Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

BUCCANEER BLOOD. like a derrick, a huddle of canvas on the deck, and a huge rudder, something like these rudders you see on a catboat. A peculiar rudder for a lugger—so thought Tim. It extended as high above water as the sternpost itself. Very unusual. Furthermore Tim could see the moonlit water in an aperture just above the water- line between the rudder and the hull. Then the truth of the matter dawned on him. It was not a rudder at all, but a man clinging to the rail, waist deep in water! Tim looked at the heap of black rags on deck. Whether that restive and tortured being had discovered Cameron’s arrival or not, Tim could not tell. One thing was clear: he was more restive than ever, his little head darting out and in, looking up and down, forward and aft, as if expecting a wraith to leap upon him from any direc- tion and at any moment. The suspense was too great for him. His accomplices might keep him waiting there for hours, tortured by every new shape the mists as- sumed, every new sound of marsh bird or wind in the mangroves. He had to smoke. Every nerve in his body yearned, com- manded. There was the light of a match—a mere red pin point off across that water, with another pin point reflected in the black plane below. “ Now is the time!” Tim cried—almost giving his thought a voice. The flare of that match would blind the man who lit it. There would be a brief moment before his pupils again opened to the dark. If his soul had depended on it, Dorset could not have kept himself from lighting that pipe of his. Inasmuch as treachery is one very satisfactory outlet to cowardice, Dorset found this bit of treachery toward his master doubly effective. He would light as many matches as he desired. He would suffocate himself with tobacco. As he puffed up that flame, in fact, he immediately felt an enormous relief. It had been forced upon him; to do something with those trembling fingers; to intertwine them, to crack them, to button and unbutton his jacket—all this was futile. But the simple act of defying his master was sufficient. 85 The light went out; his eyes dilated again. What had happened? What supernat- ural power had stepped in to punish him? Whatever the cause, he saw in that frac- tion of a second of remorse, all the dread fears that obsessed him, taking shape, as- suming the form of a devil in pirate garb, arisen from the swamp, and looming above him. A gun was on Dorset’s thigh, loosened in its holster. But he had no power to draw it. Nor for that matter would he have had time. The swamp-devil leaped upon him. That was what happened in the next flash of consciousness. Dorset, already seated, rolled over on the deck like a sack of bran. A heavy weight was upon him. Knees pressed on his hips, fingers were gripped about his throat. He thrust out his hand, clutching at two arms. They were taut, powerful arms, sinews and bones. They were not arms of a supernatural thing. The > being was not a devil—but a man! Dorset clung to him, as if the man were saving him from quicksand. He clutched at his dripping blouse; he reached for his huge chest; he wanted to hug him! His voice—all but choked by those fingers at his throat gurgled to a laugh. He tried to utter some sort of an oath—or else he was actually thanking God for what had happened! The fingers relaxed. ‘“ You’re a man, ain’t yer? Yuss, s’help me—a man! You’ve saved me from mad- ness, b’God! Yuss, I was goin’ stark, ravin’ mad—till you come for me! No, don’t choke me. Don’t press on me. Your knees —they’re killin’ me! There! I’m through. I’m yourn. There’s me gun. Tyke it. Wel- come to it! Sure, bind up me ’ands. I’m thankin’ ye from the bottom of me ’eart!” His hands made fast with coil upon coil, he was thrown against the bulkhead in a heap, as helpless and inconsequential as ever. One thing, however, could be said for him. His mind was restored after this contact with reality. He was virtua saved from hysteria by the arrival of this physical—instead of supernatural—enemy. He looked up. CORNICGLOOOKS Gor