Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 106: what you’re looking at

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

5/6 lanterns, without so much as a whisper of success. They neither saw nor heard any- thing of little Jacob nor anything of the man with the scarred face. Their search was for either or both, for Silas had told hurriedly of his visit from the fellow who had attempted te rob him in haying time, and of his suspicions. Mrs. Kester found the bow and several arrows, The Ingoldsbys arrived and straightway joined the hunt. The village got wind of the trouble, and a half dozen men and boys came and offered their services. The= wide intervale was searched, and its reedy bottoms and its barns and the gravel bars and sedgy shores. Shallows were waded back and forth and certain deep pools and. backwaters were dragged. Every field and pasture and tract of woodland within two miles and more of the house was searched carefully before sunrise. It was a pity that Gabe Loon had set out in pursuit of the kidnaper too soon to become aware of all that excitement, and yet if he had delayed his departure until the search had reached the river, days might have passed, or weeks, before he could have regained touch with his quarry. In the morning Joe Newsam and Archie McKim started upstream in a canoe, and Mr. Kester set out in the same direction in a light wagon; and other parties headed: downstream by water and road, and sev- eral took to the woods. Mr. Ingoldsby or- dered out the rural constables and sent a message to the police of the town. A re- ward of five hundred dollars was offered for the return of Jacob Kester, and one of three hundred for the capture of the man with gray hair and a scarred left cheek. Archie and Joe put ashore wherever they saw signs of human habitation, and made inquiries of every one they found concern- ing a boy of eight in a blue suit with a wide white collar, and a man with a scarred left cheek who called himself by several names. For a day or two they had no luck, but after that they met with scraps of encour- agement here and there. An aged couple recognized the man from Archie’s descrip- tion. “That would be Pete Woodhall,” said ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, the old woman. “ Gunflint Crick an’ there- abouts was his home off an’ on afore he run away. I ain’t seen ‘im but only once since Mr. Snider chased ’im off the river, an’ that was five days or a week ago maybe. He was headin’ downstream in a canoe that time; an’ I knowed ’im by the set o’ his shoulders an’ his holt on the paddle. I ain’t seen him come on back upstream; but he passed at night, like enough. He would if he was up to some divilment. If ye want to put ’im in jail, I hope to goodness ye catches ’im!” Then there was a Frenchman in a red shirt, who had last seen Pete Woodhall two or three weeks before and lost three dollars and sixty cents to him in a game of cards. He had not seen anything of a small boy;« but if they were carrying trouble for Pete Woodhall, he wished them luck. They left him waving his arms and recounting his loss of three dollars and sixty cents. Farther up they found an elderly man with a secretive eye and four large, savage dogs. This was at Pebbly Brook. He did not know anything, and told them so through a window, keeping his door shut. He was a poor old man who never saw nor heard nor did anything, but only waited pa- tiently for death. ‘“‘T see ye be the same old bag o’ tricks as ever, Barney Slump,” said Archie Mc- Kim, stepping close to the window. “ Bless my soul!” exclaimed Old Man Slump. ‘‘ Dandy Divil McKim!” “ That’s all right, Barney. Now take an- other think all to yerself. How long since ye last saw this skunk Pete Woodhall, or Steve Bent, or whatever ye call ’im? An’ which way was he headin’, an’ who was with *im?” ‘Wall, lemme cal’late. It was maybe two weeks ago last Sunday I last seen ‘im. He come downstream an’ tried to bum some grub offen me—but I know ’im! An’ then he heads upstream agin. He warn’t with nobody only the black dog that was a-ridin’ his back all along o’ me not trustin’ im who ain’t to be trusted.” “Tf ye’d trusted him, he’d of gone home with a red devil a-clawin’ his innards in- stead of a black dog on his back,” said McKim. “Ve an’ yer grub, Barney! IL 6A O Eomichbooks:co