The Argosy, September 1915 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

ONE-CYLINDER SAM. wondered if there was a way to get into the boat-house. Back she went, armed with the dock lantern, and began an inspection of the lock. It was a solid-looking padlock, but Miss Chalmers thought the staple through which it was passed showed signs of weakness. She looked about for an instrument and finally found a stick that seemed as if it might do. The stick broke several times dur- ing the process of prying the staple loose, yet she made headway. Under most conditions an impatient and somewhat imperious young lady, Miss Chalmers was curiously persistent when she set her hand to any mechan- ical .ask. She labored uncomplain- ingly at the staple for fifteen minutes, and gave a satisfied little nod when it fell loose from the woodwork. The interior of the boat-house was not inviting. A rowboat and two ca- noes were piled along one side, with a lot of loose gear, a collection of ill- smelling paint-pots and some oars and paddles. At the farther end was a pile of can- vas. She tilted her nose slightly, but did not retreat. “It’s a roof at any rate,” she ob- served. “I'll sleep on the canvas. Nothing can hurt this gown now. It’s gone.” She put down the lantern, sat on the canvas, and slipped off her twenty-dol- lar shoes. Then she lay down and at- tempted to convince herself that the bed was comfortable. It was an entirely laudable effort at self deception, but quite useless. The = was anything but comfortable. It ad some pulley-blocks under it, for one thing. Nevertheless she became drowsy. This ordinarily delicious sensation crept upon her with unwelcome quick- ness. She wanted time to think about to-morrow morning. It might require considerable planning, she feared. “Oh, well,” she murmured in a re- signed tone, “I guess it will come to me better after I sleep a little,”’ 3 237 Then she almost slept. The reason she did not quite sleep was an abrupt volley of shots. She sprang to her feet with an angry exclamation. “Haven't they stopped hunting me yet?” she snapped. CHAPTER IIT. MISS ACCESSORY-AFTER-THE-FACT, HER initial impulse was to dash out of the boat-house, confront her pursuers, and visit them with a merit- ed rebuke for having disturbed her rest. Not for an instant did it occur to Miss Chalmers that anybody else’s rest had been disturbed by her. But she remembered that she was not yet announced upon Witherbee’s Island; that she would not, in fact, ar- rive until morning, so far as the offi- cial statement was concerned. So she checked her rush and occupied a wise half-minute in putting on her shoes. Tiptoeing across squeaking boards to the open doorway, she looked out and turned her head in either direction. Silence had followed the shots. She could see no lights on the island. Everything was as restful and somno- lent as a lecture on metaphysics. She stepped out on the little float, from which she could obtain a better view of the wharf and the beginning of the gravel path. There was neither sign nor sound of the pajama squad, facts that contributed greatly to her satisfaction. Not a glimmer came from the direction of the house. The shots puzzled her. She was wide awake now, and she was quite sure she had not dreamed a_ volley. Pausing for a couple of minutes on the float, she made her way noiselessly to the dock, where she stopped to listen again. “IT know perfectly well I heard shooting,’ she remarked. “I’m not given to imagining things. There!” Four shots there were this time; she had not counted the first group. In- stantly she ran to the end of the dock CEoTpMicloOoks (C@