Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 105: what you’re looking at

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

FLOOD. right, I'll eat it meself. I ain’t so stuck up about me grub as some folks.” “You are not my father. have a man like you for a father. as soon have any old Indian.” “Is that so? Well, that’s nothin’, That’s only what them Kesters has l’arned ye. Ye’d like me well enough if ye’d never been sp’iled by them two old fools!” “ They’re not fools! I want to go home!” I wouldn’t I’d just Pete Woodhall, torn between avarice and fear, was in a difficult situation. He was crafty enough, when not soaked with gins but now, although cold sober, he could not _ hit on a plan of action. So he continued to move furtively up the river. Silas Kester’s words concerning the mur- dered squaw echoed persistently in his ears. What was he to do? Kester had evidence against him, beyond a doubt; and, equally beyond a doubt, the had in“his own pos- session something very dear to Silas Kester. He knew, he had seen, how both the Kes- ters doted on their adopted son—his own son, The boy was worth money to him, if only he could think of a way of collecting the cash without falling into the clutches of the man who knew about the dead squaw and the ax and the silver chain and the little leather pouch. He cursed the blun- dering of fate that had placed both his profit and peril in the one pair of hands. As he could not hit on a plan of connecting with the dollars without risking a connec- tion with the gallows, he continued to as- cend the river to Gunflint Creek. Then he ascended the creek. Indian summer held until he reached one of his old familiar re- treats. Gabe Loon followed Pete Woodhall. That old Maliseet with the single-track mind and silent, simple ways and keen vision was the greatest little follower in three provinces. He came and passed like a shadow, without disturbing the under- brush through which he slipped much more than the water over which he slid his canoe. He needed but little sleep, and could take that little at any hour of the day or night. Sometimes he came close up to his quarry during the night, only to fall back from it before dawn. Sometimes he fol- 575 lowed afar, smoking his pipe in comfort; at other times he kept Woodhall and the little boy under his eye for hours together in broad daylight. Although he knew nothing of the history of the child, he guessed at Woodhall’s game. The child’s voice and clothing told him that he did not belong on Gunflint Creek nor in the guardianship of that disreputable woodsman. He knew that Woodhall was now playing even a more dangerous game than that of shooting holes in a warden’s canoe. He knew that kidnaping was a more serious crime than shooting a moose out of Season or stealing gin and food. Gabe was no fire eater. He shrank from physical conflict with his fellow man. His appetite for the chase was out of all pro- portion to his appetite for its logical con- clusion. He had no taste for fighting. The raw truth is, he was afraid of a fight. In this respect he was a coward. Threaten his with fist or knife or gun, and he vanished. But only to return. Crafty of- fenders against the game laws, men of bule- ing’ muscles and savage spirits, had awak- ened more than once to find their arms and legs secured by thongs and the avoider of conflict seated close at hand drinking their own tea. Gabe had no intention of contesting the possession of the child with Pete Woodhall without support. and watching and waiting and following were no trouble to him. He felt sure that he would learn more about Woodhall’s present game sooner or later—that the sit- uation would develop and produce or at- tract enlightenment if he let it take its course. He would settle that old score some fine day. In the meantime there was nothing to worry about, and the Gunflint Creek coun- try suited him as well as elsewhere. CHAPTER X. THE CHASE, CuILAS and Albina Kester, Sally Goodine and Archie McKim and Joe Newsam searched the black woods behind the smithy, the orchards old and new, and the barns, calling the boy’s name and waving GCOmicbooks He had plenty of time, ~ (E@) =