Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

502 The sound of his voice sobered him. Must keep cool! To give way to his thoughts would hasten delirium and— What was that? An answering hello? Couldn’t be; it was the echo of his own cry, or his ears were play- ing him tricks. Still—”’ He sat up and raised his voice again. Above the dull roar of the falls, his shout echoed and reéchoed mockingly as he listened, tense, trembling, with anxiety. There was no answer. This, then, was the edge of sanity— he was going crazy. Ha, listen! Faint- ly against the wind came an answering cry, and again he shouted, his voice quavering with a note of hysteria. IV. Five minutes later, in response to his guiding cries, there came a crack- ling of the underbrush; the bushes parted and framed the coarse features of Lew Quinn, his blue chin hidden under a frowzy black beard. Of all the men in the world, thought Toon, it had to be an enemy to find him thus. But this was no time for petty ant- mosities. “Thank God you came, Quinn,” he panted; “ Get this damn thing off, will you? Been here since sundown last night, and I’m about all in.” Deliberately, Quinn sized up the situation; noted the great trap that stuck grotesquely from the Indian’s head; noted the pain-drawn, blood smeared features; the wild light that shone in the inflamed eyes; then a cruel grin spread over his face. “ Can’t ye loose it?” he chuckled, as he rid himself of his knapsack in a businesslike manner. “Tf I could have, I wouldn’t be here,’ answered Toon. “ Better first chop out that staple that some damn fool drove chucko into that root, then get a skid for a lever.” “Told yer hosses, now,” grinned Ouinn. “ That ain’t the fust b’ar trap -T’ve saw, though ’tis the fust time I’ve ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, saw it ketch a critter by the head. I'll git ye out all in good time if ye’ll keep yer gab-trap klinked. Jest lemme “lone.” “ All right. Le’s not argue, only for God’s sake, hurry.” Now that relief was at hand the Quoddy’s reserve was fast slipping. Quinn caught up his belt hatchet and disappeared in the woods, while Toon adjusted his position so that the com- ing skid would get the best leverage. But what was his surprise to see that instead of a lever, Quinn had brought an armful of wood, and humming tunelessly, proceeded to build a fire. Though disappointed, Toon’ re- frained from saying anything for fear of arousing the other’s anger; probably he was going to heat some water to bathe his wounds. Of their differences he did not think; they were submerged by the present situation and Quinn would release him shortly. ye — breakfast?” grunted Quinn. ‘é a “Thought ye moughtn’t. [ll fix up a bannock.,” “'T’ hell with the bannock!” flared Nap. “ Get me out of this first.” “ By’m’by, kiddo. Don’t get peev- ish.” Quinn was in excellent humor. “ Peevish? Good God, do you think that a man thinks of breakfast when he’s caught like this?” “Sure! Why not?” grmned Quinn. “ Gotta eat if ye’r gonna live, ain’t ye? Bet yer belly thinks that yer gullet’s bruk off an’—haw, haw!” His chuckle developed into open merriment. “ Cripes, ye sure look funny settin’ thar! Some’at like a pitchur o’ them old Injun chiefs wropped in blankets and a funny headdress on. Haw, haw! Wonder what the gal will say when I tell her that I found ye caught in yer own b’ar trap? That yer last words were for her, and that me and you had buried the tommyhawk, arter I’d nussed ye, a-tryin’ to bring ye through, for her sake, and that for my trouble CORICLOO© (C <S) (C@)