The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

SHIPS _OF young Boston’s crew roared out an adapta- tion which must have stung Steelfist to the quick: “As I was a-walking down Paradise Street, Good-by, fare-ye-well! Good-by, fare-ye-well! Ol’ Steelfist Marshall I chanct for to meet— Hurray, my boys, we’re outward bound! “Says he, I’ve lost my ship an’ crew, Good-by, fare-ye-well! Good-by, fare-ye-well! The Dude has lammed me black an’ blue— Hurray, my boys, we’re outward bound!” There was more of it, but of such a na- ture that Blake turned hastily, his face very red, and led the girl outside into the moon- light, over the lip of the crest. “There’s no danger of their sailing away?” asked the girl quietly. “Hardly! They could kedge or tow out, and couldn’t navigate when they got out. No, the Foster is safe enough. All that worries me is Long Rube Bower and his sweet gang of cut-throats. And where can Wicliff be? By the way, Marshall’s pres- ence ashore, as I told you, is due to the fact that he found the wreck empty of treasure. Has Wicliff ever mentioned it to you?” For a moment she looked up at him, then smiled. “Yes, Mr. Blake—” _ “Vou mean Jack,” and Blake smiled in turn. ‘‘Mary’s ever so much more suitable than Miss Peabody—so go on about the treasure.”’ “Ves, Jack,’ she nodded; her eyes twink- ling. “He spoke about it to me when I first came ashore. He had recovered the money years ago, and several times wrote to -find any of my grandfather’s heirs who might be alive. As we never got the letters, however, he never got any answer; so he put the money into a chest in the bunga-- low—”’ “What!” exclaimed Blake sharply. “It’s there in plain sight?” “No, hardly! The chest is in the little cellar—just a hole reached by a trap in the dining-room floor. Mr. Wicliff showed me the money the day before I went to the vil- lage—what’s the matter?” For Blake had turned abruptly, his eyes hard. “Td better get back to the house in a hurry,” he rejoined. ‘Those fellows will be prowling around, and if they light on that treasure it’s all up.” “Give the money to Captain Marshall, if he’ll only—” began the girl. STRIFE, 441 “Nothing doing, Mary,” snapped Blake, then laughed. ‘Knuckle down to that tough? I should say not! We're going to beat him, Mary Peabody—beat him at his own specialty, and then send you home with that money in your pocket. Now, take good care of yourself, and whatever you do, stay here. Good night for the present!”’ “Good night, Jack!” she said softly. But Blake was not destined to return to the bungalow so speedily as he wished. As he rejoined his two men Ryan plucked at his arm, and drew him on to the edge of the bluff, over the northern headland. “Will ye be lookin’ at that, Dude!” Under the brilliant three-quarters moon the lagoon was as light as day. The wreck of the Marshall was indicated by her rig- ging, still above the water, for she lay in but six fathoms. <A boat was just putting out from the Foster with ribald shouts. ‘“What’ll be them dots in the old Marsh- all’s fore-rigging, Dude?” Blake made out three figures, evidently men. “Ole wasn’t the only. one to escape, Paddy—I hope to Heaven Boston won’t murder them!” Paddy Ryan, to judge by his muttered curse, evidently did not second the wish. It soon proved that young Boston had no murderous intents, however, despite his Dutch courage. The boat halted under the fore-rigging of the Marshall, and one by one the three figures climbed down. A jubilant yell, the oars flashed silver, and the boat headed back for the Foster. “Here, Paddy,” exclaimed Blake, satis- fied, “I’ve got to get back to the bungalow. You follow this path,’ and he pointed out the trail which led from the crest through the banana groves to the village, “and see if you can’t meet up with some of those natives. Long Rube’s party ought to come from that direction. If you meet ’em, join in with the crowd unless you can get away; but see to it that I get warning, and that they keep away from the hut up here. Understand ?”’ ; Ryan nodded, wrinkling up his face anx- iously, as well he might. There was no danger that Bower knew of his desertion, but the duty was none to his liking. “Tl do me best, sir—what the divil’s that?” “Dude!” the voice of Fancy Harry rang out from below. “Hey, Dude! Git here in a hurry!” CORMICGLOOKS (C@)