Adventure Magazine Cover — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

Flatfoot He paused, looking from one to the other. “But how about puttin’ a live scorpion In a man’s bunk, sir?’”’? demanded Snootful. Doc turned on him. ““Whor”’ Snoots shifted from one leg to the other. “Well,” he answered lamely, “I can’t prove it. Tl take that back.” Doc looked him up and down for a few moments, then went on. “Of course, after we leave here—after you get over on board the station-ship—I don’t care a rap what you do to each other. You can both run up to Caimaneria on lib- erty some afternoon and have it out. But remember—if you mix it again before we leave this island, I’ll see that you both get a general court martial for disobedience of orders.” With that he turned and walked away. Fearful that Snoots would forget himself and swing on Gillen, orders notwithstand- ing, I took hold of his arm and said— “Come on.” “Don’t forget, Gillen,” he flung back, “‘you an’ me’lI finish it sooner or later. An’ yuh won’t be the first man I put in the horsepital!”’ Then his gaze fell on Ruination. “Say, yuh poor ham,” he grinned, “‘if yuh do any more matchin’ with that pair, make ’em heave their coins in the air. They been shootin’ yuh the jazz no-doubtly. Make ’em toss ’em in the air.” DURING our last three weeks on that island I kept one foot on Snoot- ful’s shadow. For I knew—and this regardless of Doc Waldo’s threatened court martial—that every time Snoots got near Gillen a tangling of tails was imminent. So I kept close enough to Snoots to light on his back. Dixie continued to look through us, when ever we met him, as if we were made of air, or glass. But wait. Once—early in our last week it was—we met him one afternoon coming round the corner of Ruination’s galley, and he dropped us a hint. “Say, fellahs—’ He spoke hurriedly, glancing furtively about him—‘keep you’ eyes an’ you’ eahs wide open an’ you’ mouths closed. The’s a fix-up on you, Snoots. I cain’t take long enough to tell you about it. If they see me talkin’ to you fellahs ev’y- thing be all off.” ei Strategy 87 With that he walked away, stiffly, head in the air—as a peacock might walk away from two ducks. “But what the Snoots grinned and turned to me. “Keep our eyes open fer what? What are they up to?” I passed. Dixie’s ways were too devious for me to follow. “First,” Snoots went on, “he drops us like we’re hot coals. Then he won’t talk to us fer three months, on’y fer long enough to slip us the dope there’s a scorpion under my blanket. An’ now— Oh, well—” Snoots was ever an optimist—‘‘things’ll come out awright no-doubtly. Dixie’ll no- doubtly tell us all about it on our furlough.” That long overdue furlough—the one Dixie, Snoots and I had planned, remember, in Marseilles, France—was now drawing near. I still had our six hundred dollars in my ditty-box. Besides, we each now had three months’ pay coming. “But if you want to make that spurt with Dixie and me,’ I said, “you better keep your paws off Gillen. Don’t forget what Doc said. If you mix it with that bird again on this island, you’ll wind up sweep- ing navy-yard streets with a marine on your tail.” “No-doubtly.” He grinned. “I won’t take a clip at ’im if I can help it. But I wonder what kind of a game him an’ his pup is stewin’ up.” “It’s a barbecue of some kind. I wonder too.” We continued to wonder for a few days longer. Strictly, we didn’t tumble til? the trick had been put over—till Gillen and his pup, Dixie helping, had buried the knife, hilt-deep. 1?? It happened in the afternoon of our last’ day in camp. All hands were busy that afternoon, getting together their things to be fumigated. We were to break camp next morning and go aboard the station- ship. Our future was indefinite. Doc had told us we would go north in the first out- bound collier or transport, to one of the re- ceiving-ships—probably Norfolk. Every man in the gang would get thirty days’ fur- lough, Doc had promised. Two of us got three years’ furlough. They pulled it neat. Dixie began it. About two o’clock that afternoon he emerged from the tent across the street. From the middle of the street he called: “Say, Bennet, I just found a photo in cCOmiclboolks ©