Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 4, 1925 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

THE GOLD-DUST RAJAH. baskets that held the fighting cocks, that lone, motionless figure of the veiled woman, and—most fascinating of all—the slender, white-clad figure of that shadowed one, to whose fair hair and delicate beauty they paid the tribute of their steady staring and a very din of admiring exclamations. She stared back at them, reading the friendly approval, trying to examine each one of them in turn as carefully as she, her- self, was being examined by them. Now her prax was made tight to the huge, part- ly submerged root of a tree, and her Malays were on land. Only the Chinese, Kwong Wing, remained aboard that last boat of the eight, still seated on his slippered heels, a cigarette between his right thumb and forefinger. That crowd on shore had been greatly augmented by the swarm of Malays out of the boats. The paddlers, however, staved on the upper part of the cleared strip of bank, gathered about the heaps of freight taken from the canoes and the baskets filled with birds. These last, roused by being taken ashore, were making a show of life, squabbling even, stretching wing and legs, and noisily anticipating the inevitable bath and meal of corn and maize. Marcia, as she waited quietly, became aware, soon, that once more the crowd of Dyaks was parting to let some one through. She could hear the voice of a man speaking in a strange language which was not Malay —a voice like that of a white man. Next, at the center of the low-statured savage gathering, she spied the helmet of a taller man. Then over the heads of the brown people she caught sight of his face. It was lowered a trifle, for he was smil- ing down at those whom he was gently put- ting aside. It was shaded by the green lin- ing of his head covering. For a moment she could not see whether he was young or old. Another, and he came fully into sight, a tall, slim, young man in a khaki shirt and tropic shorts, with an empty holster on his right thigh. Where she sat, in the gloom of that cabin roof, he could not easily make out her fea- tures. But he saw at once that it was a white woman in the last pvaz, and he hastily doffed his helmet. showing a head of thick 807 hair that was even lighter than her own, and that contrasted strangely and striking- ly with all the bare and the partly covered black heads that were circled about him tossing. He halted and, helmet being off, squinted against the sun as he waited gravely for her to speak. His skin was bronzed, his hair was rumpled and longish; ragged, too, as if he cut it himself. Yet he was so little changed that she recognized him instantly, and once more crouched forward under her roof, staring up and holding to the gunwale. ‘“ Philip Lansdell!” Additional color swept his face—the red of astonishment. Then his grave eyes, which were dark-blue, lighted with joy. ‘“'You—you know me?” he demanded, as if scarcely able to believe the voice. ‘‘ A— a friend of mine?” He leaned farther. She went forward upon her knees, and the sun shone on her head and lighted her face. ‘‘ It’s Marcia!” she told him. ‘‘ Marcia Oldham— Oh, Philip, how wonderful to meet you here!”’ His voice shaken, he breathed an excla- mation of amazement under his breath, stepped into the stream edge, bent and seized her by the hand. “ Marcia!” was all he could say. ‘ Marcia!” Sull grasping his hand to steady her, she rose to her feet. All the eyes that were watching them were forgotten as she stared and laughed and breathed her own amaze- ment. “Of all people, you/ Why, Philip, what under the sun are you doing up this river!” ‘“What are you doing up it?” he chal- Jenged, laughing back at her happily. ‘‘ Traveling for pleasure. But do put on your helmet in this sun.” ‘* Put on your hat,” he returned. ‘I’m a lot more accustomed to this sun than you are.”” As the Chinese, having dived under the cabin roof after the hat and with some of the swiftness of a darting fish, reached along the roof to hand it to them. Lansdell took it and gave it to Marcia with a bow. She put it on, then reached for his hand again, since the prau was rocking. ‘ Philip Lansdell,” she cried, ‘‘ I’m what uncle calls bowled over!” His helmet was on. From under it he Conn lDOOlK