The Argosy, September 1915 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

240 THE revelations of the incompetence of man. Not a thing that any man had done within her ken that night but she could have performed more efficiently herself, she reflected. This was the stronger, the dominant sex, was it? With her shoulders she made an eloquent gesture, which was lost upon the night. Almost at the point of returning to Witherbee’s Island was she, when a yell from the shore caused her to turn her head swiftly. “There he is now, by George! He’s got a boat. Run! Head him off, be- fore he gets away!” A dog began to yelp excitedly. “Sick him, Duke! Sick him! Stop that yawping and grab hold!” She heard a soft patter of footsteps along the shore, then the staccato note of a gasoline engine. | There “Lord! It’s a motor-boat! he goes! Hang that dog, he missed him!” A fresh volley of shots came from the island. “Get the launch! Quick! We're almost at the boat-house now! We'll get him yet!” “Yes, sir; I’m after it.” The motor-boat that Miss Chal- mers heard was exploding gasoline in boisterous fashion. She leaned as far as she dared across the gunwale of the skiff and tried to discern ob- jects in the gloom. It was difficult to distinguish any- thing save the dark bulk of the island. But the gasoline motor was whirling furiously. Then there were voices again. “Got her cast off?” “'N-no, sir; not yet.” “For the love of Mike, hurry! He’s under way now.” “There! All right, sir.” “Get forward and keep a lookout. ‘Tell me which way to steer.” 3 A second engine burst into action with a defiant roar. Miss Chalmers, resting upon her oars, knew that a chase had begun. ARGOSY. It was. rather exciting now. A burglar was being pursued, but she could see neither the burglar nor the pursuers. ‘Two engines were trying to smother each other’s din, with the result that their voices mingled in a discordant bedlam. Then a dark object passed within fifty feet of her skiff, ran on for a hundred feet more, suddenly slowed down, and ceased firing. In closer to the island, but still beyond her vision, the second boat was clattering truculently, and the voices rose even higher. ‘“He’s stopped! He’s_ stopped! Spot him now! It’s our chance!” ““Can’t see him yet, sir.” “You've got to see him! If you miss him you're fired! Why the blazes do I have to be near-sighted? ” Miss Chalmers edged her. skiff closer to the boat that had abruptly paused in flight. She had a suspi- cion. A moment later she knew. A half - suppressed exclamation reached her ears. The voice was one of re- cent memory. For several seconds she was irreso- lute. Far be is from her to interfere with the long arm of justice or retri- bution, or whatever it might chance to be. It was no business of hers to trip nemesis. And yet— Well, perhaps she would not have acknowledged that it was sporting blood, but it was something singular- ly resembling it. She cared not a whit for the burglar; he deserved his fate. Contrariwise, she cared nothing whatever about the pursuers. They were entitled to no better than they could achieve. But she did care about something else. A stalled engine was a perpetual challenge to her. To some persons the joy of battle lies in overcoming fellow men, to others in conquering the forces of nature, to still others in achieving hard-won triumphs over poverty or riches or other forms of adversity or perversity. COPMICLOOOKS (@)