Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

198 trousers and khaki shirt. She was barefoot- ed; her shirt sleeves were rolled up about her elbows. As the two men were brought to a halt by their guards she leaned forward, elbows on knees, resting her chin on her hands and regarded them intently—especially Hard- wick. “Ere you,” began Ginger Dick, but stopped, panic-stricken, when, in response to an imperious nod from the girl, one of the warriors prodded him slightly in the rear with the point of his assegai. “ Lumme!” he exclaimed indignantly and then, answering Hardwick’s warning glance. fell silent. ‘‘ Sprechen sie Deutsch?” The girl addressed her question to Hard- wick. He shook his head. “Nein! Nein!” “Do you speak the Zulu talk?” she asked in the vernacular. He looked at her blankly. “ Fool!” She spat out the English word. “Then why do you come to this country?” Her eyes flashed wrathfully. “To make money,” Hardwick answered sarcastically. She looked at him coldly, almost imper- sonally; her eyes seemed to bore right through him and it was with the utmost difficulty that he suppressed the desire to turn and see who was standing behind him. “What is your name?” she asked. “ Jim Hardwick,” he replied. “Jim—Jim Hardwick,” she repeated, hesitating slightly over the surname. Then, still looking at Hardwick, she spoke in a low, rapid voice to the graybeards, who nodded gravely or breathed softly their one exclamation: ‘f Au-a!”’ Although Hardwick could not understand a word she was saying, it was impossible for him not to get the purport of her remarks. Her eyes spoke eloquently; her intonation, her gestures were very expressive, and Hard- wick moved sheepishly, his face flushed. Apparently she was finding much that was displeasing about him. “Who are you? What were you and the red haired: man doing in the hut by the river? That hut is used only by Peruvians ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. who sell their rot-gut poison to fools among my young men. You are not a Peruvian. Neither is Red Head.” “Not bleedin’ likely,” grunted Ginger Dick and moved quickly to avoid another jab. The girl smiled slightly and continued: “No! You are not Peruvians. That is why your hands were free, the gags taken from your mouths last night while you slept. That is why you are alive this morning.” She was, of course, speaking English now and her queer, musical accent reminded Hardwick of people he had known, long ago, in some back water town in Pennsy!l- vania. The curious, slightly aspirated vowel sounds fascinated him. “Answer slowly,” she concluded, “ for I must translate what you say so that my people may understand.” And very slowly Hardwick told her of the events which had brought him to his present position. What he omitted—his re- fusal to sign the report prepared by Isaacs & Smithers; his fight with the English- man—Ginger Dick supplied. Not even the menace of the guard’s assegai could silence for long the little Australian’s verbosity. “Han hif hit ’adn’t been for you,” he said sneeringly, “’e wouldn’t ’ave ’ad that fight with Smithers an’ we wouldn’t be ‘ere now. But that’s-the trouble with Yank. ’E’s too bloomin’ sentimental—fightin’ over a silly piece of fluff like you; only ’e thought you was a boy, ’e did then—’e’d ’ave fought fer a dog just the same, so don’t you go. a goin’ putting hon hairs abart hit. 7’E thought you was a boy, an’ blimme, so did Hi. Are yer?” The girl’s eyes narrowed as with an ex- pressive, gnomish moue she turned her back on the two white men and conversed for a time with the natives. Presently she turned again and the gray bearded natives left the room, chattering excitedly. A sharp voiced command and the four warriors left also. “We believe your story, Big Jim,” the girl said quietly. “ But it is best that vou stay here for a little while. Here men will not think of looking for you that they may put diamonds in your pockets. Also, if we COMMICLOO°okKs (C@