The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 175: what you’re looking at

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

HIS ISLE OF ‘REFUGE. he, ‘ Monsieur Saville. Your boat ees built a leetle too late, after all.” CHAPTER XXII, FRIEND OR FOE? OULARDE’S taunt fell on deaf ears. Saville stared at the apparition on the sky-line as though petrified, with a heart full of bitterness and desperation. So all his labor had been in vain, Should he make a dash for it even now. No, it was hopeless. It would take fully an hour to launch the boat and fit the propellers, even if all went smoothly. By that time the enemy would be at their doors, for that the ship in the offing was an enemy, he doubted not. With a sigh that was half a groan te turned away. For the moment his brain felt numbed. Then Foularde’s mocking voice recalled him to himself, and the Belgian’s taunt of some minutes before reached Saville’s consciousness in that curiously belated manner in which words, seemingly unheard at the time of utter- ance, sometimes bear their tardy message. He drew his revolver, which he had rever relinquished, and turned savagely. “Up into the cave with you,” he ex- claimed. ‘Another word and I will shoot you out of hand!” Foularde seemed inclined to bluster for a moment, but after a glance at Saville’s face and the threatening re- volver, he ascended the ladder with a shrug of resignation. Saville followed swiftly. Sharply he ordered the fellow into the lower cavern and closed down the stone after him. A very brief time sufficed to reconvey the food supply to the upper cave. He must be prepared to stand a siege and he determined that he would fight it out to the end. He cursed the chance which left the boat there for all eyes to see—a standing evidence of his presence and his futile attempt to escape. Had it been possible, he would have launched and sunk her there and then, 165 With Foularde impotent to betray him, he might still have fooled those who came to search—not so much for him, perhaps, as for traces of Coulson Stanbury. As it was, the boat betrayed the truth near enough, and even if he succeeded in eluding discovery, they would take away his only means of escape, and he would have to choose between surrender and ultimate starvation. Saville mounted the ladder and mood- ily drew it up after him. He raised his glasses and surveyed the approaching ship. He felt a dull curiosity as to the identity of those who had come across that wide expanse of ocean to destroy his hopes and take from him his liberty. He looked steadily. Then a mist seemed to swim before the lenses and he sank on ene knee that he might steady his trem-_ bling hand. He looked again, scarcely breathing. Was he mad or dreaming! Surely he recognized that square-bowed, red-fun- neled craft with the stumpy masts and red pennant streaming out in the breeze. The Benmore! Andrew Trail! Ellen Lisle had kept her word! Yet, how was it possible? At that mo- ment a puff of white smoke appeared and a gun boomed forth. Then another and, after a longer pause, a third! The pri- vate signal agreed upon between Trail and himself! Saville leaped to his feet with a wild, exultant shout. The ship was much too far away for him to be heard by any on board, but they had glasses and they’ could see. He darted into the cave . and returning with a white cloth, waved it madly. He | was saved, how, he did not strive to un- derstand at the moment. He ran to the trap-door and raised the stone as though it were a cork. “Foularde! Come up you infernal dynamiter!” he shouted. . “ I’ve news for you. The ship contains my friends, you scoundrel, friends—comprenez vous? ”’ Foularde had heard the guns and CORMICLOOOKS (E©)