Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 124: what you’re looking at

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

Ye By PAUL SEVERANCE Cr ELKNUR set his jaw firm- ly. “Sorry, Mr. Forbes, but if they’re not swinging logs aboard this packet by to-morrow morning—l sail!”’ “They won’t work, captain,” the agent fretted. ‘ Money doesn’t even tempt them. I’ve sent four runners into the interior to bring out more hands. They may be here to-day, perhaps to-morrow—perhaps not for a week, if they come at all!”’ The Eastern Breeze was steaming slowly into port, a broad, crystal harbor of an obscure mahogany export station on the African Gold Coast. It was noon and the tropic sea was slick. Heat waves danced up from the steel plates of the vessel’s deck, colorless but real and visible as flame. Ashore, where a greedy jungle crept nearly to the water’s edge, there was a scanty clearing and a cluster of a half dozen low, 114 anemic buildings flanked by the native vil- lage of brown grass*kraals that shriveled in the sun. | Mr. Weldon Forbes, the exiled repre- sentative of the London shippers, was a small, lean, sallow man, white clad and helmeted. Burdened by the anxiety of the situation, he had been rowed far out to meet the approaching vessel and was on board with his troubles even before the port pilot. He laid his problem briefly before the skipper. The logs were ready, the ship was there, but no stevedores had come to load her. The two men paced the upper deck by the thwart ship railing. The agent stopped abruptly, his interest held by the picture on the forecastle head. ‘There stood a huge, gaunt negro, his long legs tangled in the chains of the railing and his torso stretched GEomichooks (S@)