The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

436 “Good. Give way!” The oars dipped, and Blake turned the boat toward the northern headland, running parallel with the beach. The two crews were still engaged in furious battle, Mar- shall cursing his men and Howard cursing everyone impartially; by the sounds, the fight was setting toward the southern head- land. Blake suddenly finding himself in com- mand of ten men, was no less swift in grasp- ing his best plan of campaign. From Mar- shall’s attempted parley earlier in the even- ing, he comprehended that nothing had been found in the sunken wreck; this would indicate that Marshall had taken his crew ashore to make a thorough raid of the island. First, therefore, thought Blake, he must reach the bungalow and communicate with Wicliff. Then to capture the almost unde- fended Foster, get what recruits he could from Steelfist’s crew, and the two skippers would be forced to come to terms. With the Marshall blown up and the Foster in his own hands, the game was won, it seemed. Bidding the men wait, Blake leaped ashore as the bow grounded. He ran up the path to the bungalow, calling out Wic- liff’s name as he went, but there was no answer. To his surprise and dismay, he *reached the bungalow to find it deserted as before, but this time there were clearly no natives in the bush. Striking a light, he found that the bunga- low held no weapons at all, and so went back toward the boat, cogitating. This un- looked for desertion meant a change of plan. “All right, men,” he called softly, reach- ing the beach. “Ole, you lay ashore here with me. Young Boston, if I give you a gun can you capture the Foster and hold her?” : A hearty growl of assent went up from the men. Blake handed over his revolver to Boston. when the voice of Sullivan reached him. “T kin get some o’ them Marshall bullies to jine us, Dude! Say the word, an’ ['ll lay up along the beach till I see the bo’sun or Ryan.” Blake reposed no confidence in Sullivan; yet, if the man wanted to join Howard, it was best to let him go. If, on the other hand, he kept his word, so much the better. “Hop along with you, then,” said Blake, THE ARGOSY. and Cutlip promptly splashed away and vanished. ‘‘Now, Boston, you get the Foster and hang on to her, see? You can hold off any boat-attack. Ole and I will hold the bungalow, with any recruits we can get from the Marshall’s crew. Ill get in touch with the natives to-morrow, and we’ll take these murdering skippers back to ’Frisco in irons. Give way!”’ With a hearty mutter of encouragement, the men dipped their oars, and were gone. Sullivan had slipped into the lantanas and vanished. With the Finn waiting pa- tiently, Blake stood in silence for a mo- ment, considering. All sounds of conflict had died away along the beach. What had become of Bully Forrester and the other men blown up with the Marshall, Blake neither knew nor cared; he was more anxious about the outcome of the fracas between the skippers. “Come along, Ole,” he said at length. “We'll investigate our friends yonder.” With the Finn at his heels, he struck into the bush and started down toward the south headland, cautiously enough. Snaky lianas brushed his face like ghostly fingers, pal- mettoes squeaked and rustled as_ they chafed together; from the shore came the slap-slap of waves, but there was no sound of the presence of men. At an opening in the bush, Blake found himself opposite the dim bulk of the ship; the moon was just dipping over the horizon. With a word of caution to Ole, Blake crept to the edge of the lantanas and peered out. Just below him, at the lip of the tide, two empty boats rose and fell gently. Advance farther, he dare not. With a suddenness that hurt, Jackson’s voice drifted over the lagoon, followed in- stantly by a little burst of shots and a wild yell. Once more the mate’s voice rose, but this time in a long scream that was cut short. Blake caught his breath sharply—the Foster had been taken, and Jackson had there met his end. “What the devil is that slimy Dude up to!” rang out a deep voice twenty feet away, and Howard loomed against the sky, cursing. Marshall’s grating laugh swept up. “Look’s like a hurrah’s nest, Howard-—”’ “Curse you, is this some o’ your work?” snarled Howard. Steelfist remained invisi- ble to Blake, but other forms of men. blotted out the stars. EORMICLOOOLX< (C@