The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

SHIPS OF STRIFE. When Blake recovered his senses he found himself lying on the main hatch, his wrists and feet lashed down with small rope. ‘The decks were in semi-darkness, for night had settled on the ship, and during a long space Blake stared up at the blazing stars and cursed everything in general and his own temper in particular. That savage outburst had only served to work harm upon himself; he did not con- sider that it might yet have more momen- tous consequences. His temple throbbed with a heavy ache and his entire skull felt as though it had been ripped from chin to crown. “T was a fool to let go of myself that way,” he reflected bitterly. “I couldn’t help old Wicliff, and only got in Dutch myself! Now, two to one, Steelfist will send me down in that diving dress to-morrow and then cut the air-hose. I suppose he means to find the wreck by soundings—” What was it that Wicliff had said—that there was nothing in the lagoon? At this’ thought, Blake stiffened in his bonds. Mary Peabody had sought Wicliff’s pro- tection, beyond doubt. And so sincere and grave was the old man’s very atmosphere that the girl must have opened her heart to him. Therefore, if there had ever been a wreck in the lagoon, it must now either have been washed out or broken up by the surf. However that might be, Blake was well aware that his own position was now seri- ous in the extreme. His hard-won standing had been swept away by a moment’s anger, and in the morning he could expect to face the wolfish cruelty of Marshall. A twist at his lashings told him he had no hope of escape. The only man on deck seemed to be a dim figure aft, but Blake’s nostrils caught the lazy curl of a pipe, and he guessed that he was by no means alone. This was veri- fied an instant later when a heavy step thudded behind him. Then, to his surprise, a hand touched his aching head and he caught a low whisper. “Ay tink ju t’irsty, huh?” An arm slipped under his neck, raising his head, while a pannikin of water was placed to his lips, and he looked up into the pale blue eyes of Ole Kafban. The Finn sat down while helping Blake drink. “Ju should better cl’ar out, Ay t’ink. Dey vos yolly sore mit ju.” “So I understand,” chuckled Blake grim- 423 ly. “Do you want to come and help Miss Peabody, too?” “Ay not shwim,” came the stolid answer. ‘“Ju want me cut ju free?” Blake was already calculating. There was no danger of discovery, it seemed, and he was anxious to get hold of his bundle. “Not yet,” he said, as the Finn slipped out his knife. ‘“Go down and fetch me the canvas bundle that’s in my bunk. Then if any one examines me while you’re gone they’ll suspect nothing.” Ole nodded and slid away into the dark- ness. For a moment Blake lay training every sense. He heard no sound at all, yet he had a feeling that some one else was close at hand; suddenly he caught his breath sharp- ly as something cold touched his wrists. . “Will ye keep quiet now?” came a warn- ing whisper in the voice of Paddy Ryan. Blake felt a knife slit through his lash- ings; then Paddy sank down, till his mouth was against Blake’s ear. “Careful, Dude—the mate’s aft. Slip over the side—ain’t.no sharks here. Them two divers has gone; they heard the niggers yell when the ol’ gent was hove over, an’ swum for it. Good luck, ol’ hoss!” Before Blake could answer he felt his hands pressed in a quick grip, then Paddy Ryan was gone. Lying quiet, stretching his cramped hands to restore the circulation, Blake thanked Heaven for the two friends who had come to aid him at this crisis—even though he laughed silently at the fashion in which each had come to complement the help of the other. The next instant his hands closed on something hard—a pipe and a slab of fine tobacco. He was not ashamed of the tears which sprang to his eyes in that moment; for these were the treasures of Paddy Ryan, the costliest gifts which he could offer to a departing friend. “Please God, I'll some day repay the debt I owe Paddy Ryan!” Blake told himself. Thus, when Ole Kafban padded back to him, he rose up and laid hands upon the Finn, sending the man into trembling fright. “All right,” he whispered reassuringly. “Tt got loose, Ole. Did you get it?” “H’ar’s bundle,’ came the answer. ““Mabbe ju help Miss Pebbody?” “T'll try, anyhow,” said Blake cheerfully. ‘““Good-by, old man—sorry you can’t swim! If you can get ashore later, do so.” COMMICLOOOKS (C@)