Argosy, Vol. 120, No. 1 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

RESURRECTION - rough tweed, knickerbockers, high Cordo- van leather boots, a silk shirt with a soft linen collar and a gay cravat; a soft cloth hat. He might have been anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five, dark-skinned, ‘with shrewd, dark eyes, and a very brief dark mustache. Well-defined brows slant- ing upward at their outer corners gave him an inquiring look. He had a firm; square chin, but Dean disliked his mouth—too full lips, and a little slack. Then he became aware of another man, standing near by, apart from the pair who had rowed, and evidently by his uniform coat and.cap of a different social rank. He was a squat figure, short, and inclined to a paunch, but broad of shoulder and deep of chest. His eyes were a frosty blue, very much interested in everything. As for his face and general appearance, it gave Dean an inclination to smile—Na- poleon the First all over again, a little less imposing, a little less spruce, considerably older than his portraits. Napoleon slightly gone to seed—that expressed the man whom Burchard introduced as Captain Blye, sail- ing master of the Falcon. He greeted Dean in a sharp, Yankee twang. “‘ Been delayed by fog and trouble in the engine-room,”” Burchard was_ explaining. “ Cylinder head leaking, so Blye tells‘ me. We'll get away this afternoon, eh, captain? They'll have it repacked.” “‘ Ought to,” said Blye. “ That’s important, you know, Blye. Don’t want to linger around here.” “* Know it.” “‘ Got all the help they need in the engine- room? You’re rushing the job?” é¢ Am.”’ “ As if Captain Blye was anything but efficiency plus!”’ Marta exclaimed, with a smile for the sailing master. “ Thanks.” | Dean could not help but smile. Blye’s brief replies popped out without a twitch of facial muscles. He was a wooden Indian— except for his busy eyes of frosty blue. The little group lingered uncertainly. “TI have a steamer trunk at Mr. Dean’s,” said Marta. ‘“ One of the man can manage it easily—” table—” DAY. “Harry!” Blye beckoned a man from the tender. ‘“‘ Now, Miss?” ‘If you don’t mind,” said Marta,“ I’d like Mr. Burchard to see how comfortably I’ve passed the waiting. Won’t you invite us in, Mr. Dean?” “ Certainly,” Dean agreed. He wished they were all far out at sea and forgotten. Burchard’s eyes widened at the comfort- able interior of the cabin, and he spoke with enthusiastic approval. Marta was a volu- ble guide, extolling the pleasant conve- nience of Dean’s home. Dean followed, smiling politely and feeling rather in the way. Blye’s eyes were prying SvElyHRERE, but he said nothing. ‘““'You’ve done yourself well—very well, indeed,” Burchard’ declared heartily. ‘“‘ Ranching, I suppose?” ‘No. “¢ Prospecting?” T4 No.” ‘““Ah. Sportsman, perhaps?” Dean started to shake his head. ‘““Mr. Dean enjoys living in solitude,” Marta explained. ‘“‘ Do you blame him, George? Such a pleasant life, no worries, no business cares, no neighbors to annoy!” “Gad, I can agree with you, Dean! Most of us are too damn busy doing things that don’t count. Got some nice things here, that Navaho rug on the wall, for in- stance. Wouldn’t consider selling that, I suppose?” 4 No.”’ Burchard passed his hand across the rug. exclaimed its weave with the air of a con- noisseur. ‘‘A good one,” he announced. “TI used to know a little about them, in an amateurish way.” : Dean, watching Burchard, was conscious of Marta’s sharp glance on them both. “* Look, George,” she exclaimed suddenly, “this is Fang. Isn’t he a dear!” The Airedale submitted to her caress with a gentleman’s composure. Burchard he recognized with an inquisitive sniff, but moved quickly from under his hand. At Blye he lifted a black lip, disclosing ugly, white teeth. “ He’s not accustomed to people,” Dean apologised. ‘‘ Fang! Outside!” 41 Except what I need for the COMmiclbooa S CO@