Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

506 “Spit out that receip’, ye danged billygoat!” Recklessly he sprang upon the en- trapped Quoddy and reached for the sinewy throat, when Toon’s weakness suddenly vanished. With a growl like that of a wild beast, he drew Quinn down. The long legs, hardened by thirty- mile hikes, whipped across Quinn's body and he locked them into his fa- vorite ‘“‘ scissors,” with a_ satished grunt. Quinn remembered the crush- ing force of those deadly legs, and threw his arms back to break the hold, only to feel the arm caught in a snappy hammerlock that brought a strained. groan as he thought his shoulder was _being torn from its socket. Toon exerted every ounce of his re- serve power into his hold; the strength born of desperation; of a man who faced the grim specter. But, by the gods, this human devil would go with him! Great wheezing grunts accompanied Quinn’s desperate attempts to squirm free; he kicked, clawed and bit, but grim and implacable as the steel jaws that gripped his enemy, the clamping legs held. There was a dull snap and ‘a shaft of pain stabbed his side; then came a stunning blow as Toon brought the protruding end of the trap down on the back of his head, again and again. | ‘There was a sound in his ears like empty wagons passing over a wooden bridge, his eyes bulged and his lungs. felt as if they were filled with hot smoke and he was drifting away on a billowy cloud, drifting—drifting— VI. Tat evening while Idona cleared up the supper dishes, Pierre La Forge was amusing himself by playing an old Canadian chanson d’amour on his fid- dle, when there came a sound as of some huge animal crawling on his porch. Rifle in hand, he opened the ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. door to confront a swaying figure, that caused him to start back in alarm. It was Nap Toon! His face was a mass of dried blood, into which spills and leaves had caked and gave him a grotesque appearance ; but what almost caused the tempera- mental Canadian to swoon was the trap that hung to the back of his head padded by a blood-smeared blanket, the chain clanking on the puncheon floor as he staggered to a chair. “ Grub,” croaked the apparition. White-faced and trembling, Idona gazed at her afhanced for a moment, then clapped her hands to her face to shut out the sight. But only while she gathered her wits, then she became a dynamo of action. Hot water, towels, shears, bandages and unguent, appeared as if by magic, and under her deft fingers Toon was bandaged until he looked like an Ara- bian sheik, ° And while they worked over him, Nap talked. In broken sentences, he ex- plained how he had succeeded in snar- ing Quinn’s belt hatchet, cutting out the staple and dragging himself to his canoe. How he ever ran the swift waters of the MHorserace without swamping, he never knew. He had a faint recollection of shooting through the rapids, laughing and yelling wildly. Eagerly he gulped at the bowl of par- tridge broth, thickened with gruel, then with a hoglike grunt, he slumped to the floor exhausted. For three days he raved, and in his delirium, he fought and refought those terrible hours at Cuperlax Falls; while the faithful Idona hovered over his bedside like a mother watching a fev- ered child. And they had cause for thankfulness on Thanksgiving, for Idona celebrated her birthday by having the padre slip a band of gold on her finger, while draped across her shapely shoulders was a beautiful scarf made from the pelt of a silver fox. THE END VOO|KS COMIC (C@