Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

a vb asia ee SE) pote ae SACU AN ely ok aed nik le ic . yn j ha! 14 vi ).*) 584 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, “How much Kester pay, what you t’ink?” ‘‘ Hundreds of dollars, I reckon.” “A’right. You gimme the leetle boy an’ I give you one ’undred dollar for ’im, ’ard cash money slap in yer ’and.” “One hundred? What the hell d’ye take me for? Kester ‘ll pay four hundred, or maybe five.” ‘One ’undred an’ one bottle o’ gin.” “Go chase yerself! D’ye take me for a fool?” “ A’right. Good-day.” _ Gabe walked off from the fire. He walked slowly, for he moved with his back to the way of his going and his face still toward Pete Woodhall. He continued to hold the heavy gun slanted across his chest. “Hey thar, hold on a minute!” cried Woodhall. The Maliseet shook his head in silence and continued to retire. The child darted from the lean-to, with a blanket trailing from his shoulders, and ran to him. “So that’s yer trick!” exclaimed Wood- hall, turning and making a jump toward his rifles which lay, each in its waterproof case, at the very back of the shelter of boughs. “Old on!” said Gabe; and though his voice was not loud, there was something peculiarly arresting in the tone of it. Woodhall held on. “What you want? Where you go to? asked Gabe. Woodhall turned, with a snarl that showed his teeth. His right hand was in the front of his coat. It came out quick as lightning and snapped up and back, and something flashed and whistled in the icy air. Light- ning, sure enough!—and the kind that strikes! But Gabe Loon was ready for it. He ducked to his knees and elbows, but without loosing his hands from the gun nor the thumb of his right hand from the right ‘hand hammer. | He was onto his feet again in a wink, without so much as a glance for the big knife sticking and waggline in the bole of the young ash tree behind him. He smiled at the look of helpless chagrin on Wood- hall’s face. “By ’ell! Dat make me damn mad! Now I got good mind to keep ’im for noting!” he cried. Shoot you, too, maybe, an’ say it was a fight for the leetle boy. The law swaller dat a’right, I guess, what?” “Ye got me whar ye want me, I reckon,” replied Woodhall heavily. “What d’ye cal’late to do about it?” CHAPTER XII. TRADE AND TROUBLE. NNABE LOON thought quick and hard G and deep. He realized that he had the bad man where he wanted him, for the moment, and that it would not be a very difficult matter for him now to take the rifles and go away with the boy. This would heal the old wound in his profes- sional vanity, be a fine tribute to the mem- ory of his great partner and at the same time give him every dollar of whatever sum Silas Kester would pay as a reward for the return of the child. It was a tempting idea, and a man more courageous and reckless than Gabe would have acted upon it. But Gabe looked ahead and put the temptation aside. He could make the get-away with the little boy and the rifles easily enough—but that would be all. Help, safety, lay many miles off—as far away as Archie McKim; and McKim, for all he knew to the con- trary, was still at Hell-an’.All carry on the main river bewailing the loss of his canoe and outfit and rifle. He had learned that much by listening-in on a woman with red hair. Safety, he calculated, lay too far off to be reached in a day’s march, or a journey of two days, or even of three. He could not travel fast with the child; and he could not go for three nights, or even for two, without a wink of sleep; and he knew what would happen the moment he indulged in a wink of sleep. Woodhall, who would keep close on his heels all day, would have him by the throat the minute his eyes were closed. The tempting idea was no good, unless—well, unless he shot Woodhall down where he stood, as he had suggested doing. He shivered slightly at the thought. Eomicbooks-com