Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

BUCCANEER sousin’ rats from N’Orleans, don’t yer now? Well, we may be. But so was Raiglon—and Lafitte and the rest of your kind. We’re the same as Him—that’s what! That makes you and me chummy now, don’t it, me lady? Ashamed of ourselfs? Hell, no! Proud—that’s us—same’s you’re proud. McCorkle’s my name—Captain McCorkle, the same as the Mexican government is after for lootin’ the seaport Tzucox. Me and three seamen done it, yes, ma’am. And here two of ’em be right now—Parson’s his name, and Wing’s hisn!”’ The octoroon grinned. Feeling himself at home, he put away his gun, took a pipe and knocked out the ashes. As for Wing, that wrinkled and avaricious old seaman considered his introduction to the hostess as of little importance. He was interested in the tapestries, the suits of armor, the paintings. ‘““ Now, then, me lady, let’s have a drink and be friends!” McCorkle went on. “I hear you’ve got some rare old stuff stowed away here. Give us somethin’ hot—hot enough to burn our guts out. None o’ yer white wine—nor red, neither. Somethin’ the color of a ole amber pipestem that bites like a pipe a hundred year old. That’s what we’re thirsty for! Here you—what the hell are you standin’ there for gibberin’ St usr” ‘“ He’s my steward,” the chatelaine said. “ Stoo’rd—is it? . So ye got a stoo’rd’s department ashore here, have ye? See what the stoo’rd’s got to plug us with, mates— afore we go on drinkin’ the lady’s health.” Parson—the nearest to the old negro— examined him. “ Nothin’,” he reported, almost with dis- gust. ‘“‘ Not so much as a sheath knife.” “ Well and good, stoo’rd. Now shag your piebald old carcass and git us our liquor.” Quintilian looked to his mistress. She bowed her head. He hobbled to the side- board for more glasses. McCorkle’s eye fell upon the decanter. He stepped to it and threw himself into the Gothic chair at the head of the table where the chatelaine had been sitting. “ Here’s a jug for you, Wing!” he ex- claimed, examining the network of gold vine-leaves and jewels which ornamented BLOOD. 89 the decanter. ‘‘ What do you reckon that’s worth, missus?” The chatelaine stood away from the ta- ble, facing the three contemptible guests, her face gray with rage. She spoke with an Obvious attempt to contr¢? her passion. “ No price can be set ‘Spon it,” she said. “It can’t, eh?” McCorkle jeered. “ Well, I reckon some collector of antiques. in N’Orleans. can set a price on it. A thou- sand dollars—five thousand—that’s more like it, eh, missus?” He held it up to the candle light which came through the amber liquid and the filigreed gold like the beams through a stained glass rosace. ‘“ And the contents is worth a damned sight more, eh, missus! Here, you blackhead—pour us all a swig!” Quintilian filled the glasses. McCorkle was about to take one, when the octoroon blurted out: “ Look here, chief, you don’t figure they might be poisoning us?” McCorkle opened his red-veined eyes. The negro stood waiting, with the platter of filled glasses. ‘Look here, Mr. Blackhead, suppose you toss off that there glass yourself—the one which I was about to take?” Quintilian was confused. He had never heard of such a procedure—the servant taking the first glass! He was in the habit of sneaking off a little bracer after his mis- tress retired, but this drinking a glassful in front of them was ridiculous. Furthermore, he was obliged to hold the heavy platter with both hands—a fact which made his discomfiture all the greater. “This ancient liquor is not for serving- men,” the chatelaine said, coming to the rescue, ‘but for the Raiglons—and their guests. Gentlemen, permit me to drink the first glass.” The negro hobbled to her with his plat- ter. She took one of the wineglasses and held it up. It shone in the candle light like a Mexi- can fire opal—its amber depths burning with flames. She realized that she had their attention, their silence. “To the blood!” she said, draining the glass without taking it once from her lips. The three guests reached to the platter Gomichbooks (E@)