Argosy, Vol. 120, No. 1 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

RESURRECTION DAY. planking, sending the knife tinkling to the floor. The half-conscious burden of his arms he sent crashing into Blye’s face. -Their two bodies entangled with a terrible clatter, and the table behind them went over, taking the lantern with it. A feeble sputter of flame, one brilliant flash of ex- ploding kerosene—then blackness. In the darkness a-thud of fists on flesh, the: drumming of heavy shoes; labored breathing, a curse, and then a shrill scream of pain, inhuman and unearthly. _“ Marta!” Dean was close beside her, gasping ‘for air. “‘ Splendid!” she panted in answer. “ Not hurt?”— “Not a bit. You?” : ““Safe— and happy. This is — living. Living, eh? But I thought you screamed—”’ ‘“‘ The man with the broken arm. All out - now—I—think—”’ All but Blye. ‘The sailing-master was a fighting marvel. Whatever his age—and Blye had seen more than the normal life- time and ungodly wickedness—he fought as well as three men in the first years of dare- devil youth. Guided by Dean’s voice, Blye launched a killing blow in the dark. His granite fist caught Dean’s shoulder, and Dean swayed. Then he was gone from Marta’s side and she heard the two of them at it, striking, leaping, dodging. At last they seemed to collide. fair and locked arms and legs. A stack of dishes went down with a crash. A book-case fell. Something wooden broke asunder with a great snapping, but the struggle went on interrupted. Marta, hearing all, seeing nothing, hud- died in the dark. Most awful of all was the coming of silence, broken once by’ a groan, then complete. She tried to force her dry lips to speak Dean’s name, but she could * not even whisper. She wished she could pray—or even scream. a Then, when she had lived beyond the mortal span, a voice, a bit breathless, but calm, almost ruminative: ‘‘ Now, where did —I—put those—matches? Got to have— light.” . ‘“‘Oh, Dean, Dean!”’ “Yes, all right—I—-guess. Arm bleed- 53 ing—feeling rather foolish. Think you can find—lamp?”’ She stumbled hastily toward Dean’s kitch- en, shuddering aside as the toe of her slipper touched a man’s hand, lying limp underfoot. Her own hands were almost use- less to her, they shook so. It was a marvel she ever got the wick to burn. But she held the lamp high at last and in the midst of chaos, the only upright, normal thing in that wreck of a room, its rays found Dean. She went straight to Dean, clinging te him and burying her face against his shoul- der. The hand that held the smoking lamp swept it in erratic circles until Dean gently | relieved her of it agd finally found a place to set it safely. ; “{ think,” said Dean, surveying his home, “‘ we’d better — clean hovse — again. This carrion—” He touched the limp Burchard with the toe of his boot. Burchard stirred faintly. Struck by a new thought, Dean hastened to Blye and passed an anxious hand over the sailing-master’s heart. Blye had crumpled into a corner, half erect, like a very limp sack of meal. For a moment Dean’s face looked haggard—then he smiled, a rather crooked smile, for one eye was swelling badly. “Glad he’s—all right. I’d hate to—kill —anybody. Wait! Got an idea.” He _ Started for the door, Marta following anx- iously. “You out there,”’ Dean shouted. .“‘ I see you, and I’ve got a gun on you. Come back here, pronto. Yes, I mean business.”’ Three battered, bruised, and uneasy sail- ors came from the shadows at his call. “Take these two aboard the Falcon,” Dean directed. “ You, with the hurt arm, T’ll excuse you. Go to the tender and wait.”’ . The men obeyed him with a clumsy alacrity. They turned scared eyes on his bloody face and the pistol he had produced from its holster. They were even more afraid of the white-faced girl, busily pin- ing up a tattered, golden evening gown and trying to right the disorder of her hair. When Blye and Burchard had been lugged away, Dean laughed quietly. ‘“ I’m paid in full for fifteen years’ idleness,” he said. ‘‘ Yes, and I’ve had enough for §f C@ (-) LOOOLK CO