The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

438 I was too frightened to do anything but come here. Silly, 1 know—”’ “Not at all,” said Blake quietly. ‘The point is, that this is no place for you to stay. Here’s the situation—”’ He told what had happened on that eventful day, sparing nothing, and ques- tioned ker in turn. Under the spell of his steady, even voice she quickly regained her own poise, and when her hand touched his arm again he found it without a tremor, while her own voice became cool. When the Marshall was blown up Wicliff had been at the village with the men. At the explosion they had started off into the bush, and had not been seen since. The party under Bower had arrived unexpected- ly, and apparently without molestation from Wicliff. “Then,” said Blake, “the best thing you can do is to go up to that hut where I was hidden yesterday—do you know the place?” “T know it. You think Marshall and Howard are coming here?” “Most certainly. I—” : Blake whirled at a crackle from the path. The moonlight was filtering into the clearing by this time, and at the entrance of the trail to the beach he caught sight of a dark figure. He lifted the revolver, but as he cocked it, the figure cried out quickly. “Don’t shood! Vos dot you, Dude?” Blake recognized the Dutchman’s voice. “That you, Dutch? Step for’ard here, and quick about it! Who’s with you?” The Dutchman advanced and showed himself to be alone. “T met dot man Ole,” he panted. to pay Marshall for some liddle t’ings. vit’ you, Dude! Ole, he’s comin’.” Another figure crashed forward, joining the Dutchman. Blake lowered his weapon with a breath of relief. “Come along, Ole—both of you. Peabody’s here.” The girl stepped to his side, and the two men stood before them, staring and grinning sheepishly. “Mr. Blake has told me all about you, Ole,” said the girl softly. ‘I want to thank you for sticking up for me—you’re a good man, and I’m glad to call you my friend.” The old Peabody blood stirring within her, the girl said neither too much nor too little—but just enough to send the Finn into a glow. “Ay go hell fer ju, Miss Pebbody,” he returned, with earnest embarrassment, and “T vant I’m Miss THE ARGOSY., his hulking figure straightened a little. “Ay go hell for save ju!”’ And none of those who heard him knew how he was to make good that word before the night was out. , ‘“We’ve no time to spare, Miss Peabody,” and Blake turned. ‘Take Ole, please, and go up to that grass hut at once. No matter what happens, you stay there! Ole, I'll trust you to take care of Miss Peabody—go at once, please!” She put out her hand to him, and for a long moment his eyes held hers in the semi- darkness. “Thank you, Mr. Blake. Good night!” A moment later she was lost in the gloom of the bush, and the Finn with her. The Dutchman stood uneasily, waiting. Blake looked down at the lagoon, now resplendent with the moonlight; every tiny wavelet bursting over the reef was tipped with silver, while the John Foster lay tall and silent, a fairy toy of shimmering light and shadow, outlined in silvery light from rippling waterline to the frayed dogvanes at her soaring trucks. From where Blake stood the line of curv- ing beach was invisible. ‘““Got any matches, Dutch?” asked Blake, turning. “Good—then rummage around the house here and get some kind of weapon. I’m going down the path and see what’s doing. You’ve heard nothing of Bower’s party?” The Dutchman shook his head, and Blake strode down the path that led to the beach. He was not yet in sight of the circling sands when he halted abruptly at the low growl of voices ahead. Purposely, he snapped a twig, his revolver ready. — ‘““‘Who’s there?” sang out a voice. Once more Blake breathed relief. “It’s Blake, bo’sun! Marshall you?” “Divil a bit,” returned the tones of Paddy Ryan, jubilantly. ‘We're with ye, Dude, me lad! Me an’ Fancy Harry an’ the Bottle Heaver an’ two more—we’re with ye, matey, an’ we’ve skipped that murderin‘ Steelfist fer good.” A shadowy group of figures filed into view on the path ahead, then the voice of the bo’sun came to Blake anew. ‘It’s lucky for this here Sullivan ye spoke up prompt, Dude! We had a notion the frowsy dog was misleadin’ us with his lies, an’ my knife was ready for him. But all’s well, mate—exceptin’ that Marshall an’ with COPMICGLOOOKS (E@)