Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

GOLD. s ject. Nor will this here burrhead. Ah’m satisfied.” He chuckled to himself. It was a good joke: Swope tricking the dough- boy out of his share, not knowing how the angel-faced doughboy had tricked him. A good turn of tables—a delightful jest! The negro’s mountainous shoul- ders rippled. He snapped his fingers. Half of the Englishman’s enormous winnings, and a part of Swope’s swag —that would make any black man cakewalk. And that is just what he was doing. While the girl waited breathlessly for the sound of death to come from be- hind the bulkhead of the captain’s cab- in, this giant African was actually dancing! The girl clutched frantically to her father’s iron arm. Dumbly, stupidly he whispered: “There, there, baby, we'll get out of it all right. God is merciful.” He did not understand her sudden hysteria. Then it came—a thud to the deck interrupting the boy’s rapid gibbering. The girl turned white. The sea-cook cocked ‘an ear, but the sound had no significance to him. It might have been the falling of that satchel to the deck. A heavy satchel—heavy gold—un- limited wealth—gin, idleness, women, song, drunkenness, luxury beyond a sea-cook’s imagination—luxury after years of cooking scouse and bergoo and plum duff! Slushy snapped his fingers, shuffled his feet, licked his lips as if he already had a foretaste of the champagne he would drink. Then Swope came out. ; He stood there a moment, a set, 1n- scrutable grin on his face. His right hand hung somewhat behind him, as though he were holding something he wanted to hide. His eyes, inhuman, bulging like a dead carp’s, were focused on the skulk- 253 ing mass of black shadow which was the African. There was a moisture on the Afri- can’s upper lip. His low forehead wrinkled and turned wet, so that it shone like a freshly blackened boot. His eyes caught Swope’s glance, then dropped automatically, guiltily. And as they dropped, they focused to the deck upon a round black spot that had dripped from Swope’s unseen hand into a circle of light. The truth came to Slushy: he was: found out. With a whimper, ridiculously small in comparison with that huge red- lipped mouth, the negro cried out, just as the doughboy had tried to cry out: “It was him that done it, Mistah Swope. Not me, I swear to the Al- mighty. I wouldn’t do you that turn, Mistah Swope. | ‘ Ah’m faithful, Ah am! Was gwin to tell you, Mistah Swope, so help me God! It’s up there betwixt fo’mast and fo’ hatch. - Carpet bag. Yes, sak. T¢s all yours. Don’t want a sniff of it. Mis- tah Swope, please—Ah beg—” The huge jowls glistened with sweat —a rim of white showed around the terrified pupils of his eyes. His voice went weaker, higher, till it cracked and petered into unintelligible sobs. “Come here, Slushy, my man.” Slushy’s feet shuffled weakly. His hand, weighing like tons at the end of the long gorilla arms, tried vainly to creep back to his belt. There was his gun. But what good is a gun when two paralyzed hams hang at the end of your arms? He shuffled once, hesitating in a grotesque parody of his once graceful cake-walk; then whirled about as if a galvanic current had been turned into him. As he whirled, life seemed to come again to his fear-stricken nerves. His feet were like the feet of a deer; his hands responded to the terrified signal of his brain, and yanked out his pistol. Swope leaped after him, both men COPMNICGLOOOKS (E@)