Argosy All-Story Weekly, November 13, 1920 — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

THE MYSTERIOUS QUEST. first dune and presently they vanished over the crest. ‘“ Drawing off,” the captain told me some moments afterward, ‘toward the cape. Now why does he leave her drift?” The current was carrying the small boat over in the direction of the point where we had started that beacon on the afternoon before. In another hour she would drift on the rocks. And we needed that yawl; it might mean all our lives. We must get her at any risk. One of us must swim out to her, and the task fell to-me. I stripped to my waist, kicked off my shoes, and took my sheath knife in my teeth. One could not tell what might happen when I came to place my hand on that gun- wale. I made up my mind that if there was to be trouble, I would go prepared. I waded through the breakers and struck out, with the bite of the salt water. on that wound like hot vinegar. But the swells were low and even; the water pleasantly warm, and the distance not more than three hundred yards. I had only that cur- rent to look out for; the set of the tide was carrying me over toward the point and the yawl was almost straight out toward the sea from where I had started. So every time I came to the summit of a swell I took a look to get my bearings, then plunged onward with lowered head. Every time I looked the yawl and the man were plainer. But he was sitting a little askew, and his head was bowed so that I could not see his face. I recognized him at last. It was Lewis. My heart slowed up a little at that, and I think I falfered in my stroke. The man was up to any sort of game, capable of any manner of ambuscade, and I had plenty of evidence that he was more than anxious to add my life to those which he and his fellows had taken. Now when I lowered my head and buffeted the water I had an uncanny feeling that his eyes were upon me; that he only turned his head away when I took a look in his direction, and spent the intervals in watching me. For that very reason I made myself -keep to my swimming longer this time than I had before. I did not want to yield to 4 the almost overpowering desire to get my eyes on him, lest, yielding, I should grow cowardly. And I made a greater distance than I was aware. I came to the crest of a swell and slack- ened my stroke to look. The yawl was in the trough below me, and I was staring down into the mutineer’s eyes. Their red- dened rims were terrible; but more terrible was the grin which revealed both rows of his discolored teeth. In the same instant the surge passed on under’ me and I shot down upon the boat. I flung another glance upward as I swept alongside, and I gripped the gunwale with my left hand to save myself from being run down. We were rising to the crest of the next swell. My knife was in my other fist already. And my eyes met the eyes of the man who had sought to kill us all. The pallor of those eyes which had struck me when I had seen them a few moments ago was the first discovery in that meet- ing. They were sightless, glazed. And the grin—it was a fearful thing to see, for it was born itself of fear which must have come over him in his last mo- ments—was fixed by death. He sat there, huddled, his body askew, propped up by leaden boxes, and a leaden box upon his lap. The hilt of a knife pro- truded between his shoulder-blades. He swayed a little with the heaving of the sea, and, swaying toward me, he seemed to leer. It was as if, having learned the secret of the contents of that box, whose broken iron straps showed plainly there on his lap, he was gloating over the knowledge which had turned the rage of his mates against him and brought him to his death. I hung thére by the gunwale for some mo- ments. I was a little sick. Finally I managed to climb on board. CHAPTER XxX. THE LITTLE WISP OF SMOKE. HE leaden boxes held the dead muti- neer upright; but I knew there was more than that purpose in the man- ner of their stowing. There was a grim, sardonic jest played on the helpless rem- comicbook 381 (E(0)