Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

TOTEM SIGNS. raced up the stairs to find Felming uncon- scious. Blood was streaming from a wound over the heart in small gushes with each heart-beat. On the man’s breast was a dead weasel. As the doctor bent over Flem- ing the marshal picked up the animal. ‘“‘ Say, Mac,” he cried, ‘what do you make of this. The thing is still warm.” ‘““IT am wondering if it isn’t some sign of the totem that Edith Fleming men- tioned.” Gregory nodded. “Follow me,” he ordered. Again he had drawn his gun. Outside they separated and searched every building, but the silent visitor had left not a trace of his call except a knife wound and the dead weasel. MacGregor hurried to the waterfront in- tent on observing any sudden departure in that quarter. The bay and channel glis- tened in the light of a gray dawn, the small craft were still and dark except for their riding lights. He watched until sunrise without result. ‘“‘Limpy Ford is the answer if answer there is,” he reflected. ‘ Well, here goes. Hello, what’s this?”” There were two bunks in the Taku’s cabin, and on his bunk there lay a dead robin. It was uncanny and the deputy shuddered slightly as he examined the bird. Then he tossed it through a porthole. ‘I’m going to clear out and get to the bottom of this,” he growled, “‘ ind get it before it gets me. It’s a new experi- ence, but it has interesting and unusual angles.” CHAPTER IV. THE DESERTED GASBOAT. HERE were two redeeming angles to the otherwise worthless life of Pete Markey. He would not kill, except as his moonshine frequently sickened men unto death. Nor could he ever bring him- self to mistreat a woman. Any native might beat his squaw or a white brute in- sult a girl and he would never lift a hand. It was none of his affair. Yet he would not do such things himself. Thus when he peered into the gasboat’s fo’c’s’le and saw the form of a girl stretched 829 out he was curious as to her method of boarding the craft rather than whether she was alive or dead. It was dark and smelly in the narrow compartment and the heavy air suggested she had died of suffocation perhaps. He tied a line about her and hauled the limp form to the deck. “ Fleming’s girl!’ he exclaimed. ‘‘ What’s she doing here?” Not knowing just what to do he filled a bucket with cold salt water and drenched her. The shock caused a strange gasping. It reminded him of a fish out of water and he regarded the process of respiration with interest. The eyes she presently opened were filled with terror. She struggled desperately to stand, each time dropping down to the deck with a discouraged sob. At length she got to her knees and attempted to throw herself overboard. He pulled her back. to do that!” he said. “‘ Oh, let me die. There’s no escape. Let me get it over with.” ‘“‘ No escape from what?” he inquired. ‘From Limpy Ford. He is in league with the devil himself. He—-” “* He’s joined the devil by this time,” interrupted Markey, “1 saw a hairpin on deck and wondered how it got there. Limpy slashed at me with a knife. I knocked him overboard. He’s drowned now—drift- ing below the surface among the crabs and devil fish. They’re probably eating off’n—” “Don’t be so morbid;” she exclaimed. With a tired sigh she leaned against the deck house. ‘“¢ T remember now,” she said several min- utes later, “ the trip to the creek for water, then two hands reaching from a clump of brush and choking me. Then darkness! After tnat I felt as if I were slowly choking to death. I felt the ribs of a boat with my hands, then the ladder and realized where I was. Yes, I remember seeing Limpy Ford, too; his filthy teeth and glaring eves. How far have we gone from home?” Markey did not reply at first. ‘I don’t see how he got you aboard. I was in the cabin most of the morning and I didn’t go to sleep unless it was that time my pipe fell out of my mouth. He must have come “ You don’t want COMIG DOO! (©