Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

250 Dorsey was facing the two men. He glanced over his shoulder—and there it was, the pistol sticking out of the rail like a belaying pin with some new- fangled sort of handle. For all he knew the men were look- ing straight at it. How could they help seeing it? But their eyes were completely and intensely engaged at focusing upon three other points: upon Dorsey’s face; upon the hand bag, and upon the wide sweep of the horizon, for another sign of coming attackers. The pistol just stuck there, in full view, unnoticed, ready. As Dorsey had confidently expected, both men shoved their guns into him. The negro stayed behind him, press- ing his gun muzzle into his back the moment he set foot on deck. In front of him was the doughboy looking up with a broad, triumphant grin. His white oval face, dim enough in the moonlight so that his skin blem- ishes were invisible, was the face of a Raphael cherub. “ Sorry, Mr. Sydney Duck, you was one of us, and you helped us. But the game’s changed since we saw you last.” | “Dash it all, what the devil does this mean? What? My hands up? | say, this is an outrage!” «Take his gat, Slushy.” The boy in this crisis had proved himself the master. The giant negro was only a henchman. Slushy obeyed eagerly enough. “What's this? Taking my gun? I say, this is rotten! You blighters!” “Oh, yes, I dare say!” the dough- boy mocked in his high voice. “ Bally rotten. But not rotten for us. What’s in that bag?” | “That’s my affair. you—it’s my affair.” “ Set it on deck.” Dorsey obeyed. The boy opened it, while his black companion looking over the shoulder of his prisoner, peered eagerly at this new windfall. Nothing for ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “Tt’s gold all righto, Slushy. Nug- gets, and gold dust! Not bad!’ “Ah declare!’ the negro exclaimed. “More gold! How much is there in this country? Everybody packin’ it around in satchels! Lawdy!” “Look here, you buffleheads! You can't touch a grain of that.” “Oh, we can’t, hey?” the=—bey laughed. “ Why not? That’s what I’d like for to know.” “Tt’s mine.” : “Oh, no, it ain’t. It’s mine,” the boy said softly. “ What-all you mean, sucklin’?” the negro interrupted. “It’s for the gang. Swope and me and Brass.” “You think so?” the doughboy shot back. “Well, Swope don’t get a whiff of this stuff. It’s for you and me, Slushy. Punch yourself; you’re snor- in’ again.” “For me and you!” the negro ex- claimed. His face still peering over Dorsey’s shoulder was a mask of in- credulous anticipation. He licked his massive lips. “ What you mean by that, chile?” . “Just what I say. have to know.” “You're pretty wise for a little chile!” the negro exclaimed, his mouth watering. “ Outrageous!’ Dorsey was grum- bling. ‘“ Sticking me up like this when I’m one of the set! Beastly!’ “ What-all will we do with this gen- ‘leman?” the negro asked of his newly found master. “ Kill him.” “Hold on! What’re you talking about?” Dorsey cried. ‘ Take the gold. Take it and be damned. I can get all | want. But don’t shoot. Don’t be silly. Why, Swope will hear the rumpus, and then how much of this stuff will you get?” “That there’s a point, ‘Ah do de- clare!” the negro said. “Of course it’s a point. Don’t ever do this trick. Let me go. I’ll go peace- ably. I won’t make a sound. Swope Swope don’t Gomichbooks (E)