The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

SHIPS under dire penalties; but now, at the bot- tom, Blake found the joker for which he had been searching. It is also agreed that, at the discretion of the Master, the crew shall work cargo, load or discharge ballast, perform diving opera- tions, wherever necessary to the successful prosecution of the vessel’s business. With something very like a curse, Blake turned to his bunk. ~ Whatever he was ordered to do he must do—or suffer the consequences under the articles he had signed. The conviction had come to him that Steelfist Marshall wished him to die, not through any undue confi- dence, but as a simple means of getting rid of him. “Then if I’m to get ashore I’d better do it in a hurry,” thought Blake. “To blazes with skipper, articles, legality, and every- thing else! I’d better swim ashore and let the two crews fight out their fight.” He turned over and gripped the revolver, which he had carefully hidden again. Also, he unearthed the contents of Mary Pea- body’s suit-case, which he had also hidden away after dropping the wreck of the suit- case overboard one night. Since his only way of deserting seemed to be to swim ashore that night, he made his simple preparations. His revolver and the feminine belongings he rolled up in a scrap of canvas, leaving enough marline loose for a sling, and restowed it under his ‘“‘donkey’s breakfast’’—the five-dollar straw tick from the slop chest. This done, Blake returned on deck and lolled at the rail. The sun was far down the sky, and the masts threw long shadows to the outer reef before the skipper’s boat shoved out from shore. Blake noted that another boat, beyond doubt from the Fos- ter, lay empty on the beach a hundred yards from Marshall’s point of embarkation. A moment later it was seen that the skip- per had been successful in his trip, for two brown figures were huddled in the bows. Yet from the manner in which Marshall urged on his men, he seemed to be in some haste to reach the ship. This haste was speedily explained—in a fashion that brought Blake to his feet with a startled cry. From the edge of the jungle near the Foster’s boat spat a tiny bluish-white ring of smoke. Steelfist Marshall sprang erect, then sank down with a spasmodic gesture, OF STRIFE. 42] the report of a rifle cracked over the slumb- erous trees, and all things relapsed again into quietude. The boat came on with the sea boiling half-way to her painter-ring under the vivid curses of Marshall. As the skipper came up the gangway, Blake saw that he was livid with more than rage, for a spread- ing crimson splotch dyed his white linen jacket from shoulder to wrist. ‘Take the niggers for’ard,” he snarled at the alarmed Forrester, and began to peel off his jacket. “That son of a dogfish got to me in my gun arm, blast him! It was How- ard, I'll bet my hope o’ glory!” ‘“‘He went ashore an hour ago, sir,” re- plied the mate. “Hit bad?” “No. Feels like a flesh puncture, no more. That cursed Howard always was a bad shot, even with a rifle! Best,thing is, I’ve snaf- fled the only two boys on the island who’ll dive. That’s spiked him!” ‘““Where’s the Gospel-shark!” inquired Long Rube, assisting in tying up the wound. “The niggers said he’d prob’ly come out to see me. I told ’em to warn him off my ship, blast him! Come on below, an’ get this thing fixed.” Four bells clanged out, and Blake slipped to the fo’c’s’l’e, only to snatch a biscuit and a hunk of salt beef and return to the deck. Perching on the rail, he watched the gath- ering dusk along the shore, fastening every point in his mind; he was by this time quite resolved on “‘skipping the ship” that night. A hail from the mate startled him, Turn- ing, he saw a small, slim craft, manned by four rowers, coming from the north end of the lagoon. In the stern Blake could make out a bare-headed figure, whose long white hair flew loose on the wind. - ‘““Now we'll have some fun,” leered For- rester, turning toward the companionway. “Tf there’s anythin’ the Ol’ Man likes, it’s them hymn-singers!” = And, with a wink toward Blake, he emitted a roar for Captain Marshall. CHAPTER XI. A CHANGE OF BASE. VEHEN the old missionary reached the deck Jack Blake felt a painful sense of comparison between his figure and that of the man who faced him. For all its weight of years, Wicliff’s gaunt frame was as erect as the Marshall’s main- COMMICOOOKS (S@)