Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

824 It was peculiar, for the creek was close by and the music of its hurrying waters had almost lulled him to sieep during his period of reflection. Lights danced before his eyes as he walked to the door, but his vision cleared in a moment. The path led straight to the water. He reeled drunkenly along until he reached the stream. An empty pail stood on a bowlder. There were two small footprints in the sand where the girl had stood a moment before. He knew they were fresh tracks because one was but partially filled with water. A dry rock in midstream was marked by a wet irregular footprint. He could not see what was on the opposite bank. It was not necessary. He understood now; she had feared arrest the last moment and fled. believing, no doubt, he could care for himself. MacGregor filled the bucket and walked slowly back to the cabin. Now that he was on his feet the desire to doze left him. He bathed his face in cold water, drank deeply, then took stock. His automatic pistol lay on the table. That suggested Fleming did not expect the officer would be called to use it on him, or he would have confiscated the weapon. MacGregor exam- ined it and found the original cartridges in place. An enemy had once slipped in a clip of powderless loads and the trick had nearly cost him his life. He rested half an hour before making the next move. This consisted of an official search of the premises which yielded a still and the usual equipment, including several cases of bottled product. He destroyed it all, then slowly made his way back to the beach, with frequent rests in order that his head might clear. The last hun- dred yards through a tangle of brush and devil's clubs was torture. He lurched to the sand and peered about almost stupidly. The cove was clear, his boat gone. Hardly believing his eyes he searched the shore until he found the spot where he had landed. A fanlike trench where the prow of his skiff had pushed aside the rocks was the only indication a craft had ever anchored in the cove. “ Tricked!” he muttered. “ My gun girl has tricked me. Huh!” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Was it his professional pride or his heart that suffered most? He wondered as he made his way to the point. Presently he shook his head. ‘“T don’t think she’d play the game just that way,” he decided with sudden loyalty, ‘“Tleming was at the creek waiting and forced her to go with him.” Then he settled down at the point to wait himself. It might be an hour or a week before a passing craft took him off, but eventually he would be rescued by some cannery tender. CHAPTER II. SIGNS FROM SHORE. HE Daisy Jane was a battered craft, but like a man in need of a shave it was impossible to tell by appearances. The man might be a gentleman and all around good fellow; so, too, the Daisy Jane might be sound of timber and plank, to sav nothing of being swift of engine. She was both. She rode low in the water, thanks to a quantity of well stowed cargo. Her cabin was comfortable and six high power rifles stood in a rack at the foot of a bunk. She was stocked with ammunition as well as fuel. One of the two men composing the crew stood at the wheel, the other was oiling the motor which ran with that sweet rumble suggestive of high speed. ‘Signs from shore, Ford,’ shouted the wheelman, “ can’t make out who it is, but there’s somebody on the point waving a coat on the end of a stick. Maybe it’s Fleming trying to make up with you.” Ford came up from the engine room, and as he passed through the cabin he picked up a rifle and binoculars. He studied the shore a moment, a smile playing over his heavy features. He bared dirty teeth in a grin as he dropped the glasses and picked up the rifle. “ It’s MacGregor,” he whispered more to himself than the other, “ MacGregor. I'll get him this time. The last time I had a rifle on him, Fleming knocked it up and—”’ He lowered the rifle, trving to counteract the motion of the craft by swaying his body. The other leaped toward the leveled comniclooo! (©