Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 13, 1923 — page 140: what you’re looking at

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

hecoming perceptibly weaker, for he had been without food or water since he had. deserted his companions more than thirty hours before. Noon was approaching. Kraski was mov- ing but slowly now with frequent rests, and it was during one of these that there came to his numbed sensibilities an insistent sug- gestion of the voices of human beings not far distant. Quickly he shook himself and attempted to concentrate his waning fac- ulties. He listened intently, and presently, with a renewal of strength, he arose to his feet. There was no doubt about it. He heard voices but a short distance away, and they sounded not like the tones of the natives, but rather those of Eurepeans. Yet he was still careful, and so he crawled cautiously forward, until at a turning of the trail he saw before him a clearing dotted with trees which bordered the banks of a muddy stream. Near the edge of the river was a small hut thatched with grasses and sur- rounded by a rude palisade and further pro- tected by an outer boma of thorn bushes. It was from the direction of the hut that the voices were coming, and now he clearly discerned a woman’s voice raised in protest and in anger, and replying to it the deep voice of a man. Slowly the eyes of Carl Kraski went wide in incredulity, not unmixed with terror, for the tones of the voice of the man he heard were the tones of the dead Esteban Miran- da, and the voice of the woman was that of the missing Flora Hawkes, whom he had long since given up as dead also. But Carl Kraski was no great believer in the supernatural. Disembodied spirits need no huts or palisades or bomas of thorns. The owners of those voices were as alive—as material—as he. He started forward toward the hut, his hatred of Esteban and his jealousy almost forgotten in the relief he felt in the reali- zation that he was again to have the com- panionship of creatures of his own kind. He had moved, however, but a few steps from the edge of the jungle when the wom- an’s voice came again to his ear, and with jt the sudden realization of his nakedness. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. He paused in thought, looking about him, and presently he was busily engaged gather- ing the long, broad-leaved jungle grasses, from which he fabricated a rude but ser- viceable skirt, which he fastened about his waist with a twisted rope of the same ma- terial. Then, with a feeling of renewed con- fidence, he moved forward toward the hut. Fearing that they might not recognize him at first, and, taking him fer an enemy, attack him, Kraski, before he reached the entrance to the palisade, called Esteban by name. Immediately the Spaniard came from the hut, followed by the girl. Had Kraski not heard his voice and recognized him by it, he would have thought him Tarzan of the Apes, so close was the re- markable resemblance. For a moment the two stood looking at the strange apparition before them. “ Don’t you know me?” asked Kraski. ‘‘T am Carl—Carl Kraski. You know me, Flora.” “ Carl!” exclaimed the girl, and started to leap forward; but Esteban grasped her by the wrist and held her back. “What are you doing here, Kraski?” asked the Spaniard in a surly tone. “} am trying to make my way to the coast,”’ replied the Russian. ‘I am nearly dead from starvation and exposure.” _ “ The way to the coast is there,” said the Spaniard, and pointed down the trail to- ward the west. ‘‘ Keep moving, Kraski; it is net healthy for you here.” ‘You mean to say that you would send. me on without food or water?” demanded the Russian. “There is water,” said Esteban, pointing at the river, ‘‘ and the jungle is full of food for one with sufficient courage and intelli- gence to gather it.” “You cannot send him away!” cried the girl. “I did not think it possible that even you could be so cruel.” Then, turning to the Russian, “ Oh, Carl,” she cried, “ do not go! Save me! Save me from this beast!” ‘Then stand aside!” cried Kraski, and as the girl wrenched herself free from the grasp of Miranda, the Russian leveled his automatic and fired point-blank! TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK EOPMNIC LOOKS (E@)