Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

AMERICANS off at last, they took to peering through the soft moonlight reaches. They were doing all that lay within the Pavoroso; several trips below at reg- ular intervals proved that much. What- ever Rodero’s affiliation with the plot that bade fair to make Guanama the ranking traitor nation of history the chief engineer was ‘accepting this evening at its full face value. The periodical visits below of Hemmett may have had something to do with it, or the three square-jawed, tattered steve- dores who stood about the engine-room; at any rate, it was certain that another pound of steam would rend the boilers. They had been heading south for an hour—and now they had been heading south for two hours and more; and, despite his best efforts, fear was creeping into the heart of each man, that Alvarez had been wrong, and that El Fuego was not bound for Parilla and coal. Her search-light, after that one flash, had not reappeared; and terrified pessimism was working its way to Girton’s lips when Alvarez cried suddenly: ‘There, senores! There! See! The smoke to starboard! She is running not a mile from the coast! Do you see?” The moon was coming from a five- minute obscurity behind thick, scurrying clouds, and through the growing light they strained their eyes again—and El Fuego was there, surely enough! Plowing along far, far ahead, that thin, dark spot with the thin, white wake must be El Fuego—and Hemmett fairly bounded into the wheel-house and hurled at the sleepy-eyed Polito: ‘¢ She’s over there! Can we pick her up with the search-light!”’ ‘It should be possible, senor.”’ Tense seconds, and the white stream shone across the rolling ocean, nosed about for a bit, and rested steadily upon the destroyer ahead; and to their excited eyes it seemed that, even in the seconds, El Fuego had lost ground. She was nearer by quarter of a mile— AFTER ALL. 397 or was it only two hundred yards?—or was it anything at all? Mr. Hemmett gave it up, and dashed toward the wireless-house, where the _ philosophical operator still sat upon the step and smoked. “Wake up!” he shouted. “ Here! The door’s open—get in there and call El Fuego!” ‘““A message, senor?” the operator said calmly. ‘““ A message for Jones—yes, I see that you know Jones. Get him, you, and‘ tell him to stop, that’s all! Tell him to stop or we'll sink him, my man, and remember that I’m standing here beside you, and that I spent several years in wireless work, and that if you begin sending code cr anything else mysterious you'll go overboard and I'll do the sending my- self.” Considering that his one attempt to learn the mysteries of the Continental wireless alphabet had been a dismal fail- ure, the statement was a slight exaggera- tion; yet it went well enough. The cperator had absorbed some of this evening’s atmosphere aboard the destroy- er; he seated himself obediently and set his quenched spark-gap to hissing and crackling softly. He adjusted his tuning apparatus and waited. Once more he called—once more he waited and _ this time he smiled slightly. “They are listening,” he reported. ‘They refuse to.take a message!” “How can they?’? Hemmett snapped. ‘““ How can one force them to take a message, when the telephones are thus easily removed?” the operator smiled blandly, laying aside his own. ‘You put those back on your head and send them a message, whether they acknowledge it or not!”” commanded Mr. Hemmett. “Tell Jones to stop or we'll sink him—yes, and I’ll put an added point to it, too!” He dashed off again, leaving the oper- ator pressing resignedly at his key. He found Girton and Alvarez where he had left them. comicloool C©