The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

234 from the girl that had enforced upon his attention and action the necessity of keep- ing alive and free at every cost. He had thought that it would be but a matter of a few moments’ waiting to get his pursuers spread out in such fash- ion that he might pretty easily break through their line and get back to the bungalow and more weapons of defense. And now he was lost—hours had passed since he had evaded the foremost of the enemy and buried himself in the thicket so effectually that he could not even get himself out. He was lost—and Pinhon, with a hundred and fifty-odd half-savages at his beck and call, had Miss Reade at his mercy. Common sense told him that the one and only thing to do was to lie down where he was and wait for daylight. He could not have done it to save his life. He plunged on and on, shifting his direc- tion, though he knew well enough that it is humanly impossible without any guide to keep from walking in circles. Once he stepped on some huge serpent that struck, hissing, and hung by its fangs to his boots. It was over before he had begun to feel the fright the thing gave him afterward. But he pushed on his hopeless wanderings in spite of the fear of a less fortunate repetition of the accident. Twice he toppled headlong into huge ant-hills. It seemed that his clothes were full of the crawling, stinging pests. But he could not make up his mind to stop for any attempt to remove the garments and clear himself of the insects. His motions through the dense foliage kept him brushed clear of gnats and mos- quitoes. The wet leaves, however, had soaked his clothes and his skin, and his perspiration irritated the ant-bites until he felt galled from head to foot. And weary—he had never dreamed that a man could stand who was as tired as he felt. The wet had turned the whole jun- ele into a morass through which he wad- ed, most of the time above his ankles. Every step had to be a conquest of vines ss THE ARGOSY, and small branches against which he sometimes threw his whole weight in vain, then shifted to a weaker spot, knowing that he thereby lost what little course he had made shift to maintain. But Evelyn Reade was the only white woman, her dying father the only white man back at the camp. And there was Pinhon—he could not bring himself to stop. Once he found comfort in the thought that she was an excellent shot and al- ways armed, the boat well stocked with guns and pistols. It was more than likely that Pinhon had been shot dead by her hours ago. There was no question about her nerve to do the deed if necessity arose. He stopped as he thought of that. In that case haste was but waste of his en- ergies, which would be needed to keep a safe camp ‘for her as soon as he could get back. Then the hope faded out. Dr. Pinhon would never be fool enough to chance a visit to the cruiser until he knew there was little danger of meeting a bullet. What he would do would be to drive his befooled peons to take her. He would care nothing at all if she used up all her ammunition on them and choked the river with their carcasses. Well, she would save two bullets, one for her father and one for herself. Prob- ably that had been attended to already. Probably they were both dead long since. Five hours— Oh, God! But that was not the sert of thought to let him drop his exhausted frame to rest. And then he realized that daylight was coming. The thought of it carried no hope—only the realization that more time had elapsed. And the daylight itself brought no help. Through the thick mist and the thicker clouds above it was impossible to discern whether the sun rose upon the one hand or the other. It was completely invisible. The heavy mist became a downpour. Still he was lost, as helpless to defend the girl he loved, as useless for her need as if he were not at all. He was half- COMMCOOO S (C@