The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

SHIPS OF STRIFE. curses, the Marshall’s yards were swung until she was caught flat aback. Every sail thundered back on the masts, and the whole ship groaned with the tremendous strain of it. For sixty tense seconds Jack Blake held his breath, gazing fearfully aloft, praying that the gear would hold. The odds were even that the masts would be wrenched out of her, that she would go under stern first, or that she would hold. But Steelfist knew his ship, and his judg- ment proved sound. ‘The ship staggered, stopped and then slowly forged astern. The John Foster shot across her bowseso close that a man might have leaped from ship to ship. That was “Slick” Howard’s last chance, for the Marshall gathered way again before he could think of tacking, and in half an hour was far beyond his reach. Yet this had been enough to show Jack Blake that he was playing a game with desperate men, with Hatred sitting at each elbow, and human life flung into the discard. “By. the Lord,” he thought, gazing after the dim splotch of the Foster’s canvas, ‘‘this is a man’s play! And when I sit into the game I'll play it like a man—for the sake of the little girl over yonder!” At daybreak came the end of the first round, when a blue mass ahead resolved itself into an island, tiny, reef-encircled, yet slumbrously beautiful—a verdure-clad hump jutting from the sea—Fulai. Steelfist himself mounted to the fore-yard - to scan the reef for an opening, with the John Foster converging on the island abeam. The entrance appeared, and al- though the Foster held on past it Steelfist kept to his course, shouting profanely that he had been fooled enough by “Slick” How- ard. He shortened sail, none the less. Too late the skipper saw the Foster shoot through the reef a mile farther on and slide into the glassy calmness of a lagoon. A mo ment later Steelfist let out a deep shout and came sliding to the deck. ‘Wear, Forrester, wear!” frantically. Braces were hastily manned; the mizzen staysails rattled down, and the outer and flying jibs that had been taken in were sent flying up the stays again. . The ship’s head paid off, away from the half-visible froth of surf under her fore-foot, but it was too late. A tremulous shudder ran through the vessel; there came a gentle 3A he roared 417 grating, and the C. H. Marshall quietly rested on a hidden spur of reef. “Fooled again, by Heaven!” quoth For- rester. CHAPTER X. PREPARING FOR CRIME. TEELFIST MARSHALL was far too wise an old seadog to abandon the chase merely because his keel was wedged be- tween two fangs of a reef. All fore-and-aft canvas was hauled down; courses, topgallant-sails and royals were furled, and topsails clewed up and left hanging in the buntlines. Then the hatches were,raised, and all hands were set to work heaving the rock ballast on deck. Luckily the ship had touched on a rising tide, what breeze there was blew off-shore, and the sounding-rod showed that the well was bone dry. At high water it seemed likely that the Marshall would float clear, unless the wind chopped around to drive her further into the reef. While toiling at the winch and hoisting heavy slings of ballast Blake was quite able to appreciate the peaceful loveliness of Fu- lai. And never had he imagined that Na- ture could so prodigally endow one spot, even in the rich South Seas, with such re- dundant charms. Near the northern headland and nestling under its shelter was a trim white ti- thatched bungalow, which overlooked the lagoon. Behind, and stretchings over the crest, was the foliage of banana groves, showing that some cultivation at least was to be found here. Bully Forrester was in charge of the bal- last gang. Blake noted that the mate kept gazing shoreward with a queer expression on his rugged, brutal face—an expression that was half conjecture, half reminiscence. The spilling of a sling of rock, with its consequent damage to the deck, failed to draw more than a quick glance from For- rester; this absence of hot reprisal was so unusual that it attracted Blake’s. attention to the man. Even the lowering of the Foster’s boats, which indicated a zealous opening of opera- _tions, and the volley of oaths from Steelfist, aft, seemed to move the mate but little. Blake, tipping the slings as they came up into a pile on an old tarpaulin, eyed For- COMMICLOOOKS (C@