Argosy, Volume XXIII — Index Page, 1897 — page 170: what you’re looking at

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

740 HOODOO SAM. gold out of her trunk, and put it berteath her shawl. She had been very proud of the two gold pieces—that were to ‘“‘buy a wedding dress for my little granddaughter and namesake, Hester Darke,’’ her grandmother’s will had said; but no shadow of regret at parting with them crossed her mind. As the old clock on the mantelpiece struck the half hour, she opened the door and went out into the rain and darkness. : But she had gone-only a few steps beyond the gate when a tall figure stepped into the path just before her. ‘‘ Hetty, go back home,’’ said Brock. ‘‘T know where you are going. I will keep that appointment.”’ She held out the box. ‘‘ Take the money and give it to him when he bias shown you where Rob is.’’ ‘“No; keep the money. If he can show me where Rob is, he will do it without money. Go back now, Hetty darling.’’ She turned without another word, comforted a little by her lover’s tender tone and her trust in his wisdom. Hardy went on along the path, hearing the rain patter against the pal- metto fans on either side. When within twenty yards of the Sink, he stopped and got behind a tree. He had not long to wait. In a few minutes he saw through the drizzling rain a dark shape move across the clear space in front of the Sink and stop in the black shadow of the live oak. ‘There was only a single figure : the negro had not brought Rob. Brock muttered, ‘‘’T'was a trick to get the money. He’d a’ grabbed it and flung Hetty in the Sink. Who was to know she didn’t drown herself ? I’ll jes keep up with the black devil tonight.”’ Bending his body to lessen the chance of being seen by the negro and keeping in the shadow of the trees until he was out of sight, he made his way to Sam’s cabin through the wet grass along the lagoon. The gate of the fence was locked. Peering above the pointed stakes, he saw the hut, dark save for a gleam of red firelight that came from under the door and through a crevice in the rock chimney. ‘There were no cracks between the logs—they had been carefully chinked with moss and mud. Brock was too active to find much difficulty in climbing ovér the wall. As he dropped on the other side, the dog jumped upon him and seized his leg. A well aimed blow from the butt end of his pistol had the effect of making the brute loose his hold. Another blow stretched the dog senseless. ‘“If he comes to he won’t bother me any more,’’ Brock said to himself. He went to the hut and walked around it, examining it attentively. It was built close to the ground; there was no window. Hardy took his knife and picked out a piece of the mud and moss daubing from between the logs, making a hole through which, as he peered, he could see the interior of the hut. There was a fire on the hearth and an iron pot in which something bubbled and steamed. There was a pile of pine knots by the fire, a heap of moss—Sam’s bed—in the corner, the cage with its snake tenant, a stool and a rough table. There was nothing else. All was still, except the bubbling of the pot. What prompted Brock to put his mouth to the crack and call ut, ‘‘ Rob! Rob!’’ Then louder, ‘‘ Rob, where are you?”’ There was a sound in answer—a sort of muffled cry. A pulse of hope = (E(0) Comicbooks