Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 4, 1925 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

THE GOLD-DUST RAJAH. After all, I think that’s the best way out of it.” Lansdell uncorked the tiny phial. ‘“ Get back into the prau, Marcia,” he bade. She was pathetically undecided and looked up at him imploringly. “ But not to know anything,” she began; “and I might be able to help myself, Philip.” ‘““ Marcia!’ he pleaded. As she turned, Kwong Wing had grasped the outer edge of the bamboo platform, bringing the boat against the floor. Kneel- ing, his face raised, he waited for her to step back under the roof. ‘T don’t think this is best,” she mur- mured. ‘‘ There’s something about it I don’t like.” But Lansdell, crouching, had handed her the small dark pellet out of the phial. ‘“ Wray, tell Barker that she’s fainted—that we've got to go back. Go out and do what I tell you! J¥ray!” Marcia’s trembling fingers took the medi- cine and she placed it on her tongue. Wray was gone, and they could hear him as he shouted Barker’s name. “ He’s been like one of the family—al- ways,” she told Lansdell, the tears flooding her eyes. ‘‘ And, Philip, there’s nobody else any closer. If anything happens to me—” ‘Not that!” Lansdell exclaimed horri- fied. ‘‘ You don’t think he’d plan to—to—”’ ‘““Inherit?”? She was lying back against a plaited pillow, and Lansdell could see that her eyes were shut. The Malays had taken their paddles with them. Without waiting for Wray to re- turn, Lansdell stepped into the shallow water and turned the boat, heading it out. “‘ Shove!” he commanded. Kwong Wing was already shoving away, the end of his steering paddle planted against the platform edge. But he was able to come free of it, for the blade was in the hold of Barker, who had sprung down upon that lower floor with a crash that shook the whole structure. “Here!” he yelled. ‘ You can’t leave! What’re you thinking about?” Lansdell, waist-deep, turned himself about. Between him and the crowded shore was the long canoe, holding the sleeping figure of the now unconscious girl. Her 829 head had fallen to one side. Her face was pallid. Beyond her, through the ogee roof, crouched the Chinese, yellow-white as he clung to his paddle and uncertain whether to let go or be drawn back. Beyond Kwong Wing was Barker, grin- ning out at the man in the water. He was not alone on the platform. Beside him stood a figure which Lansdell, though startled, instantly recognized. It was short, stocky, naked to the waist. There was a bead-embellished cap on a bullet-shaped head. The lined face under the cap wore little tufts of stiff, black hair at either side of the long upper lip and on the chin. It was the face of a Malay. It was a cruel face. Its owner was wrapped round, from the waist down, by many folds of calico, and he held them tight about him with both hands. He spoke. ‘‘ Must come back,” he in- formed Lansdell, good-naturedly enough. “Ya! Nlust come.” Lansdell came, pushing the boat before him. In those folds was laying a revolver of a moder pattern, grasped by long, brown fingers. His own weapons were below the surface of the river, full of water and use- less. It was not a case of opposing one man—Barker. Here was a new opponent, an ally of Barker’s, and without doubt an able one. But by the solemn eyes in that tufted face, as well as by the tight-held cotton folded about him, Lansdell knew him. This was ‘ the holy woman!” CHAPTER VI. “ THE GAME IS ON.” HERE was something about the whole situation that had the strangeness of adream. This was Lansdell’s thought as he shoved the prau shoreward, watching that group on the platform as he came. That he and Marcia Oldham should be there on that forest-walled river; that they should have come in the company of men who were there to rob a peaceful village; that Wray should be a partner in the dis- honest and foolish enterprise—it was all past belief. lDOOlK