The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

276 THE Harvey awoke at the same. time. ‘““What’s the matter?” he asked. ‘Me no know,” replied Suka. ‘Lie down, then, Suka.”’ But the valet did not obey. Instead he rushed-to the door and threw it open. In an instant the interior of the cabin was filled with smoke. ARGOSY. Horror-stricken, the two gazed at each other. The Jap was the first to come to his senses. “Come, quick, Mistah Bowyer,” he pleaded. ‘‘ The woods are on fire.” Harvey took one look at the wall of flame sweeping rapidly toward them, and then the two ran for their lives. (To be concluded next month.) adies “ \ ae OSTERS in black, red, and blue ink, measuring three by four feet, an- nounced a Grand New Year’s Ball at Flansburg, close by the Little Black Creek lo6g-camp in which Red Hamblin worked. Music, it was stated, would be by the Jeff Wilkins Orchestra. Bill Bright would be floor-manager. All were invited. The timekeeper brought one of the posters from the Northwood post-office and nailed it to the board wall in the lobby of the log-camp where the crew, coming in from hauling the timber to the cump, would observe it without fail. It was dark when the men came in from the skidways, winter roads and dumps. It had been a long, hard day, with roads slumping and alternate periods of heavy lugging and then standing around in the raw chill to await the return of the slow-poking teams, of which there were Raymond O. Spears onf (ount ga. . too few for the bad going on that job. The men were in a correspondingly ugly mood. When they arrived in camp Red Ham- blin was in the lead. As Red opened the door the man behind him slipped forward on the icy step, butting Red in the back as he fell. Like a flash Red turned and knocked the unfortunate woodsman spin- ning into the snow. ‘““That’s the way I feel!”’ Red growled. They all felt that way, but Red only was privileged to show his feelings. At sight of the big poster Red hurried forward to read it. A poster like that might mean a big murder story in the Globe or one of Bullock’s auction sales; a new kind of medicine—or a dance. “Tt’s a dance!” Red exclaimed... “I ain’t been to a dance so long I’ve ’most forgot how to put up my dew-claws!”’ COMICOOO® S (©