Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 2 — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

230 Food or fire was out of the question, but progress on this island lake was infinitely easier than on foot, and they came one noon to the ridge beyond which lay Kettoree and freedom. Before sundown they topped it; the rain lifted for a moment, and they saw, far away, the faint flash of water. Houston said nothing, but dropped to his heels, while Black Adam for the first time since they had left Tony Dagon spoke of his own accord: ‘““Housie,” he said, ‘did you ever stop to think what a fine place a nice warm fo’c’s’le is?” Houston grunted and looked out through the thickening dusk, dreaming of the things that would comfort men whose flesh was puckered from wet—harsh blankets, a long table with a lamp over it, and a pan of steaming beef in the center, peaceful well decks where the pipe smoke curled up in the twilight. Houston’s nostrils expanded and his lips moved at the thought of to- bacco. In the mysterious twilight a sound be- gan—a hoarse murmur that seemed to run along the ground under the scrub. For a long moment the sound remained in the lower register, then rose to a slow, search-. ing roar that held for a minute and then dwindled slowly until there. was no sound but the dropping of water upon leaves. The negro had risen to his knees when the sound began; Houston still squatted on his heels without moving, with his eyes fixed on the distant prospect. Only his nostrils moved a bit—that first sign of any emo- tion. He moved his head slowly and looked about at the impenetrable green curtain about them. Black Adam was ashen pale; he moved over to Houston and touched his hand, but. _ the white man did not move. For a long minute they waited while the water ticked on the leaves as regularly as the sound of a clock. The muttering began again, rose and fell, and rose to a vibrant crescendo. Involuntarily Houston’s head moved back and his shoulders moved up; the negro in terror lest the thread which bound him to life would snap, watched ‘the face of his comrade. THE ARGOSY. ‘ Housie,” he quavered, “‘ what do you reckon that is?” The dark dropped as quickly as a theater curtain and with it the metallic, humming roar began again. Houston rose slowly to his feet and pressed his sweating palms together. The noise died away and then began again, and as its first waves sped along under the scrub, Houston took a step with his hands out, and when that step had confirmed his emotion, for it is a psycho- logical fact that a man is not really afraid until he begins to run, all the tragi-comic play of fear became suddenly large in his face: pallor, twitching lips, deep inspira- tion, and expanded nostrils, dilation of the eyes. Houston moved slowly because he could not see—eyes ordinarily keen become, under the influence of emotion, expanded and the image is diffused and dim. In this cruel country where there is as savage warfare between the forms of vege- table life as there is between the forms of animal life, where a seed lodging in the crotch of a noble tree throws out a net- work of roots which in a season will strangle that tree, where there is never-ending struggle in which the weapons are tendril and root, there is one assassin that lurks about the roots of all timber. As long as the trunk and limbs are whole this Judaslike plant stays underground, but whenever a tree suffers an injury, as soon as, for instance, the weight of water in the myriad of tiny padauk cups breaks off a branch, there springs out of the earth a magnificent morning glory which throws its arms about the wounded giant and within a month covers it from top to base in a stifling, deadly grip of crisp tendril and tender leaf. So it was with these two men. When Black Adam saw the play of fear in his comrade’s face, the thin thread which had held up his own courage broke, and he dashed into the brush. What happened to Black Adam no one knows. The white man himself continued to walk, but as soon as the rasping sound be- gan again he broke into a shambling run that turned into swift flight. He ran— but not toward Kettoree. He ran back MICLOOOK C©