Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

THE JUMPING-OFF PLACE. 23 Dave; but Mr. John remained slumped in his chair. He had lost a good deal to the two Chileans, and Calbuco had advanced him some money to make his settlement. Dave glanced around cautiously and _ Shook him by the shoulder. ; ‘““Say, you. Those two Spiggotties was dealing off the bottom of the pack. Get me? Watch your step next time.” Mr. John yawned and opened haggard, bloodshot eyes. His thin face was furtive, yet not bad-looking. = “My friends, my lad,” he murmured. “Help me home, will you? Much obliged.” He smiled good-naturedly and tapped his head. ‘A fortune there, you know. Mus’ be careful.” Gripping Dave’s shoulder, he walked through the saloon ‘tolerably stead- ily. The boy looked for the Jamaica bar- keep, thinking ‘to question him concerning Calbuco and his affairs. But the negro had been relieved and was no Jonger in the place. “What sort of a guy is this Calbuco?” inquired Dave of his new companion as they passed out into the rain. “Guy? Oh, a decent sort, a bit of all right.” , Mr. John’s voice was husky. Dave guessed that he was a sheep-herder or per- haps a prospector, an educated man, now down on his luck. “ Calbuco’s shipping magnate—dragnet, that’s the word. Hires men like a reg’lar dragnet.”” He stopped in the mud of a street-crossing and scowled as if trying to focus his mind on something. “If he’s hired you—may be dangerous, no end.” Dave did not mind that especially. Twenty-two years of hard knocks had not altogether quenched his desire for adven- ture. The two avoided a drenched police offi- cer huddled in his cloak under one of the dim lamp-posts. Passing a small hotel on the shore, they saw the Norwegian ex- plorers busied about their luggage on the veranda, heedless of the music and uproar of the saloons and the quieter revelry in the plaza and at the one club in Punta. He was startled when they reached the door of Mr. John’s shanty to see the door flung open and the dark face of an Indian peering’ at them. Dave’s reaction was a swift move toward his revolver. Quickly as he acted, the figure at the door had darted aside and merged into the night before he could speak. ‘Looks like a second-story man to me,” he muttered; ‘“‘ only there ain’t any second story.” Mr. John was peering after the fleeing form. Dave heard him chuckle. ‘“ Thou- sands of pounds right here in my head. That’s what he missed. Mus’ be care- ful—” He stepped inside the shanty, and Dave heard clumsy fingers barring the door. -“ Guess. he’s all right” now,” considered the boy, turning back toward the docks and his new ship. All told, he had passed an interesting evening. He had seen a poker-player—Calbuco—lay down a win- ning hand for no apparent reason. And he had seen another poker-player—Mr. John —borrow money to square his reckoning and at the same time carry what he called a fortune about with him. As for the In- dian—a Patagonian thief was commonplace enough. Some days later Dave was surprised to perceive that his new job was to be on an island at the western end of the strait. At least so it seemed to him. A whaleboat © from the steamer rowed in to an immense black rock in mid-channel, and supplies from the boat were hauled up to che top of the rock by a long rope. Then Dave was hauled up. . ‘ [’ll try anything once,” muttered Dave, when the Portuguese bosun failed to answer his question as to what was on the top of the rock. So, gripping a note from Cal- buco, the boy was hoisted to the Evangelis- tas and the tender mercies of the keeper of the light. Dave was quick of wit. Scarcely had he surveyed the top of the rock when he yelled for the whaleboat to come back. The sailors grinned up at him. The two keep- ers hardly hooked at him as they checked off the supplies. For the next month his domicile was sev- eral hundred yards of dank cliff-top, over- grown with moss, and a single bare cabia CGOmiGbdooks (©