Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

SCISSORED. in stickin’ by ye, that ye’d willed the ‘silver’ to me and her, for a weddin’ present. Hm’m!” Toon’s eyes widened in growing horror as in the harsh cachinnation that emanated from the bulbous lips, he sensed the mind of a madman; a fiend incarnate that would laugh at a fellow being under such conditions. “You—you blue-chinned devil,” he cried, “ you set that trap!” Quinn nodded and grinned compla- cently. “And I'll tell the cock-eyed world that it was some set, too. It was me as tripped that deadfall at the head 0’ Gull Pond, so’s ye’d be too late to run the Hossrace afore dark, and I fig- gered ye to camp here or at Doghole Logan, where I had ’*nother sweet sur- prise waitin’ for ye. I’ve been watch- in’ of ye, off ’n’ on, for nigh two months, studyin’ how best to snag ye. It was only a matter of time, anyway, afore I stuck the harpoon into ye and twisted it. And last night ye were hooked. Haw, haw! Lor’, how ye kicked and squished around!” So! Toon’s teeth clicked and though the blood coursed through his veins like the troubled waters of a spring freshet, by a supreme effort he fought down the impulse to try to reach that sneering face; fought down the primi- tive rage that welled within him to strip that hide of his into shreds. In- stead he masked his feelings beneath that emotionless exterior with which an Indian is blessed—or cursed—and regarded Quinn soberly. That a man could watch even a wild beast suffer like this was more than he could understand. And this fiend had watched: him since last night—had probably slept tranquilly, while he writhed and tossed in agony. God! He couldn’t be human! If he’d only come near enough—if he could only reach that belt hatchet stuck in a tree scarcely six feet away! There was murder in his own heart right then. . 503 His brain afire with a thousand thoughts, the muffled drone of Quinn’s voice, triumphant, gloating, drummed in his ears. 3 “So ye thought ye’d bruk me, huh? Thought I’d forget a sock in the mush and the tickle of a shiv ag’in’ my jugu- lar?’ His voice rose shrilly. “ Why, damn yer pelt, I’ll never forget it! And afore I’m through with ye, ye’ll wish ye'd never crossed Lew Quinn or seen the cat as is the cause o’ yer bein’ in this jam. “Then arter ye’ve gone to join ol’ Sittin’ Bull and other ‘ good’ Injuns in hell, 1’ll go out and cop the gal. PU tame her, leave it to me. The fust time she pulls any o’ that hoity-toity stuff on me agin Ill carve’ my initials on her back with a dogwhip. Laffed at me! ’S if I, a white man, wa’n’t good ’nuff for her. Damn she-cat!” “Her father would kill you,” flared Toon. “Aw, be yerself! [I’ve got that Canuck so buffaloed that he’d tuck his tail atween his yaller legs and scoot like a fox if I said ‘boo.’ I’ve bluffed that pea souper into believin’ that he croaked ol’ Win Partheu in a knife fight on the Restigouche, twenty year ago. “Haw, haw! Since I know ye can keep a secret now, I don’t mind tellin’ ye that it was my sticker as sent ol’ Win to the hospital and left him a cripple. The ‘ blue nose ’—Scotian— had discharged me from his lumber camp awhile afore that, and it was my little way o’ gittin’ hunk. Oh, ’'ma playful cuss, once I unsheath my claws. Witness yerself. *Nother time, I—” Just then the kettle boiled over and Toon was left to his thoughts. While humming a tuneless ditty, Quinn threw together a bannock and sliced up the rest of the Quoddy’s deer steak. The aroma of coffee, frying bacon and wild meat fanned the Indian’s hunger into a famished longing, but he swore that he’d see Quinn scorching on a griddle in Hades before he’d ask for a crumb. COPMICLOOOKS (E@)