Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

OS RT ae §) eee OP NEN t wie OT > prin Svar leer as = 3 =F 578 heels. He and the man with the crooked leg clasped hands cordially. The woman was forgotten. ‘“Set down, set down!” cried Charlie, with a fine bustle of hospitality. “ You too, lad. Wall, Archie, I ain’t set eyes on ye for a lifetime. Not since that night ye beat the jumpin’ Frenchman. Hell, but them was the days! “ That was the very identical same night I got this here leg all busted up—an’ would of had my vitals cut out into the bargain but for the way you hove them thar man- eatin’ Quebecers ‘round an’ dinted the land- scape with ’em. Holy mackerel, but them was the days! ‘‘ There was reel men in these here woods when ye was cock o’ the river, Archie McKim. Now it’s diff'runt. Nothin’ but sneak thieves an’ cheap poachers an’ gin- swillin’ card cheats nowadays.” Archie found a stool to sit on and Joe an empty box. Charlie Dix hopped to a corner of the room and soon hopped back with a bottle in his fist. There were tin mugs on the table. _ “ That’s fresh spring water in the bucket behind ye, lad,” he said to Joe. “‘ Dip us out a pitcher of it.” Joe complied with the request. Liquor and water were poured by all three. “ Here’s to ye, with never a sorrow nor need for to borrow,” chanted the lame man, flourishing his drink. “ Bless yer soul an’ damn yer troubles,” returned Archie. “Good health,” said Joe. All drank with simultaneous crooks of elbows. ‘Where ye been all these years?” asked Dix. ‘““Way down river, way down to Lob’s P’int,” replied McKim. “What ye doin’?” “ Farmin’, Hired out. Been with the same boss ever since I quit choppin’ an’ drivin’ an’ sackin’ logs.” ‘“¢ Married?” “Not me.” “ Ver lucky! An’ what’s brung ye back onto white water?” ‘“‘T be lookin’ for Pete Woodhall, or Steve Bent. Reckon Woodhall’s his name. Son ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. o’ Old Beardsley Woodhall, I wouldn’t wonder—the queer feller who got into trouble for sellin’ rum to the Injuns an’ takin’ skins out o’ more traps nor his own.” “ Sure, that’s the man. I know ’im. Had a wife an’ starved her to death—that’s Pete. What d’ye want ’im for? Ye ain’t a game warden, I guess.” ‘“ He’s stole a little boy, an eight year old—Silas Kester’s little boy. Joe Newsam and me—Joe works for Kester, too—want that thar little boy.” ‘“What’ll happen to Woodhall if ye catch ’im?” : “Plenty; an’ Kester’ll do the right thing by the man who finds the boy or catches Woodhall. Even if we did it, me an’ Joe here, thar’d be a hundred dollars an’ maybe more for anyone who helped us do it. Ain’t that right, Joe?” ‘“ Dead right!” replied Joe. “ I’m willin’ to take my share of the reward outer that scar-faced skunk’s hide.” The lame man leaned forward in his chair. ‘*“T ain’t seen him for a week, or maybe a mite more,” he said in a low but eager voice. ‘He was outer this country for years— cleared out the summer o’ the big flood— an’ come back this year, along about Au- gust. If he’s fetched the boy up-stream, then I bet a dollar he’s up Gunflint Crick. He’s got more ’n one hidin’ place up that crick. Ye ain’t forgot Gunflint Crick, Archie?” “TI logged on her one winter. Never been up in summer time, far’s I kin re- collect—but I know whar she runs into the river.” “Gimme a pencil an’ a bit o’ paper an’ I'll show ye whar to hunt for Pete Wood- hall.” No one had a pencil in his pocket, and ne one had so much as an old envelope in the way of paper. Joe hunted about the shack and found a paper bag that had once contained sugar, and Archie fished a scrap of charcoal out of the front of the rusty stove. With the charcoal, Dix drew a map of Gunflint Creek on the bag. It wasn’t a work of art, but it wasn’t despicable. [i was not drawn to scale, but approximate distances between important points were COPME OO|KS5EO)