Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

FLOOD. despised him and had struck him again and again! Ah, he would break that spirit! He had broken it in the child’s mother. Gabe struggled, flat there on his back. The child cowered against the far end of the trench, sobbing, Gabe’s struggles became feebler. The child raised and turned his head, rubbed away freezing tears, choked down his sobs and saw, by the glow and flicker of the fire, his friend’s moccasined feet and thin legs twitching and writhing, and the enemy’s long back humped forward terribly. For a few seconds he stared, motionless, and then, suddenly, he knew what was happen- ing. He understood. Fear and weakness left him. He stood up, lifting at the same time the nearest thing at hand—a rifle in.a canvas stocking. He lifted it in both hands and went forward, noiseless on the snow, and struck. The stroke fell with but little more force than the weight of the rifle; and it did not fall straight. It struck Woodhall’s right shoulder. Woodhall pitched forward with an oath, turned instantly with a face to haunt one’s - nights, leaped to his feet and struck with clenched fist. The child fell a yard away and lay still. Then Woodhall turned again, and again dropped upon the half strangled old man. Archie McKim and young Joe, bedded down for the night in a thicket of small spruces and restless with the cold, were awakened from shallow sleep by ‘the report of agun. They were up in a moment. Within thirty seconds they were off, Archie in the lead. It was not long before Archie caught a pulse of red fire shine low among the crowded black shapes and shad- ows of the forest. Their speeding snow- shoes clicked faintly now and then, and padded softly, and knocked up little spurts of dry snow. Gabe Loon’s twisting lips parted at last, his eyelids flickered and his head jerked back convulsively; and Woodhall laughed: and dug his thumbs deeper. Just then something caused Woodhall to look up— but too late. 7165 He was struck and hurled back by great hands on the ends of arms like a horse’s legs. A momentary vision of wild whiskers and flaming eyes had been his; and then he landed. He struck a pair of snowshoes, seized them without thought and hurled himself out of the trench and into the deep snow and tangled brush. He leaped, stumbled, plunged. A shot rang out and something zipped close beside him. He dodged to the left, stumbled into the snow weighted lower boughs of a great fir, staggered up and plunged again. He crawled a little way, half smothered by the deep snow; then paused at last in his desperate exertions long enough to slip his feet into the thongs of the snowshoes. Then he Tan. CHAPTER XV. THE END OF THE CHASE. NABE LOON rolled this way and that in the trampled trench of snow in his painful efforts to refill his lungs. Be- yond smiting him once or twice on the back and shouting a few words of encouragement, there was nothing for the rescuers to do but let him roll. So the rescuers turned their attention to little Jacob, who lay motionless with blood on his face. It was at sight of that blood that Archie fired blindly, but with a scald- ing desire to kill, in the direction of Wood- hall’s flight. The boy came around in a minute in Archie’s arms. Joe Newsam washed the small face tenderly with snow, discovering the injuries to be nothing more serious than a swollen nose and a cut lip. Gabe caught up with a few gulps of breath at last, staggered to his feet and fair- ly devoured the frosty air, then sat down with beth hands at his throat and his eyes blinking. ‘Damn near t’ing!”’ he remarked, at last, rubbing his windpipe. Then his right hand went to his breast, deep, and fumbled about in the depths. He withdrew it and stared about at the O Eomichooks (S@)