The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

SHIPS OF STRIFE, other end of the lagoon. As Blake came to it he noted a dark shape just behind; it proved to be a ship’s boat, drawn up on the sand, and deserted. Probably it had been hidden from the sight of Marshall. As Blake halted, staring at it, he heard a sudden laugh, and turned. But as he did so, a figure crashed into him, another figure fell bodily upon him and bore him face downward into the sand, and he heard a rush of feet. So sudden was the attack that to fight back was impossible. As Blake went down hands caught his arms and ankles, and he felt himself wrapped with rope. A foul- smelling rag was wound about his mouth, and a moment later he was flung roughly into the boat, which scraped over the sand to the water. ‘“Gotcher, huh?” rumbled a voice in his ear—the voice of Cutlip Sullivan. ‘“‘Now yell pay fer that lickin’ ye give me, my bucko! Ye’ll get plain hell aboard the Fos- ter, an’ it’s me what’ll give it to ye, see?” CHAPTER XIII. HOWARD’S VENGEANCE. “WHO ye got there, Jackson?” Howard’s voice sang out as the boat swung in to the John Foster. Jackson, formerly second officer and now mate, vice Bingham, seemed to be in command of the shore party, for he answered at once from somewhere near Blake. But his tones were cautious. “We got their star fighter, the Dude, sir. Go easy till we get him up—hoist away quietly, there! No use tellin’ the Marshall all our business.” It was plain to Blake that the later de- velopments of his own story were unknown to those aboard the Foster, who knew only what Sullivan, Keough and Boston had told them after leaving Honolulu. And that tale had lost nothing in the telling. Five minutes later Blake was dragged to the poop, promising himself that at some future day he would richly repay the kicks with which Sullivan regaled him en route. He found the mate reporting to Howard, and his gag was stripped off, then his foot lashings removed. “He was skulkin’ in the bush, like he was dodgin’ Marshall,” said Jackson, who had an Irish-cockney whine to him. “Make him talk, sir—” 431 “You shut your head an’ go below,” broke in Howard. ‘‘You men git for’ard an’ keep an eye on that blasted Marshall! I'll ’tend to this man.” Howard was obeyed promptly. Blake followed the skipper’s beckoning finger aft, and was told to sit down on the wheel- gratings. Howard stood leaning on the wheel-box, massive and dominant, eying Blake as closely as the uncertain starlight would permit. “So you’re the bully who’s raised so much hell aboard the Marshall, eh?” he asked thoughtfully. Blake, who had been mentally kicking himself for his stupidity in being caught napping, held his peace. Howard’s manner was anything but hostile, and his next words gave Blake a very definite notion of the ideas working behind his massive fea- tures. _ “JT hear you licked Steelfist, son. That’s goin’ some, single-handed. Mebbe you ain’t in love with him, specially?” ‘We aren’t exactly bosom friends,” re- turned Blake dryly. ‘‘He shanghaied me in San Francisco, for one thing. For another, he gave me a nice bump with his steel hand the other day—a little love-tap I’d like to return with interest.” Instantly Blake saw that he had adopted the right attitude. Howard grinned. “Tf you pull with me youll get the chanct, Dude! His rats have killed my mate, and this time’s goin’ to be his finish— he’s butted in on my voyages long enough. Now, how about it? Want to ship?” “Not particularly.” Blake felt his ground cautiously now, convinced that Howard wanted a fighting recruit more than a hostage. “I don’t care a snap about either of you, Howard. Marshall’s out to find this treasure, and I gather that you’re out to cheat Miss Peabody if you can, ahead of Marshall. Isn’t that the way it lies?” Howard stroked his big jowl reflectively. ‘No, I can’t say it is,” he returned slow- ly. ‘So that cursed Finn has been tellin’ tales about things, huh? Let’s see, now. Why might you think I’m out to cheat the girl, Dude?” Here was a skipper with more brains than Marshall, thought Blake. He was not at all deceived in the matter; but, con- vinced that he was now fighting for more than his own safety alone, he followed Howard’s lead cautiously. CORNICLOOOKS (C@