Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 200: what you’re looking at

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

a & 482 allies had pitched their quarters. For the survivors of the little caravan which had faced so many perils it was a time. of glad reunions. No one slept, and no one thought of sleep. Katherine Jones had been brought in by the faithful Rasco and returned to her husband; and there had followed an interchange of greetings as of persons risen from the grave itself. Farther along the river-bank lay the bi- vouac of Hualla, where three hundred men of Paititi gathered around their morning fires, the hissing of their camp gossip sound- ing like the wind among dead leaves. From hand to hand and from fire to fire there cir- culated that morning an object which one of their number had taken from an Agua- runa malocca, and which brought a flash of surprise to even their expressionless faces. Nee-Nah was with Arnold among his friends. In the heart of each was a ques- tion, the answer to which each feared: “* Will she stay?” “ Will he go with me?”’ But for a time those questions were not put, and all talked busily of other matters. Jim’s story of the death of Grimshaw brought a startled look into the faces of Bob and Katherine Jones. lost Bobby? If the best police authorities in the world had failed to find the kidnaped child, how was it to be done now that - Grimshaw was gone? Would not the cus- todians of the lad suspect foul play in the demise of Zalmon, and take extreme meas- ures accordingly? Serious as they were, those questions were answered more easily than those which be- set Jim and Nee-Nah. As they passed through the minds of the worried parents— the end of Grimshaw was too recent and too awful to permit their speaking them aloud —Arnold delved in his pocket and produced the little alligator note-book. “It’s a strange thing, Bob; but before he went, Grimshaw expressed the belief that somehow you would pull through. He said that if you should, this book would be use- ful to you; but if you shouldn’t, I was to use it. I sort of played his hunch on you, and I haven’t looked in it.” Beyond many pages devoted to an enumeration of fishing trophies and miscel- ee mee a «Google What of the, ARGOSY- ALLSTORY WEEKLY. laneous memoranda, Jones found the fol. lowing entry in Zalmon’s flowing, even hand: Mr. Rosert L. Jones: If this writing comes to your hand, you will have learned the circumstances under which it is written.. Why do I write it at all? Conscience? No. A young friend of yours to-day. risked his life to spare me a bit of mental discomfort. 1 guess you will have to thank him. I never could endure snakes. Thus far I never have found cause to regret anything which I have done. “I have lived for myself, and I have found that “course entirely agreeable. Now I am going to find out whether there is to be any regret hereafter. But I stray from the point. Your son is in the care of Spanish Luiz at-the home of my mother. The place is called “ The Pines,” and it is near the north end of the Isle au Haut, twenty-five miles off the coast of the State of Maine. You will have to be circum- spect; for Luis is faithful and quick to act. Better go yourself. The police might bungle. - My mother, who is very old now, and stone- deaf, knows nothing of the antecedents of the boy. To her he is only a trust from me; and she never has had reason to consider me other- wise than a model son. By the way, her name is not Grimshaw, but Holcomb. ZALMON (GRIMSHAW) Hotcoms. Jones read the document twice, the sec- ond time aloud. “Well,” he remarked when the flurry of comment around the breakfast camp-fire had subsided, “‘ I guess that takes the point entirely out of this pleasure jaunt so far as the firm of Jones & Jones is concerned, doesn’t it, Kate?” . “ If you mean the emeralds, Bob, it does,” answered Katherine decidedly. ie I never want to see one of them. They would have cost too much. Let us hurry home and get Bobby. Poor little dear; he is still in dan- ger; and IJ never shall have a night of peace- ful sleep until we have him safe again.” “It is moved, seconded and carried, then, that the Jones hunt for the Cooper emeralds iy off, with a capital O,” Jones resumed; “unless you want to go to it, Jim.” He turned a smiling face toward Arnold, who was squeezing Nee-Nah’s hand behind Katherine’s back. Jones closed an eye slowly. “Nix! I have found my emerald,” was Jim’s unblushing reply. ‘“ The mine is there, though. Old Hualla knows about it. Te: bs Reimecrre nooks com