Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

826 not at all. It was a cannery tender that not only took him off, but went out of her course to land him at headquarters. The marshal, Gregory, was waiting for him. MacGregor shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘ Aside from the fact my man got away, I was shot by his daughter through error and my gasboat was stolen by parties un- known, nothing worth mentioning hap- pened,” he announced. Gregory paced the room nervously. ‘““ Hang it!’ he exploded, “ I’m not blam- ing you, Mac, I know you would have suc- ceeded if anybody had, but there is some- thing more than mere moonshining involved in this affair. It is positively uncanny the way my efforts are blocked. You are the third man, the third good man, I have: had on the case and the result is the same, Something unusual happens.” ‘“T’m not through, Gregory; I have mere- ly stopped for breath,” replied MacGregor. “IT know you are not through, for you are my last bet. If you don’t clear it up I don’t know who can. And let me say there is a deuce of a lot that goes on we never hear of. Stray bits of news picked up here and there suggest strange things. My men are shot at from the shore; they are tricked and beaten and the game goes on. Let’s hear that story again.” MacGregor repeated it. ‘‘ What’s that girl’s story about totem signs got to do with it?” “ A lot to my way of thinking. I’m going to bear down heavily on Limpy Ford. I think he’s a bet others overlooked.” ‘“ Jennings did not overlook Limpy. He began from that angle and just when the trail got hottest, the poor fellow was found with a knife wound in the back, and a dead weasel on his chest. Both had been dead several days.” ‘Then I feel certain Limpy’s arrest is desirable. Now as to the girl” “ Forget the girl, Bob; you’re supposed te be girl-proof. That’s one reason I brought you down from Nome. I’m old enough to know Fleming’s pretty daughter is liable to prove a disturbing element when we send a young man after the old one. She’s sweet and pretty as well as good, but she loves that dad of hers. You see her mother ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, has been dead for years. You've got a stiff job on your hands what with previous fail- ures that are sure to give the guilty party confidence, and what with the general cuss- edness of the people involved and totem signs. Now suppose you hit the hay. You got a nasty crack on your head. Rest up a couple of days and then tackle the prob- lem with a clear mind. In the meantime Pll pick up another gasboat for our work, I think the Taku is available. She’s old, but fast.” The doctor examined MacGregor’s wound, then ordered him to bed for a solid week. ‘You pulled through on nerve,” he was informed, ‘ when you should have rested, You had a lot of fool luck about it, too, but you are going to take a rest now.” ‘““Can’t spare the time,” announced Mac- Gregor. The doctor picked up the telephone and called the marshal. ‘““ This man should be in bed for a week, Gregory,” he said, “ and he claims he can’t spare the time. How about it, eh?” “Put him on the wire!” The deputy picked up the receiver; the chief’s voice came cool and clear. ‘‘ You don’t have to obey the doctor, Bob, but what I say goes. You stay in bed a week, do you un- derstand.” ¢¢ But—” ‘No back talk. Go to bed. Good-by!” There was a click in MacGregor’s ear. The doctor grinned cheerfully, but did not deem it wise to inform him he had arranged it with the marshal beforehand. “You'll have a sweet time keeping me in bed a week, doc,” Mac growled, “ I’ll get out by hook or crook.” The monotony of enforced life as an in- valid was broken the fourth night most unexpectedly. Even when safe in bed, with personal danger remote, McGregor slept lightly. Conscious of danger he opened his eyes cautiously; a bare flickering of the lids, and he was peering across the darkened room. A bulky shadow was moving stealth- ily toward him with extended hand. He caught the faint gleam of a knife blade. Whoever it was intended to do his work with the silence made possible with a knife, COmiclbool S CO) nn