Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

HAWAIIAN HEELS. ‘ Pehea?” (what is it?) the Kanaka ueried. “To Slum this was gibberish. “ Cove trail, Cove trail,” he repeated insistently and pointed inquiringly along the road. The Kanaka, who seemed to have an intelligent face, appeared to under- stand, but he lacked the English words to express himself. He shook his head. “ Pilikea,’ (wrong) he said. Slum, whose youth had been spent in the Indian country, making his way by means of sign language and partly understood dialects, sensed the nega- tive. “Cove trail which way?” he de- manded. The Kanaka reached down with a long brown forefinger and in the wet earth at his feet quickly drew a rough map. At one end he indicated the sta- tion; at another end the Cove; a little to the side the sugar mill. Then he drew the fork of the roads. He ut- tered the words, “ Weimea,” “‘ Cove,” and ‘ Mill,” as he indicated where each lay. He laid a, finger along the trail which Slum had missed. “Big road,” he said. He indicated the wagon way they were on. “ Little road,” he said. It was direct, intelligent, friendly. “Thanks,” Slum shouted, as he wheeled his horse. “ Yer lingo’s all right, if y’ are a dumb-bell.” He pushed back along the way he had come, leaving the Kanakas to their pot and their slumbers. When he retraced the road to the fork and got back again on the Cove trail, he looked at the two for a moment; the double-rutted wagon road and the single-packed trail. “The country’s all right when you get on to it,” he muttered. “I see how they figger it. One wheel makes a highway, two wheels a boulevard.” He dug spurless heels into his mount. “Get along, hoss,” he called cheerily. “Gotta pull down that fool puncher ‘fore sundown.” For two hours he shoved on in the 557 gathering dusk and the steadily pour- ing rain, along the trail. When he made the turn at the fork he was al- most an hour behind Rova and Lance. He had not gained any on them when they reached the crest, but they had not been conscious of the slowness of their progress down the other slope of the divide on the dry side of the penin- sula. For this latter half of the journey, unknown to them, Slum was overtak- ing them steadily. Due to the inequali- ties of the land, the depth of the forests on the heights, and the thickness of the grass in the valleys, they could not see him, or he them. He arrived at the Cove only a few minutes behind them. In fact, as Slum turned the last point on the descent, he saw Lance tying his mount and Lightning to the coa tree, while Rova stood near the launch with the hooked-beak man. Quimby’s glass- es were hanging at his side. It had not occurred to him that Rova could have more than one escort, for even that one had been a surprise; oth- erwise he could easily have seen Slum as he rode hurriedly down the last thousand yards. The launch pushed off as Slum can- tered on to the edge of the white sand. He was about to shout, but a precau- tionary instinct halted him. He saw that the horses were tethered, which seemed to argue that Lance and Rova wouldn’t be gone long. He resolved to wait in the bushes and watch for a little while. He saw the launch reach the side of ‘the yacht, and its three occupants clamber aboard, followed by the Ka- naka. Then he led his horse by a cir- cuitous route so that it could not be seen crossing the sands to the coa tree where the other two mounts were tied. He began tethering his. Lance’s mount was a three-year-old gelding, but Slum was riding a year- ling stallion. When he came into the presence of Lightning he began paw- ing and neighing. Lightning nickered Eomicbooks.com — ale ta ee