Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

~ After all, he only had one death to spend, and he desired to spend it magnificently, in some glorious outburst of fighting, of ‘emashings, of uproarings, glutted with shrieks from his dying victims; a scene “that would linger, live in her eyes—when he would be gone. He remembered Sparks’s ‘statements about the impregnability of the wireless shack. If he could only get her ’ The second round had just been fired, adding its fog of smoke and fumes to that of the first. Rutledge glanced cautiously . at the hazy figures of his captors. Fang "Wu and Tsin were peering engrossed at the ravaging of the China Queen. Miss ' MacTavern and her guard were almost - blotted out, the vaguest of shapes. That "@un-snitching, almond-eyed mess boy, standing somewhere i in the general locale of - his backbone, was the only serious block in _ his path. Very discreetly, he started to turn _ around every muscle in him fully prepared ) assist his hands in grabbing that Colt y-eight, and his foot in planting an ic kick in the pit of that interfering ST Se x person’s stomach. It was no time Shots about the niceties set forth by the M arquis of Queensbury. Rutledge com- sted the turn, looked at his guardian, and Well he might. —~ mess boy had a finger plugged in a ear, and his eyelids screwed tight to- The revolver was trembling sky- pat @ rakish angle of about forty-five $ SDECT — edge snatched his evolenk and, r ing the mess boy head over heels back- d into the passage, hastened to his god- e mess boy, later recounting the epi- oe Sundry sympathizers whom he ‘ ae into listening to him, claimed e of oe gunners had deflected his © Scar gia part of an arc and that ‘ gun had singed the v DIRTY WEATHER. _ didly from the rear. There would be time enough for heroics later. He drew the line, however, at hitting the man from behind. Apart from the ethical issue at stake, it wouldn’t have done any good. So he gripped him by the shoulder and spun him about. Before the sailor had even begun to re- cover from the wonderment of why he was thus suddenly experiencing the sensations of a top, Rutledge had planted a blow squarely on his right eye, for purposes of embellishment, and one on the point of the jaw for purposes of inducing sound, if un- sweet, slumber. He mumbled something in his celestial one’s ear, and clutching her by the hand, fled aft, through the splendid ob- scurity of the swirling smokes from the third, and last, round. A few moments later Rutledge, Miss MacTavern and Sparks were together in the wireless shack. The occupant, the legal occupant, of the bunk room had been ousted onto the deck. A hasty and tense council of war en- sued. It resulted in two of the ports being opened, one forward and one aft, and Rut- ledge and Sparks taking up a position at each, with loaded revolvers firmly clutched in their hands. Rutledge, at the after end, could command the ladder leading to the deck below and well to both sides. Sparks, from his position, could cover the deck as far forward as the stack. They wondered at the complete silence that had fallen after the firing of the third round. They heard nothing but the vibra- tions of the Yung Swei as she quivered beneath the racing impulse of her engines, and the hiss and surge of the water streak- ing by. They stood at their posts with nerves braced for the struggle that was bound to come. “ Believe you me, Peter, it’s goin’ to be some jamboree!” Sparks threw over a shoulder. that wonderful young nuisance, whe knew was sitting tensely on the Ee