Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

THE APES OF DEVIL’S ISLAND. obliterated by the wind and spray, they were still recognizable. A couple of the more perfect ones seemed to have been made by a big flat foot with extremely long toes. The others were merely depressions, partly filled by the blowing sand. “ This bunch must have landed here,” at length remarked my companion. “Do you see any mark of a boat in the sand?” I asked. ‘No. They probably landed at low tide. The prints seem to lead up from the water.” I suggested that we look around a bit for the boat or raft; I thought that it might have been carried into the sedge grass bor- dering the shore. We searched for several minutes, but found nothing. “ What kind of prints are they?” I asked. ‘““Tmpossible to say exactly,” he an- swered, “ however, it looks to me as if they had been made by some of your monkey friends. What do you think?” I did not answer him; I was wondering whether it could have been the apes who had abducted Eleanor. It was not a pleas- ant thought. “Have you seen any marks that could have been made by a shoe?” I asked. “ T thought of that, too, son,’ Grame an- swered. ‘“ I’ve looked carefully, but all of the prints seem to be of the same kind. I can’t say yet whether Eleanor was in this band or not.” “ How many do you think landed here?” 1 demanded. “ Hard to tell. I should say about seven or eight, but I may be way off. It’s per- fectly possible that any number more might have remained nearer the water; in that case their prints would have been washed away by the waves.” The marks in the sand led down the beach. After we had taken another good look about, we set out to follow them. Here at last was a clew, and trailing it Was more liable to bring results than beating the island blindly. “You had better keep your gun at hand; no telling when something might turn up,” Grame warned me. We watched the prints closely, hoping to find one made by a shoe. We saw several that Eleanor might have made, but these were so filled with loose sand that it was really impossible to make sure. There was always the possibility that Eleanor had walked further down on the firm sand, in which case the marks made by her shoes had been eradicated by the water. At length we came to a place where the markings disappeared. After a close ex- amination, it seemed quite evident that the party had turned inland. We were able to track them for a while by the trampled grass and torn creepers, but at length these tell-tale signs were left behind. ‘ All we can do now is to trust to luck, and cruise around at hazard,” said Grame. “You might try crawling up a tree again.” This time I found a live oak, taller and easier to climb than a palm. The view from the topmost branches was beautiful, but disappointing. I could see no traces of living beings. Below me was a dense mass of trees, vines, and bushes, shining in the pale light of the moon. Beyond the dark shadow of the land, the ocean lay bright and calm. The only sounds were the nus- tling of the leaves in a light breeze, the creaking of branches, and an occasional croak from a bird awakened. I slid down and joined Grame. “What luck?” he asked. ““ None at all.” We started out again, walking in long zigzags, as a ship tacks against the wind. In this way we were able to cover a great deal of ground. After half an hour spent in beating the woods in this manner, we stopped to rest a moment. It was hot work forcing a way through the tangle of foliage; the briers tore our clothing; and the smaller creepers had an annoying way of twining about our legs and tripping us. ‘““My word,” grunted Grame, “ this is a regular jungle. We'll be at this all night before—” His words were cut short by a scream— loud, hoarse, awful, enough to strike fear into the heart of any man. Grame seized my arm; we listened breathlessly. The scream was not repeated, but it seemed to vibrate through the whole island. Several dismal croaks came back from the roosting birds. CORMICGLOokKs 687. (C@