Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

86 His captor was standing abaft the wheel, one bare foot on the taffrail. The looming figure, peering into the fathoms of moon- lit mist down the bayou, put a finger into his mouth and gave vent to a low whistle which sounded like the call of a snipe. While waiting for the result of that sig- nal he frisked his prisoner’s matches, lighted them one after the other, as he went below and rummaged about the cabin and its lockers. He came out on deck again just as a distant creak of blocks drifted across the face of the water from the mooring place on his sloop. Cameron—and perhaps his prisoner— could interpret those sounds: the peak be- ing hoisted; the boom swinging across once with a rattle of blocks; the jib spanking as it was trimmed in; then a long interval of silence which meant that the sails had filled and the sloop was under way. In another moment she appeared, dilated in the fog, sailing without the slightest list in that faint breeze, as stately and ghostlike as the Flying Dutchman! They could see the boy now, with the tiller in one hand, the jibsheet and main- sheet in the other, as if he were holding the reins of a horse. He’ came about on the one tack—which, as he had told Cameron, was all that was necessary to reach the lugger. The boom swung over, the jib was hauled flat, the mainsail filled, the windward jib- sheet eased off, the leeward trimmed in— and the boy headed his shadowy ghost-craft directly for the lugger. A moment later, without missing a foot in his calculations, he spilled the wind, came up softly into the breeze and along- side of the larger craft without so much as an audible bump. . Cameron leaped aboard and shoved off. “T’ve got two guns—and all the ammuni- tion you’d want to fight a navy!” he whis- pered to his cabin boy. “ Stuff these boxes of cartridges into your pockets, and hang on to this pistol. It’s loaded.” Tim Holloway obeyed. ‘‘ Are we haulin’ up for the house now, sir?” he asked. “We are. Pay off till you get enough headway to cut through those water- plants.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ‘“-Aye, aye, sir.” “ Hard alee now, sir. We’ll make the islet on this lay, sir.’ Dorset, lying bound on the deck of the lugger, watched them disappear up the reach. To him the appearance of the pi- rate, the coming of the ghost-ship, the sail- ing away into the mist—the whole episode seemed to have taken place in a single morbid flare of his imagination. CHAPTER XVI. WAS THAT ALL? ITHIN the stone walls of the Raiglon chateau stillness reigned, except for the occasional squawk of a bat zigzagging in the shadows of the vaulted ceilings; and darkness reigned, ex- cept for dim moonbeams slanting through narrow casements and the glow of seven candles in the dining hall. The ancient Madame Raiglon was ob- serving a ceremony which had been her unbroken habit for over threescore years. She sat alone at the head of the long re- fectory table. The seven-branched candle- stick was at the opposite side, casting a glow upon the chatelaine’s inscrutable parchment mask. A little gold cup of Venetian carving stood on the cracked dry wood of the table, and this cup, containing sherry, she twisted about by revolving the stem in her thumb and forefinger. Occa- sionally she sipped, and then mused, re- signing herself again to a world devoid of objective event, but thickly peopled with remembered — yes, with unforgettable— characters. Her granddaughter, who had not been initiated into this habit of a nightcap, had retired. The old chatelaine went through the ritual alone, except for her servant, who stood behind with platter and napkin. She always experienced a mental relaxation at this time of night such as other women of her age will experience in saying prayers before retiring. Thus old women, in whose lives there is a magnificent past but no fu- ture, will commune with the spirit and lose themselves in a fog of contemplation; and thus the Chatelaine of the Raiglons com- Gomichbooks Then a moment later: ~ (C@