Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

Z 2 BUCCANEER BLOOD, disheveled hair, her excited lips. flattering him—a much more engrossing matter than that helpless prisoner. “ Better leave him as he is, chief,” said old Wing, always the craftiest and most cautious. ‘ No use killin’ him yet. Might have use for him. If he’s the girl’s lover I know a good way to use him!” Wing still remembered that ace card—the torturing of prisoners, when there was a possibility of their divulging secrets. Still McCorkle was engrossed with the vision and the music of that girl pleading with him, flattering him, proclaiming the victor, making violent and immeasurable promises to him. Everything else was shut out of his inflamed consciousness. Even the cracked voice of Wing came as if from another room, another time—inconse- quential. Irritated at any possible interruption to his glorious love affair, McCorkle silenced the old man. “ Damn you, Wing, for a bawlin’ ole woman! We’ll leave him live— for a spell.” Indeed, what did McCorkle care for a disarmed and innocuous stranger like Cam- eron now? Wing nodded—perhaps in favor. Dorset stood guard, malignant and gleeful in his power. The octoroon whom he hated and feared was lying in a corner of the big dining hall, nursing his wound. The girl sank into a chair exhausted, trembling. Her oval face—flushed a mo- ment ago—was now pale, but still vivified with the consciousness of a victory. She raised her face to the six Raiglons above. As her grandam had prophesied, Mc- Corkle had forgotten to reckon with those Six presences. “ All right, chief,” old Wing said, “ we’re all set now for you and me to strip the house.” CHAPTER XXIV. DORSET ON GUARD. O one was more satisfied with the trend of events than McCorkle. His vanity had been tickled, and a balm of pervasive content came over his spirit. She was Those very elements which had enraged him had become a source of tremendous satisfaction. The chatelaine’s liqueur which had ex- cited him, now drugged him. Parson was’ no longer a taunting-and arregant figure towering in defiance before a splendid tapestry. He was merely a pile of sopped rags, emitting fitful groans and pitiable oaths. At the psychological moment the menacing Parson had been hurled off the stage. It was like whisking away a red zerape from before the eyes of a maddened bull; out of sight, the inciting color was forgotten. ‘Yes, high time now, mate, to get the stuff together. Dorset stays guard over the two gentlemen. The old lady and the black won’t do nobody no hurt if they stay in that there glory-hole. Parson stays where’ he’s at—unless Dorset wants to take a pot at him for fun. And the young m’moi- selle—” he repeated that grotesque travesty of a knight kissing the hand of a lady— - “‘voull stay on deck with Mr. Dorset who’s a gentleman born! When Wing and I finish strippin’ the house, then I’ll come back and we'll have a weddin’!”’ “T have made my promise, monsieur,” the girl rejoined convincingly. ‘“ And we'll want to tap a keg or two!” McCorkle stipulated. ‘“‘ It'll be one of these here Creole fiestas—nothin’ less—bein’ it’s a weddin’ of a pirate’s daughter!” : The girl watched him take a candle from the iron sconce and reel off toward the stairs. He walked up exaggeratedly erect. The candles from below, as well as that » which he held, projecting his shadow in varied directions. Old Wing took another » of the candles and hurried off into the ad- jacent room, his head nodding eagerly. The five who were left in the room—the girl, Cameron, Tim, the wounded man and Dorset—remained silent at first. There . was a strange change in the tensity of the air, now that McCorkle was gone. ‘The girl had caught a last glimpse of him, as he lurched against the huge oaken door of one of the upper chambers. Wing could | be heard in the next room, shambling about, clanking the old locks and chains like a restive ghost. comichooks.conn