Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

FLOOD. could not possibly be in sight of his smoke even if he were still on his trail—and whined and blustered and complained all day to his son. The child said very little in reply, but he thought a great deal. ‘“Whar’s yer tongue?” cried the man after hours of one sided talk. ‘‘ Ain’t ye got one? What ye sulkin’ about? You act like it was my fault ye’re here—like it was all my fault! Yer ma was like that— dumb! Sulky an’ dumb, as if it was my fault I wasn’t rich. “D’ye think it was my fault you floated away on the flood? If Kester hadn’t treat- ed me worse’n he’d treat a dog, ye’d’ be snug back in that big house now. But I’m yer pa, an’ don’t forgit it! It’s easy enough to be good if ye’re rich, If I had Kester’s farm an’ money, an’ he was poor as I be, ye’d call him good an’ me bad? ‘“ An’ whar’d he git his farm an’ his money? His pa give it to ‘im; an’ his eran’pa give it to his pa. But my pa didn’t give me so much as a dollar even! But if he’d had his rights he would of. Tf us Woodhalls hadn’t been robbed an’ cheated by them Kesters an’ Ingoldsbys in the old days, ye’d be glad enough to have me for yer pa now. I know what I’m sayin’. “Say somethin’, can’t ye? Ain’t I treated ye right? What’s wrong with me? I’m yer pa, an’ a better man nor Silas Kester any day—only poor. Say some- thin’, or I’ll give ’e a lick with a stick!” “What shall I say?” “Say I’m yer pa.” “Vou are my father—but I don’t be- lieve it.” “What’s that? Ye don’t believe I’m yer pa? Take that back!—swaller them words!—or I'll tan yer hide! That’s what the Kesters learned ye—to despise yer poor father—is it? Take it back, or VU lam- baste ’e with this here stick! I’ve stood all I kin of yer sulks an’ airs!” “T won’t. You are bad. You are a coward. You said you were a soldier—and you never were—so you are a liar.” — Woodhall snarled and made a grab with his left hand, only to miss by an inch. The boy darted out of the lean-to and around to the far side of the fire. The man cursed and leaped after him, stick in hand. 583 He made one leap, then halted as if he had been hit in the face. The small figure of an elderly man in a foxskin cap con- jronted him. The elderly man had a round, wrinkled, flat, swarthy face and very bright” black eyes. He held a double-barrelled gun in the correct position of port. “ How do,” said Gabe Loon. Gabe’s voice was steady and his manner was assured. He was no longer afraid of Pete Woodhall, for he had been listening to the kidnaper’s talk for more than an hour and had grasped the situation. “You!” gulped Woodhall. ‘“‘ Gabe Loon! Thought ye was dead an’ buried.” ** Nope,” said the ohter, “Come along in outer the cold. Pete, come here. JI was only foolin’.” “You weren’t fooling—and my name’s Jacob,” cried the child, whose spirit was now thoroughly aroused. Also, the sight of the elderly stranger with the gun gave him a sense of protection. Gabe turned to the child. he said. ‘“‘ Come ’ere.” The boy obeyed. “You go set in yer blankets nice an’ warm,” continued Gabe. The child eyed him steadily for a second or two, then returned to the little shelter of boughs and sat down and drew a blanket around him. “How you git “im?” asked Gabe of Woodhall. “ How? He’s my own son, that’s how!” said Woodhall. “ Vou t’ief im from down river.” “Thief him? He’s my own, I tell ’e! He was stole from me, the year 0’ the big freshet. But how does it consarn you, Gabe Loon?” ae “ You don’t want ’im.” “T got a right to him if I do; an’ that’s me own business!”’ ‘How do?” “ Silas Kester want ’im more nor you, maybe.” ““ Maybe so. git ’im.” “ Sure t’ing! You take ’im back to Kes- ter and collec’ the money, what?” “How the devil! Kester ’d jail me, that’s what would happen.” Kester ‘Il have to pay to Eomichbooks (S@) ian te | a) ica e, lee ¥ YASS 1 DOE EN CORY SOMES TOM CWI Ae? oy fos a> Sea 4 ’ PP TOC as AP \ a Wilt Fi