Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

190 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. in the face, while his own blows did not land or, if they did, seemed to be losing their force. He raised his guard and then the sicken- ing pounding on his ribs began again. He doubled over—seeking to cover up. “G’wan!” screamed Ginger Dick. “ You’ve got “im.” Encouraged, Hardwick closed in, seeking an opportunity to put a finis to the struggle, thought he saw his opportunity and, drop- ping all caution, all attempt at guarding, swung for Smithers’s ear. The blow landed, landed at the same time as Smithers’s foul one, low down. Smithers went over like a ninepin: Hard- wick’s knees sagged and he crumbled up in a heap; he was horribly nauseated. The men were shouting, jeering, laugh- ing. The black-bearded man kept them back, refusing to let the seconds go to their men. “ They’re not out—neither of them,” he shouted. ‘It ain’t over yet. Watch! There’s the line!” He drew another line mid-way between Hardwick and Smithers. Hardwick walked over to it and waited. ‘‘ Come on, Smithers,” the crowd shouted. “The Yank’s awaiting for you.” But Smithers did not move, save to turn over on his belly and clutch at the ground as if he was afraid that some one would lift him and by force set his foot against the line. : ‘I’m finished,” he groaned. Some of his friends picked. him up and carried him into the hotel; the others fol- lowed—remembering suddenly that it was very hot and that they were very tired and thirsty; forgetting Hardwick, the Yank. Only Ginger Dick remained behind. Hardwick stared straight before him with dull, lack-lustre eyes, still toeing the mark; wondering, vaguely, at the sudden quiet. He made a few feeble passes with his hands—then the sun went out and he col- lapsed completely. IV. Wuen Hardwick again opened his eyes, he found himself on a rickety camp-bed in a small, native-built hut. He stared quietly at the thatched conical-shaped roof for a moment, endeavoring to collect his thoughts. It was very hot; mosquitoes pinged sav- agely and flies swarmed everywhere save above the bed where hung a green-leaved branch on which an enormous chameleon clung, its long tongue darting out and en- circling any foolish fly that ventured to close. The delicious smell of cooking coffee and of fried bacon filled the air. Slowly turn- ing his head Hardwick saw Ginger Dick bending over a small fire built on a large slab of stone in the center of the hut. “ Hullo!” Hardwick said feebly as, with an effort, he sat erect. Ginger Dick crossed over to the bed and | stood looking down at Hardwick; his eyes shining happily. “"Ullo, cully!” he said boisterously. “ Feelin’ hall right, now? You've been asleep four bleedin’ hours. Hit’s after sun- down.” Hardwick swung his legs over the side of the bed and gingerly stood up. His nose was swollen and both of his eyes were pufied—but otherwise he was unmarked, unhurt. A little shaky—but he’d soon get over that. Just now he was conscious only of a great hunger. “Sure yer hall right?” repeated Ginger Dick, watching him anxiously. “Will be—as soon as I’ve had some- thing to eat.” “ That’s heasy.” Ginger Dick helped him to a chair at a rickety deal table and lighted two candles, stuck in their own grease on the table top. “There!” he said triumphantly as he placed a cup of black coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs before Hardwick. “ Get houtside that, cully—then we’ll talk.” Hardwick needed no further urging. “How did you get me here?” he asked finally, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “Tumme! It was a ’ell of a job. You ain’t ‘arf ’eavy! Me an’ Burke dressed yer—Burke’s that black-bearded blighter— and carried yer ’ere. Dead to the world yer was. This is my plice of residence. CORMIGLOOKS (C©@