Argosy, Vol. 120, No. 1 — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

RESURRECTION DAY, there been any observer present besides Fang. As it was, the dog, first ashore, thanked him with a sharp bark, and was off into the night in an ever-widening circle, nose to earth, tail high, giving thanks for a safe voyage, and home. The whaleboat was loaded, forward, with various supplies, staple food, coal oil, and clothing. Dean paused long enough to in- spect it by the glow of an electric torch, estimating any possible damage by salt water, making sure the tarpaulin covered it well. He was too tired for anything more. His body was one vast ache of fatigue. Cold and wet had numbed him. The earth swayed unsteadily beneath his feet, for his cramped muscles still felt the pitch and swing of the whaleboat. Only one desire remained—home and sleep. He_had not far to go. Fortune’s one street had been the beach, the straggling row of wooden shacks facing Seaward, and roughly following the curve of the little harbor, which was less harbor than indentation of an inhospitable shore. © The southernmost building of that line— the only oné still deserving of the name dwelling—was Dean’s. It stood apart from the ruined village by some little distance, a one-story structure, stoutly built of wood: looted from the ruins and the abundant drift, larger than seemed necessary, and boasting the luxury of a rough-stone chim- ney that testified to its owner’s love of a generous fire and his unlimited leisure fur - building. The low house or cabin—whichever the observer pleased—huddled against a hillock of sand, one of a hundred dunes along that sandy bar. | The color of this home was the color of the dunes about it, so that even on a fine day it was difficult to distinguish from its background. It was as unusual, inside and out, as the man who had built it and lived in it—altogether too fine for a beach- comber; rather primitive for a gentleman of means and leisure. | If you had asked about its owner at Romanoff, the settlement where Dean ap- peared about once in a year to buy sup- plies, you would have learned little. To the trader and the few who had seen him, Dean was a conundrum, a strapping big fellow with with a cold gray eye and pugnacious jaw who minded his own busi- ness. He was generally supposed to be a prospector, though what he hoped to find in the sands of Fortune nobody could see. At best beach diggings were a low-pay proposition. He paid for what little he needed in money. He seemed always cheerfully self- contained, and the few who saw him or knew of him were too busy with their own affairs to make a thirty-mile journey to discover what he was up to. They realized he was a man of education, and they set him down as a “ nut.” It was an ideal country for a man who wanted to mind his own business, and For- tune was the ideal place in which to mind it. . Sure that his boat was beyond reach of high water, and its cargo safe, Dean turned homeward, slouching wearily through the soft sand. Fang he left to his own devices. There was no lock upon his door, and there never had been need of one. He lifted the latch, and entered. Stopping short within the threshold, his eyes held by the glow of coals on his own broad hearth.. He had been absent five days, delayed by bad weather. He had left a cold hearth- stone. Now a bed of coals winked a sleepy welcome. He had come home more than half asleep on his feet, utterly done in by the long fight against the squall, but the sight of coals, and the warm breath of the room waked him with rude hellos. Instinctively he shifted his position along the wall, glad he was in shadow, silent, Stealthy, ready for any surprise. His right hand fumbled for the holstered pistol in his belt. There was no sound nor sign of life in the room, the largest and chief of his three rooms, but his eyes, slowly accustoming themselves to the dim glow, sought the shadows eagerly. Never had there been a visitor to For- tune. He wanted none. It was imperative that he know at once all about the person or persons who had paid him this attention, 27 CoOMmiicloo CO@