The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

422 mast. His face was bronzed, deeply wrin- kled; very strong and steady blue eyes gazed from beneath deep white brows; his entire bearing bespoke a kindly power, a benevolent despotism, as of one who serves a master not to be denied or questioned. Glancing over the rail Blake noted that the four natives were unarmed, but were gigantic in stature, sitting motionless like bronze statues. Marshall came down the deck toward Wicliff, pausing only to snap a curt order at Bower to keep the two diving boys out of sight. Then he faced his visitor. “Well, mister, what can I do for you?” There was nothing complacent in his at- titude, and Blake foresaw trouble in the wolfish face. “T am John Wicliff, teacher of the Word of God in this island, sir,” began the old man, his voice deep and vibrant, and his steady eyes quite fearless. “I have come—”’ “Oh, I know who you are, and all about you,” broke in Steelfist Marshall with a sneer. He seemed quite unawed by the patriarchal mien of the missionary. ‘“‘You’re the tub-thumpin’ hymn singer as put this place on th’ everlastin’ blink for trade! I know who you are, all right, and I can’t say I like you overmuch. What d’you want o’ me? That’s what I’m askin’ ye!”’ Blake quietly edged nearer to the poop, a deep anger rising within him. The old man looked at Marshall without resent- ment; a shade of sorrow rested in his eyes, but no more. “Brother, you mistake,” he returned gently. “I have not fought trade, but only disease and vice. These natives of mine—” The skipper took a step forward. “You tell me what you want aboard my ship, and look sharp, mister man! I want none o’ your slimy talk.” Wicliff drew himself up, giving Marshall a flash from his quick blue eyes. “YT want nothing, sir, except to ask that you will respect the peace and the tran- quillity of my people. Not for many years have they heard shots fired with murderous intent, as they have to-day; the few that are left are peace-loving converts, and my children. ‘““Now, Captain Marshall, one thing more. I have spoken to Captain Howard to-day. I know his errand here, and yours. I may save you much labor and strife by inform- ing you that all your work here will be in vain, since there is absolutely nothing in THE ARGOSY. this lagoon worth fighting for or working for. That is what I came to say, sir.” As he listened to this frank speech Mar- shall’s evil passion blazed forth more wolf- ishly than ever, and his right arm went back. Blake, gripping the man-rope of the poop ladder, set foot on the lower step, every muscle tensed. Were Marshall brutal enough to attack this old man— “You listen here!” snarled Steelfist threateningiy. ‘“You’ve ruined enough men here, with your damned Bible palaver and your complaints to the gunboat patrol. I know you, blast you, and I'll go to Tophet if you'll buy chips in my game! “So Howard got to you first, did he? Curse his ugly mug—he’s payin’ you to hand out that dope to me, I s’pose! He'll pay you with the end of the main-sheet, and that’s your own funeral, my old buck. But you won’t play loose with Steelfist Marshall, savvy that? You swim home, quickest you know! Bower—pitch the old bone-rack over the side! Lively!” Long Rube leaped forward, wrapped his huge arms about the unresisting Wicliff, and bore back the old man to the rail. In ten seconds his grip relaxed, and he stag- gered away under a stunning blow on the ear. Blake, his gray eyes blazing with fury, followed up his first lead with a straight right-and-left that sent the second mate reeling again. Wicliff stood at the rail, gaunt and fear- less, refusing to take advantage of the open- ing to reach his boat. -The second officer fought back viciously, but could not stand before the silent, furi- ous attack of Blake. The latter drove Bower steadily back, sending home blow after blow, worked the man against the wheel and then measured his distance for the finishing uppercut. But that decisive drive never went home. Marshall, waiting only until Blake stood steady for a moment, poised that terrible right arm and crashed his stee! fist squarely into Blake’s temple, felling him like a log. “Over with him, Forrester!” the skipper snarled. John. Wicliff was hurled clumsily into the sea, to be picked up an instant later by his own natives, in whose bronze faces sim- mered lowering hatred. They turned about and were lost in the gathering darkness, sending back a single long yell. (e) OOOLK AMG (C@