All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

THE ONE GIFT. 43 had said, when they were alone. She looked at Lathrop through the gloom. Lathrop had watched the Indian retreat- ing toward the camp. ‘“‘ He’s putting the fire out.” “We are pursued.” ‘* Pursued!” She sketched the events of the past few days. While she still spoke, Bhue Otter had returned. He stood a few paces from them, looking out over the dark infinity of swamp. “ Blue Otter,’’ Muriel had called. ‘‘ This is a friend.” Blue Otter and the white man had shaken hands. The three of them stood there together now. ‘White men — they come,” said Blue Otter softly. “I’m stuck in the mud,” said Lathrop, after a long interval. “There wasn’t enough water to go far- ther even with the dugout,” said Muriel. “Tt looks like a fight,” said Lathrop. “You no fly — without water?” asked Blue Otter. “No fly,” Lathrop answered. “ My machine—you savvy—start like boat—like duck swimming— He paused as he saw Blue Otter raise his head slightly in an attitude of watch- fulness. He stood there for a while mo- tionless, looking out over the mysterious infinity of morass. To one who knew all the circumstances it would have been as if Blue Otter had surprised the secret of the great serpent—he who controlled the flow of the waters in the canoe trails, in the wide lagoons; he who at will could draw the waters away into the underground riv- ers of the Ka-Hetlee and cause them to flow forth again. “No water—no fly away again!” Even this supreme instrument of the white man’s magic was subject to the dic- tates of the red man’s friend and -arth- god; and he,. Blue Otter, alone had the power to cause the great serpent to grant the needed flood. That could be “ the one gift.” “Perhaps it is going to rain,” said Muriel. Lathrop laughed unhappily. “ It would have to rain a week to lift my old boat out of the mud. There’s not a foot of water where she lies.” “Tf there was water,” said Muriel, ‘‘ we could all fly away together.” ‘““Not all of us together,” said Lathrop. “The boat will carry two only. I’ll have to get you to Miami—where your father’s gone.” ‘And leave Blue Otter?” ‘We'll come back for him—round those bandits up.” Blue Otter was listening, but still with the air of one who listens for other things. “No water!” he murmured, and he spoke in Seminole. For a space no one spoke again. The wide silence of the ’Glades closed in about them. But Blue Otter, like a restive horse. was also alert to the problems of the earth about him. . “You hear?” he asked. ‘ Over there!” With a slim hand he gestured toward the west. He listened again. They all listened. There for a while it seemed as if they were the only people in the world. The clouds had lowered. The lightning had stopped. Even the marsh-lights had disappeared. The silence was absolute. Then both Mu- riel and Lathrop heard the sound that Blue Otter had heard—the baying of a brace of hounds. The sound seemed to release some spring that had helped the girl keep a grip on her- self. A shiver went through her body, and suddenly Lathrop had put his arms about her. At that she broke down utterly. Her face was against his shoulder. She was weeping like a hurt and exhausted child. Lathrop dropped to one knee and _ brought her close. “I wanted to get back to my father,” she sobbed brokenly. ‘ And I was so sorry the way I acted toward you.” “We'll see that you'll get back all right,” he said. And he kissed her. But he was wondering about many things, quelling some doubt in his own heart. His machine was as helpless on the ground as a condor would have been with broken legs, or as a duck with its feet in a trap. He knew the wastes that lay about them cCoOmiclbooks C©