Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

& 466 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “It’s all right,” Peter said comfort- ingly. ‘“ You don’t need to worry. Spofford’s gone. What’s your name?’ * Marie Avis.” “Where do you live?” “ Council Bluffs, Iowa.” “You've got friends in Council Bluffs, Marie?” She nodded, adding: “ My family lives there.”’ ‘“That’s where you want to go, isn't it?” Again she nodded. “Now JI’ll tell you what we'll do, Marie. I'll take you away from Var- ney’s and get you a room at the hotel for to-night, and see that you have money enough to take you home.” “ How could I ever repay you?” she asked. Peter cheerfully reassured her. “The only pay I want is a promise that you'll stay home when you get there—you got some other clothes?” “Yes. These don’t belong to me.” “Go and make a change, then,” Peter told her. “I'll wait for you.” Marie slipped away, and presently Peter found himself joined by the watchful Mr. Varney. “Taking that girl off my hands, are you?” the proprietor inquired. “ Right!” was Peter’s cold rejoinder. He had taken a cordial dislike to Mr. Varney. “I’m going to ship her back East to her folks—where she belongs.” -“ All jake as far as I’m concerned, son,”’ was Varney’s careless rejoinder. * She’s panned out a total loss in my business and I’ll be glad to get rid of her. “But I’m giving you a tip, which you can take or leave as you please. A certain party’s not exactly in love with you now, and this last deal isn’t going to help matters a lot. Get what {’m driving at?” “Vou'll be telling—this party—all the details later on, I expect,” Peter inferred. “1 might—and I might not. What of it?” : “T’d be glad if you did. And you might just add that the gates of hell are a-yawning wide open for him; also that ['d be pleased and proud to issue him a one-way ticket.” Peter De Quincy tapped his forty-five, tied down low on his right thigh. “* All he’s got to do is ask for it.” “Cocky, ain’t you?’ Varney said sneeringly. “No,” said Peter, “I’m not. I’m dealing out facts> that’s all. The Spofford tribe haven’t any Indian sign hung on me, whatever they’ve got on other folks.”’ “All right—if that’s how you feel. It’s not kicking me in the shins, one way or another.” And Varney went on about his affairs. ARIE, appeared dressed for the street ten minutes later, and to- gether she and her volunteer es- cort left the Red Front, the fresh night air providing a welcome relief from the smoky, whisky-scented atmosphere of Varney’s. “Why did you do this for me?” Marie demanded. Her gratitude was obvious, but behind it lay curiosity. Men of Peter’s sort had been painfully rare in her experience. “Two, three reasons, I guess,” he responded. “Tl tell you one of ’em. How old are you, Marie?” ** Seventeen,” she whispered. “ That's about how I figured it. I had a sister—once. She'd be seven- teen, too, now, if she’d lived. And if my sister had got started the wrong way, I'd want any chap to do for her what I did for you to-night.” For a moment or two they walked on in silence. . “Don’t get me wrong,” Peter re- sumed. “TI ain’t setting up in business as a sky-pilot that’s cherishing ambi- tions to reform the world. Most gen- erally I ’tend to my own business, and let other folks ’tend to theirs. But I like to see every one get a square deal, and that’s what you weren’t getting. ¥ . <i