Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

164 Castle. She heaved to, threw him a line on his call, and picked him up. Fortunately, the occupants were Ameri- cans returning from a fishing trip down the coast. Watson rapidly sketched his plight and his determination to catch his late cap- tain on American territory and force a set- tlement. ‘“‘T’ll land you over here at the wharf at Cristobal—that’s United States territory— and you'll probably find your man down at the end of that second pier; that’s where most of the coconuts are bought around here,”’ advised the man at the tiller. “‘ Good luck to you!” he waved as Breck Watson _clambered ashore and started looking for - Captain Scruggs. He found him under ideal surroundings, down in the far end of one of the long warehouses, chaffering with a buyer of co- conuts, copra, and the like. Nobody else was about save one of the military guard, leisurely waiking his beat outside. Watson adopted the wise course and spoke to the guard first. “ Friend, that black Jamaica coon over there has had me at his mercy two months, kicking and abusing me all over his ratty old schooner—me the only white man in the crew, and it my only chance to get home. ‘“ He refuses to pay me and is trying to make me go on to Jamaica. My time’s up. I want to try to get my money!” “By gosh, friend—go to it!” heartily assented the soldier. ‘Well, if there’s a row and trouble, re- member I’ve been a slave to that black drunken devil for two months, and don’t interfere unless you have to!” “ T enlisted in Yazoo County, Mississip- pi, myself—and my heart’s with you. I got to see these proceedin’s, and maybe pinch you afterward, but sometimes [ can’t run very fast and I’m a damn poor shot!” He grinned amiably. The trade was apparently off; Captain Harry Scruggs was still too truculent from his rum to suit the buyer, who abruptly turned his back on him and walked out of the warehouse. That left Scruggs, the soldier at the door, and Breck Watson. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, ‘“ You owe me forty-two dollars and fifty cents, gold. Pay me!” Captain Scruggs glared in utter amaze- ment to see the butt of his mistreatment ashore. | “Say ‘sir’ to me! Didn’t Hi tell you you couldn’t come ashore? Get back to the ship!” “You'll pay me now, and I’m not going back to the ship.” ‘“‘ Why, you imper’ent devil—get away!” Scruggs aimed a kick—and stopped a ter- rific right hander which landed on an eye. Watson’s fists worked like pistons, and a smashing uppercut got Scruggs under the jaw, and he took the count. The late object of the captain’s ill tem- per crawled astride of him, took an ear in each hand, and began to lift and slam Scruggs’s head with much violence against the floor. “ Going to pay me?” inquired Watson. “ Help! Help! Hi’m a British subjec— Hi demands protection!” bawled Scruggs in hiccupy tones as his head arose and fell under Watson’s ministrations. “Pay me!” insisted Watson. “Yuss—yuss. Hi cawn’t get me money with you roostin’ hon me—”’ “ Get up then—and if you don’t pay me there’s more of the same waiting for you.” “ Hey, officer, arrest this man!” demand- ed Scruggs, rising, and catching sight of the sentry. ‘‘ He’s tryin’ to rob me—he’s a de- serter—assaulted me—Hi’m a Britisher, Hi demands protection, and he be turned-over to his majesty’s consul—Gawd bless him!” “Who, bless this feller?” inquired the gentleman from Yazoo, sauntering over. ‘“Hi’m a British subjec—I demand jus- tice!” 7 “ Ain’t you gettin’ it?” drawled the sen- try. “Pay me!” The blue eyes were ablaze now. “IT won't!” The fists were at work again, more dead- ly in their execution this time. He knocked Scruggs backward into a puddle of dirty blackstrap molasses from a leaky barrel; knocked him down again as he blindly arose, and then again—cold as a wedge this time. One eye was closed, the other nearly Gomichbooks (E@)