Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

688 “ Death in the grave!” gasped my com- panion. ‘‘ What a noise, what a noise!” [ shivered. *““ What do you suppose tat was?” asked the doctor when he had: recovered his com- posure. “ Couldn’t say,” I replied. “ It sounded like almost anything horrible.” “Hope it doesn’t come our way, that’s all.” Then I thought of Eleanor. She might have been within two feet of the thing that had filled Grame and me with horror and dread. “Come on,” I said, “ we’ve got to go in the direction of that sound.” “ Right. I wonder whether monkeys can scream like that?” The cry had come from our right. We made our way in that direction, moving cautiously. “Tt couldn’t have been very far away,” said Grame. ‘‘ Keep your eyes open.” I went first with the gun, and Grame fol- lowed with the knife. The shadows ahead were dense; we could see nothing in them. My ankle turned, and I sank on my knees with a muttered curse. Looking to see what I had stepped on, a familiar object lay be- fore my eyes; an object that filled me with excitement and hope. “Look at this,” I whispered. ‘A shoe,” gasped Grame. “ A woman’s shoe!” ‘‘ Eleanor’s,” I said. “I remember it.” ‘Then she came this way. It’s probable she isn’t far from us now. Go on.” We started off. ‘“ Better crawl,” grunted my companion. “ Believe I heard something ahead.” He was right. I rather felt than heard it. It was one of those vibrant, pulsing noises. ‘No crawling for mine,” I whispered in his ear. “I prefer to keep on my feet. I’d advise you to do the same.” The sound continued. After we had ad- vanced a short distance it was apparent that a clearing was in front of us. Streaks of moonlight were visible, and the woods were lighter. A moment later my guess was confirmed. We stood on the edge of a small clearing. In it lay numerous ob- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. jects, lit up by the moon. Grame drew up beside me, and we stood gazing, not daring to breathe. CHAPTER IX. THE MISSING BOAT, OW long I would have stood thus I do not know. Grame had more presence of mind, and drew me be- hind a large live oak. We looked at each other in silence. ‘Did you see her?”? asked Grame. “No,” I replied, did you?” “ No.” “Well, we’ve got to find out whether she is there, and which one she is,” I whis- pered, almost to myself. The noise I spoke of before still persist- ed. I gradually realized what it was—the sobbing of a woman. I whispered my con- viction to Grame, and he agreed. “She is evidently there, and awake. We must attract her attention, without awaken- ing the rest. We’ve got to sneak her away if possible; they’re too many for gun play. How many cartridges have you?” “About twenty,” I answered. “Well, you’d get about ten apes, and then they would get us all. Save your gun for use if they wake up. How can we at- tract Eleanor’s attention without arousing the suspicions of the rest?” I thought quickly. “We might try whistling a tune. If the apes did near it the chances are they would think it was a bird.” “ All right, try it,” whispered Grame. I began to whistle “ Good Night, Ladies.’ Why I picked this particular tune is more than I can say. It was a weird scene. There we were in the very lair of a band of savage apes, and one of us was whistling “Good Night, Ladies!” It is far from a cheerful melody at best; under these cir- cumstances it was positively eerie. I shall never hear the tune again without a shud- der. But its smooth air had effect. The sob- bing ceased. My glance roved from one prostrate form to another in an effort to lo- cate Eleanor as soon as possible. She had 3A COMMICLOokKs (C@