Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

BUCCANEER BLOOD. that’s ‘ Belay!’ And you, too, Wing, you'll - break your neck starin’ thataway. Avast there, Parson! Stand off! This here’s a state occasion.” McCorkle lumbered up to his feet. “‘ Now, then, lady, I’m greetin’ yer. Here’s lookin’ at yer! Come down to me, and ole McCorkle will show ’em how a lady had orter be treated! No! Belay! What the hell are you doin’, Parson!” For some reason or other the sight of Parson standing up there on one side of the girl, and about to offer her his arm, incited McCorkle to a fit of white-hot rage. Par- son was an octoroon. escaped criminal. He was the offspring of the tidewater scum of Baton Rouge! And here finding himself on a grand staircase with a beautiful woman, he proposed to blossom out.as a gentleman! McCorkle never realized the boundlessness of his hate for this man Parson. ‘“‘ You damned, kinky-headed swine! You lousy half- breed! You sweatin’, yellow-blooded Afri- can! So you think you can give your arm to a lady comin’ down the stairs—is it!” McCorkle roared. He had an honest opin- ion that the very touch of Parson’s hand would be an insult to the girl. McCorkle indeed felt the necessity of etiquette, of a finely conducted ceremony. The ancient house had its effect upon him. He was not in a barroom. He was in the presence of the élite. Those superbly arro- gant ancestors were watching him. If he had not been drunk he would have had the disagreeable feeling that he was an un- washed hog let loose in a splendid banquet hall. Being drunk, he felt adequately equipped to meet the situation. Parson was an eighth black, and hence belonged to the same caste as the negro butler. Dorset was so covered with the grease of his mule engine that he besmirched any thing he touched. Wing was a palsied inebriate. There was only one gentleman of that quar- tette—and that was McCorkle himself. Jacqueline was frightened at what she saw. The four together—and so close to her—were far more terrifying than the dis- tant view she had had from over the balus- trade upstairs. She put out her hands im- pulsively and clung to Cameron’s arm. Parson was an - 267 That was the picture: the octoroon whipped into his place, slinking to the back- ground, a gun still in his hand, bearing upon the back.of Cameron. Then, out in the light, was the full length figure of Cameron, his wet pirate garb clinging to his superb and supple body, his head low- ered like a beast driven to bay and threat- ening a last stand with its mate. By her momentary qualm the girl had melted into the picture of which Cameron was the dominant figure. “So ho!” McCorkle cried, surprised enough, but not baffled. ‘‘ He’s good enough to take yer arm—ain’t he now! Whoever he is with them rags on, I don’t know. Can’t guess. But he’s fit to be your part- ner—ain’t he? Even though he’s a pris- oner! He won’t be fit ten minutes from now to be the partner of nobody! Lay to that, my pretty!” The incongruity of the situation appealed to McCorkle. It was dramatic; it was grim. Here was a beautiful lady on the arm of a condemned man. Her partner’s life—so McCorkle said to himself—would not last as long as a single one of the can- dies in that candelabrum at the opposite end of the table. Cameron, being con- demned to die, had assumed a certain fas- cination. McCorkle was delighted with the sight of both—the beautiful girl, and the man whom he was about to torture and kill. He took a swig, gulping, holding his glass as if to drink their health. He could not help but thrill at the splendid picture. “Two Creoles, b’God! Both of ’em!”’ he cried. “ Come on down—escort her to the table, skipper. That’s the way! Youre a Creole born—whatever y’are—or whatever them rags is supposed to mean. Parson—you half-breed skunk—stand by! Not too close to ’em. Don’t let her get a whiff of ye! Dorset, belay grinnin’ or I'll knock out yer teeth! Off with yer cap thar Wing and stand by!” They came down. With her hand upon that knotted arm, the girl felt a new power within her—a reassurance. She had al- ready tasted of the strength of that arm. Physically, spiritually, they must be stronger than these fulsome beasts. Physi- cally because of Ca ‘spiritually be- 7 Reco michooksecom