to get the stuff; yes, and the livers, too! And you can lay to that, solid.” “A lot they could do!’ truculently re- turned the mate. “You can’t never tell what they might do! So you just be careful and double- reef your tongue, savvy? It’s a fact we got all the guns.” Bohannon glanced at the ship’s armament suspended above. “But our aft guard is only me and you, Peter Mayes and old Abey. Course, we could count on Bosun Saltash and a few o’ the stiddiest men. But forrard there’s fifteen or more as hard cases as ever I see in one bunch. What’s more, there’s one of *em—” “You mean that black livered cod, Tyson?” “Right! He’s got brains, that lad has Most of ’em don’t know enough to lap salt,” Bohannon judged, “but if they was torched up and led by Tyson— And you’ve got to log him as a smart ’un. He'd be in our wake, sure as shootin’. He’s got guts, too. He’d tackle hell with half a pint o’ water. Ain’t much like his uncle, damned old yeller spined coward! And—” “So you admit as how old Jason Mel- lish zs his uncle, for a fact?” “What’s the use denyin’ it, to you? No odds, anyhow. All as matters is Tyson. With a scrapper like that—” “Nothin’ to hinder Tyson takin’ a high dive too, some night, is there?’ “Not,” the captain replied, “not if we was put to it, proper. But there ain’t no use takin’ long shots. The wind’s hangin’ from a good quarter, for us. Let’s keep it so. There ain’t no use takin’ chances.” comnlicloooks.com