Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

276 re) said the half-breed could fire if he had a chance before being ‘‘ bumped into hell.” That was the truth of the whole matter, except that the octoroon was not killed. He swayed, staggered forward as if auto- matically going through the process of tak- ing his ten steps, turning and firing. But he could not lift the empty hand. Instead he fell face forward. McCorkle warmed his cold palm with the gun-barrel—a comforting feeling. He turned to the girl—his flat huge face, flushed but sheepish in victory. . “Did you see that?” he asked rubbing the barrel in the manner of a man rubbing his hands in a satisfied way. ‘‘ A good dool now—waren’t it? Ay, what? Didn’t you like it? What did you want? Ain’t you smilin’? I won, didn’t I? Look at him lyin’. there groanin’. ‘Tryin’ to roll over. What—he didn’t turn? Why not? I said to turn after five steps. Didn’t I say five steps, Dorset?” ““T thought you said—” Dorset checked himself, grinning. ‘Sure you said, five, capting! "Eard you with me own ears.” “Vou said ten steps, monsieur.” Jac- queline spoke up softly but unable to hide a scathing contempt for this sort of combat. “Ten was it?” McCorkle exclaimed. “Holy cripes! Ten—! Thought I said five steps! What a mistake—phooey! Well, well—I took five and he was takin’ ten! Well, well! Anyways that’s the rea- son I didn’t kill him; I seen him standin’ on, on the same tack y’ might say. So I plugged him in the shoulder. Kept him from smashin’ away at me. No, don’t give him a swig, Wing. He’s all right lyin’ to. He won’t be snortin’ around so much. Leave him lie to for a spell.” . “Ought ’ave done him in, I say,” Dorset was whining. ‘ Yer’ll have more trouble than ever wiv him, now that yer’ve give him somethin’ real to grieve abaht. Finish the job, I say.” “That ain’t my way,” McCorkle said magnanimously. ‘ Now that I’ve got him on his back, I forgives him. That’s my way. But bein’ he might be rememberin’ the grievance—dnd turnin’ it over in his mind for to do me hurt, we’ll keep his gun for awhile. Keep temptation out of his ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. way—as the saying goes. Here, Dorset. You're a particular friend of the half-breed; you keep his gun for him. That’s fair.” Dorset accepted the weapon eagerly. ‘“‘ Oh, yes, capting! I’m a particular friend of Mr. Parson, I am! TI’ll see that he be- haves. Ill put a stop to his hanky-panky! I’m thankin’ yer, capting!” Jacqueline had knelt down by the side of the wounded man and put a glass of sherry to his lips. “Now then, my gal!” McCorkle said impatiently. ‘Is there any more dools you want me to fight for you?” “ Before God, no, monsieur!’’ the girl ex- claimed. “ This is enough!” “Enough? You're satisfied I’ve won your You don’t want me to bump off any one else then—for the sake of winnin’ you?” “* Monsieur! You have won this duel! It is enough. You are the bravest. There is no more necessity to prove that!” McCorkle beamed, his huge flat face scarlet and dripping. And then at the cli- max of his victory he again caught sight of that intrusive and menacing prisoner whom he had neglected to dispose of. He pointed to Cameron: ‘“ How about this cook here, ma’am? Might you’d like me to fight a dool with him?” ‘““No, no, monsieur! He is nothing to me! A stranger who came to this island unbidden. Lock him up, monsieur, if you will—as your prisoner. And in doing it you will confer a favor upon my grand- mother and myself. But if you consider © my own womanly feelings—I beg you not to shoot him down like a dog before my eyes! No duels, monsieur. You are su- preme in courage. No man can match you.” “T better bump him off anyway,” Mc- Corkle grunted with drunken persistence. “ Monsieur!” the girl cried, throwing herself between McCorkle and Cameron. ““T promised you that if you won me in fair fight, I would be yours. It is enough, monsieur. What more do you want? Take the treasures of this house. Take me. But shed no more blood, I beg you, monsieur, in God’s name!” The girl was bewitching. McCorkle feasted his eyes upon her flushed face, her dilated, flashing pupils, her luxuriant and CORNICE DOOK<S.COhn)