The Argosy, Vol. 83 No. 1 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

HIS ISLE OF REFUGE. obstinate I am afraid you will find your- self in something of an awkward fix. No gun, food run out, marooned on an island, and with not one chance in a thousand of being discovered—well, I won’t pain you with fancy pictures. I guess you are wise enough to gage the situation for your- self.” Coulson Stanbury sat silent for some time, his somber eyes fixed on the glowing fire. He mentally cursed his folly in hav- ing been led into this trap. Edward Saville was the last man in the world he would have suspected of treach- ery. All his talk, all his actions had gone to show him as a man utterly devoid of sentiment, a mere worldly dollar-hunter like Stanbury himself. Now, when it was too late the multi- millionaire recalled various intimate con- versations in which he had given himself away to this seemingly sympathetic com- panion of his. He remembered when he had even referred scoffingly to Davenport Lisle himself and his daughter, without mentioning names it was true, but Saville must have known all the time. And there was no way out, save by sub- mitting to this monstrous demand! Stan- bury could see that plainly. No way— save by a sudden turning of the tables on his foe. He raised his eyes furtively. Saville was smoking gravely opposite, his half- closed eyes apparently fixed on vacancy. It occurred to Stanbury that he was doz- ing, or on the verge of it. There would never be a better chance than this. Acting on a sudden impulse, Stanbury dashed his foot into the red embers and kicked up a smother of sparks and ashes in Saville’s face. With the same impulse he leaped to his feet, uttering a cry of triumph. It died away in a snarl of baffled rage as Stanbury felt himself seized from be- hind in a bear-like embrace by a pair of arms that felt like bars of steel. “Good Andrew,” came Saville’s mocking voice. “You arrived like the god out of the car—or the motor-boat. Hold him 105 tight until I get these infernal ashes out of my eyes. I didn’t think he had the sand to buck like that, confound him!”’ Coulson Stanbury writhed and cursed, but the big man held him with scarcely an effort, and presently the struggling captive subsided and remained inert. ‘I’m beat!” he gasped. - “Two to one! Oh, you are a plucky pair of thugs!” Saville smiled and maneuvered the scattered fire into a blaze once more. ‘“Y think we will get our little business done now,” said he crisply. ‘How are you going to give it—-note or check? Quite immaterial to me, you know, as long as it gets across. I have explained to you what will happen if it doesn’t.” “YT will give you a note—and a check,” said Stanbury sullenly. ‘Carmichael would never cash you either alone, I fancy, without communicating with me first. Ill have to put it so that he will be convinced that everything is O. K., but it will take some doing.” , “Exactly,” returned Saville. ‘I am glad you have come to look at the matter sensibly. You may let him go now, An- drew, but keep him covered. Here is paper, a fountain-pen, and my grip to write on. Fire away. I leave it to you to make it as convincing as you can.” Stanbury took the proffered articles and sank on one knee in order to catch the firelight. ‘““A lamp from the boat would have been better,” said Saville, ‘‘but I dare say you can manage. Take your time and make a neat job of it. We don’t want it to look as though you had written it under duress, as the lawyers call it, I believe.”’ For a quarter of an hour nothing was audible save the sighing of the wind in the pines above, the faint crackle of the fire and. steady scratching of the pen. It formed a curious scene, Stanbury kneeling and writing busily, huge Andrew Trail silent and watchful at his back, and Saville standing alertly observant, a tri- umphant gleam in his eyes, with the red glow of the fire over all. “There you are,” growled Stanbury at CORMMICLOOOKS (C@