Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

GOLD. head. Take it, but don’t hurt my poor dear father! Take it—and go. We won't stop you. We'll never raise a finger to harm you. We forgive you everything! “Take it all—take me! I'll go with you, anywhere. [I'll sing in the camps and make more, only I beg you spare that poor helpless old man!” Swope heard only a part of her gasps. He was already at the cask. Tom Brass, having dashed a pail of water on the coals, followed hard on his heels. Even the negro, forgetting for a moment the blisters on his chin and throat, leaped toward the cask like a hungry beast. They were like the sharks that dart after chunks of blub- ber when a dead whale is brought alongside. It was one of the ordinary ten-barrel casks in which provisions were stowed on the outward-bound journey, and oil on the return home, God willing. In this case the cask was empty., But old Joshua had coopered it down. Fever- ishly the three men knocked off the top. The negro held a lantern aloft. Brass peered in, the light shining up on the ghastly mask and popping red eyes. Swope, whose caste as a ship’s officer always kept him aloof while the others did the work, was now at one with his henchmen. They were not so much like sharks. Three rats at a refuse barrel is a more appropriate figure of speech. Swope reached down with both hands, bringing up a carpet bag, and groaning with the weight of it. Brass with his longer reach was able to scogp up some of the rawhide bags. They spilled the stuff out on deck, emptying the contents of all the bags and kneeling down with the flame of the oil lamp lighting their frenzied eyes. A dull yellow glow beat up into their hot faces. For a moment they stared, eyes bulg- ing, lips parted in amazement. The negro’s powerful snow-white teeth were the color of brass, his eyes yel- low flames. ‘The cooperer was feeling 237 the stuff cautiously as if it might burn his fingers. Swope, the most eager of the three, darted up and his head and shoulders disappeared again into the darkness of the big barrel. He emerged with his hands full of leather purses, rawhide bags, buzzard quills. ‘These he cast down to the deck before the two forecastle rats. “Hold the lantern. ‘There’s more! A fortune!” When they had cleaned the barrel out the treasure lay on the deck like a camp fire heaped with ashes and smol- dering coals. It seemed as if the dull yellow light between decks, casting the hulking shadows of the three men had come from that one source—the pile of gold. — “The girl—where is she?” Brass asked suddenly. “Aft there with the old lubber,” said the black. “She'll be up to tricks, Swope,” Brass said hoarsely. “‘ They won’t let this stuff go easy.” “ Bring her here,” Swope said with- out looking up. He was trying to es- timate how much wealth that pile rep- resented. It would*have to be divided. Brass and the black would want a good slice. And there was the angel-faced doughboy up above. Well, he could take what was left. Still the treasure would have to be spht up. And this, Swope reflected, was unbearable. It was a huge sum— huge enough to get the lust for gold coursing through his veins. For the moment he had completely forgotten the girl. She could have fled ashore for all he would have remembered. Luckily he had that nerve-stricken skel- eton, Tom Brass, with him. The two henchmen came back bring- ing the girl and the skipper into the circle of light. ; “ What did you do to get this swag?” he asked, thrusting his pinched face upward. “ She sang hymns,” Brass said impa- ECOMEE DOOKS (E@)