Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 6, 1923 — page 150: what you’re looking at

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

932 tracker. turbed by the scent of the dead alligator. Lester joined them, and stood with his face to the beach where the westering sun was aflame on the edge of a silvery cloud bank. A sudden cry from the tracker swung him round. The fellow was holding a tiny miniature in his hand. It hung from a bit of loose string and had evidently fallen to the beach. Lester snatched it from the tracker’s trembling fingers, and stared at it with eyes that blazed darkly at the smiling face of the girl inset. Thrusting the miniature into his pocket, he walked from the beach, calling the dogs and tracker after him. But the bloodhounds had become inter- ested in a long, spiny object that sprawled in the mud-belt beneath the mangroves. Barking furiously, they circled within a few feet of the immovable saurian that re- mained still as a rock under their baying challenges. Just here a curious thing happened. From the black slime of a bank in mid creek waddled a full-grown alligator. With scarcely a ripple it drove through the stag- nant water, its great snout churning within a yard of the booming hounds. With fear crushing his heart, Ling peered across the intervening space, and sup- pressed a chuckle of delight. Well he knew that the live monster was the mate of the dead bull alligator. Lester had halted and was watching results. The two hounds were not to be denied. One of them had grabbed the head of the dead saurian, and with tigerish strength sought to drag it up the bank. But the head remained glued as though a live force was holding it in place. Commissioner Lester watched with grow- ing interest. But the unexpected was at hand. The tail of the live saurian whipped round under the feet of the hide-tearing hound. The stroke was unexpected, and the dog was hurled far out into the mud, the half-maddened alligator clashing and snapping on its heels. The native tracker ran to the bank, ges- ticulating hysterically. ‘Ona pa nonga!” he called to the half stunned hound. For a while they ran about, dis-. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. The hound crawled ashore and ran from the saberlike jaws that threatened to dis- member it. Lester watched in silence, a sharp frown lining his brow. He signed to the tracker impatiently. ‘“* Almost the dogs were trapped!” he ad- monished in the vernacular. “ Return, thou, to headquarters with them.” He whispered some instructions in the fellow’s ear. Calling to the fretting hounds, the track- er turned to the bush trail leading to Putak and disappeared. Very slowly the commissioner walked to the creek and halted beside the motionless hide. Stooping, he shook the scaly head, and then with an effort, flung it back. With a catlike spring Chard leaped out, the muscles of his young body gathered for a clinch with his relentless pursuer. Lester’s service revolver covered him in the slant of an eye. “There’s positively nothing doing, Chard!” he said quietly. “ You are mine— for keeps!” II. CuHarp’s breast labored painfully. The blinding sweat and mud from the mangroves obscured his vision. He rocked and swayed dizzily, and then steadied himself with an effort. “All right!” he choked. “I’ve led you a dance. Only for those dogs I’d have beaten you and your damned administra- tion!” The commissioner pocketed his revolver like one certain of his man, He walked slowly across the beach, Chard following mechanically. At the water’s edge he wait- ed in the tense, hot silence for Lester to speak. The commissioner beckoned the China- man. “ Bring your table here, Ling. That old biscuit box will do for a seat.” Kum Ling obeyed tremblingly. Seated before the rough table, Lester placed some papers at his elbow and cleared his throat. ‘““A year ago, Chard, you were tried in the courthouse at Samarai, for the shooting of Mike Conlon. Is there any reason why the judge’s sentence of penal servitude for life should not be carried out?” COMmMicloOoe (©