The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

SHIPS OF STRIFE. the Finn and they both tailed on to the lee fore-brace as the ship canted away on the port tack and started her stern chase. Once outside the harbor the C. H. Mar- . shall was not slow to feel the hurl of the brisk quartering wind that whistled and twanged in her taut rigging. As by degrees she felt the added impulse of royals and topgallantsails, it became evident that she was holding the Foster, and Steelfist Mar- shall grew into calmer mood. While they worked together, Blake made shift to tell the Finn about the situation in which Mary Peabody had got herself. Ole’s pale blue eyes lighted with a dog-like affec- tion at the girl’s name, and Blake under- stood that the man’s simple soul was wholly . devoted. “You be good feller,” said the Finn, look- ing hard into Blake’s steady eyes. ‘“S’pose mabbe Capen Marshall hit me some more?” “Tf he does, I’ll do my best for you, Ole. But there’s no harm in telling all you know, because the only way in which we can help Miss Peabody is to reach the position of the wreck ourselves. Unless we do so, Howard will have the game, all to himself,” said Blake. For a moment Ole studied over this statement, then nodded solemnly. “Sure. You be good feller. Right! Ay knaw yoost so much—Miss Pebbody say to sail nine hoonderd mile sout’. After dat, she give position. Capen Howard don’t knaw no more.” Cogitating over this information, Blake determined to take it aft at once. Such pro- cedure might save the Finn future torture, and would certainly better his own standing with the skipper. Blake knew well enough that his only means of helping Mary Pea- body lay in gaining the confidence of Steel- fist Marshall. Accordingly, Blake took himself aft and saluted the scowling skipper cheerfully. Steelfist was already conversant with all that had taken place ashore. ‘“‘Cap’n Marshall, I’ve been talking to that Finn and I find that he knows as much as Cap’n Howard himself. The John Foster is to sail nine hundred miles south, to get out of steamer lanes; then Miss Peabody gives the actual position of the wreck and the—”’ “Dude, look out how you try your funny wheezes on me!” broke in Steelfist, his black curls dancing in the wind. “Why in thun- der did he tell you this? He wouldn’t tell me a blasted word.”’ 413 Blake smiled evenly. His gray eyes were cold, and held Steelfist Marshall’s gaze intently. ‘Your methods were somewhat—er—ter- rifying, sir,” he said quietly. “I simply asked him, and he told me. You seemed to have scared him to death.” “Hm!” grunted the other. “Think he’s on the level, do you? If he’s lying he’ll make shark bait!” “Yes, I believe him, sir. If I may make a suggestion, he wouldn’t be a bad one to sign on in place of Sullivan. He’s a good seaman, and might help us a lot.” Marshall’s glittering eyes studied Blake’ s clean, hard face for a moment. “T like bullies 0’ your sort, Dude,” he re- plied unexpectedly. ‘“You’ve done some good work for us, and I’m glad you’ve found your senses. Send the Finn aft. I'll sign him on, and hold you responsible for his conduct. How’s that?” “Fine, sir,” nodded Blake. ‘‘He seems to like me, and I'll agree to manage him.” So Ole Kafban went aft and was duly signed on, and Jack Blake considered that he had done a good day’s work for himself and Mary Peabody. His position had been secured, so far as the officers were concerned. With his ship- mates, also, the fracas at Honolulu had helped him; he was no longer avoided, and seemed to have regained his old standing to some extent. Paddy Ryan had been shifted into the other watch, so that Riake saw little of him now. Before the sun lipped the western sea-line that evening the C. H. Marshall had drawn up on the Foster sufficiently to prove her superior speed, and Steelfist’s scowl had been left behind with the wake. That Howard was uncomfortable was plainly evident. Every device to pinch speed out of his ship, even to the rigging of makeshift studding-sails, was tried; but the Marshall under plain sail easily held her place, and Steelfist smiled in contempt when his rival’s makeshifts were taken in for the night. Through the night continued the chase, an arc-light of a moon pouring its bril- liance over the deep-breathing ocean, and limning the John Foster in shining patches of radiant silver. Toward morning, however, the moon failed. The three hours before dawning were black as Erebus, and when at last the blazing sun cupped over the horizon to an- CORMICGLOOKS ee