The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

440 Blake, while Sullivan returned with a ferocious oath and exhibited a bloody knife which had accounted for another in the pursuit. Howard, the first victim, was the only one who still lived. He was shot through the chest, and was quite conscious but un- able to speak; his glittering, pig-like eyes gleamed up at the surrounding men so venomously that Blake shivered in disgust, and Paddy Ryan crossed himself furtively. “Carry him into the house, two of you,” commanded Blake. ‘‘Bo’sun, you’d better lay down to the shore-end of that path and give us warning of any further attack—but I don’t think there’ll be any. Paddy, you come with me; the rest of you keep a sharp lookout, for Bower’s gang isn’t very far off and those shots will draw him. I'll be back soon enough.” Howard was as helpless to move as to speak, and once laid down inside Blake saw that his wound was a fatal one—the man’s tremendous vitality alone held life in him. With a nod to Ryan, Blake left the house and strode off up the path that led to the grass hut. It never occurred to him that he had vir- tually left Cutlip Sullivan in charge of the bungalow. With Ryan at his elbow, he quickly climbed the path to the hut. Ole was keep- ing good guard and challenged him at the edge of the banana grove. Leaving Paddy Ryan with the Finn, Blake passed on to- ward the hut and found Mary Peabody waiting, anxious-eyed. “What’s happened?” she queried. “Nothing particularly,” laughed Blake. “Marshall and Howard tried to bump us, and we scared them off with a few shots. Everything all right up here? Any sign of Wicliff?”’ His strong face was very quiet and com- posed in the soft moonlight, which struck the grimness out of it; but the moonlight could not banish the look that had come into his eyes, at the sight of her. “Ves, all’s well here,” replied the girl, a tinge of color creeping into her face. Yet she met his eyes steadily. ‘‘Was any one hurt? We’ve seen no one here.” “We hurt Captain Howard,” said Blake, glossing over the details. ‘“‘Let’s have a look at those fellows—that’s one reason I came up here.” Although the house was hidden, from the hut they had a clean sweep of the lagoon THE ARGOSY. and its curving halfmoon of beach, now flooded with moonlight. By the two boats on the shore was clus- tered a group of men—Marshall and his fol- lowers. Farther down, toward the south- ern headland, Blake made out a third boat, and realized that it must have been that used by Bower. Therefore, his theory had been correct. “What’s that?” arm suddenly. Blake turned to where the Foster lay limned in black against the silvern sea be- yond. From the ship was drifting a swing. ing, rousing chorus, hoarse-throated as if given tongue by men who had drunk too well—the old hauling-chanty that was sung when Bluff King Hal ruled Merrie England. “Oh, haul the bowline, Katy is my darling, Oh, haul the bowline, the bowline haul! The girl gripped his “Oh, haul the bowline, London girls are towing, Oh, haul the bowline, the bowline haul! “Oh, haul the bowline, the packet is a-rolling, Oh, haul the bowline, the bowline haul!’ Blake grunted, his gray eyes narrowed. “H-m! They’ve broken into Howard’s locker, evidently. Hello!—Looks as though Marshall were up to tricks!” The group by the two boats had suddenly leaped into activity, for that chanty must have carried to Steelfist, who could easily guess the cause thereof. Watching with growing anxiety, Blake saw the men run out both boats and leap in. It seemed that Marshall was about to make a bold stroke for the John Foster, but if so, that stroke was halted almost as it began. Spats of fire broke from the Foster’s rail, and the lagoon echoed to the crack of rifles. Beyond a doubt young Boston’s men were drunk, for they poured a hail of lead toward the two boats, firing as fast as they could pull trigger. None the less, they must have made things altogether too warm for Marshall. The bowman in one of the boats crumpled up, another man screamed out shrilly, and the boats foamed back to shore hastily. “Good for Boston!” laughed Blake, as the firing ceased. ‘Drunk or not, they have rifles and won’t allow Steelfist Mar- shall within hailing distance. Confound it, I wish we had those guns!” The situation did not lack a certain ele- ment of rough humor, for, realizing that they had effectually repulsed Marshall, Go VOOKS AMG (C@)