Page:Weird Tales Volume 3 Number 4 (1923-04).djvu/70

three-quarters of a mile wide in such a "bloody fryle Hamerican" boat.

"Ride in it, or make it alone," said the American quietly. The Englishman already had begun to rely on his companion to such an extent that he feared not to obey.

Stollard disposed of the little man in the center of the canoe, threw one paddle into it, seated himself in the rear and pulled out, sticking close to the shore. Later, he decided, he would teach the cockney to handle a paddle. By daylight they had traveled thirty miles, and at dawn they camped, cold and hungry, in a thicket of willow trees where the insects of early Spring made life a burden. Stollard bore these hardships silently, while the other cried to high Heaven against them.

The next night, after a long altercation in which Cravens stormed and swore, while Stollard spoke with calm superiority, the little man undertook to master the art of handling the steering paddle, and did so with moderate success; so that, with Stollard pulling in front with long, clean strokes, the tired fugitives reached a small town ten miles from their camping place by midnight.

Here Stollard gave the Cockney an assignment which suited his tastes and training. He broke into a general store while the American kept watch.

Clothes, food, blankets, cooking implements and hardware useful in a camp were carried to the canoe. Cravens also rifled the cash drawer, taking thirty dollars and a revolver. These he carefully concealed from his companion.

For four days the fugitives continued their downstream journey, traveling by night and camping by day in the manner of Huckleberry Finn. Stollard reacted to the outdoor life, his muscles bulging and hardening, and the prison pallor leaving his face. He did most of the paddling and practically all of the camp work. Cravens, whose position at the rear paddle required but little exertion, spent his time in camp lying flat on his back and cursing everything in general.

On the fifth day the fugitives arrived near the city of Carrsville, one hundred and fifty miles from the prison and in another State. Stollard carried the canoe and the supplies several hundred yards inland, because of the numerous boats on the river around the city, and camp was made in an out-of-the-way ravine. After the American had cooked and served breakfast, Cravens became unruly. He demanded that the other consent to his going into the city; for by this time he had thoroughly accepted Stollard's leadership.

Wearied by his companion's entreating and wishing a few hours alone, Stollard permitted the Cockney to go shortly before noon, exacting a promise that he would return at three o'clock. The American, having been in prison, thought of the prohibition law as strictly enforced and respected, so feared nothing on that score. Otherwise, he would have held Cravens in the camp.

When Stollard awoke from a nap he knew by the sun that it was considerably after three o'clock. Cravens had not returned.

"That dirty rat has gotten himself arrested," he thought. "Now he will lead the police to me."

He began making preparations to flee. First, however, he took from a secret pocket in his undershirt a small sack he had concealed from his dishonest companion. It contained a number of coins and bills—eighteen dollars and seventy cents in all. He had counted it so often that he knew every piece by its individual marks. This was his prison treasure, the result of many a surreptitious trade with fellow-prisoners to whom he gave his allotment of tobacco and other luxuries.

The arrest of Cravens, Stollard decided, meant that he must give up his scheme to proceed down the river to its mouth, now only fifty miles away, and then down the Father of Waters, to the ocean, escaping observation by extreme caution. He had expected to arrive at the ocean before the fall days became too cool for canoeing. Then to some foreign land—

"Hi," a voice broke in on his thoughts. "So ye've been 'oldin' out on yer old pal, 'ave ye?"

The leering face of Cravens peeped from behind a tree. The cockney obviously was under the influence of liquor, as he hove into sight, snarling at the other.

"Glad you're back," said Stollard, quietly. "Now, we'll get ready to break camp."

"Bryke camp, 'ell! There'll be no bryking camp this night for we. Me jyne's wytin' for me now, an' ye'll gimme that money for more o' this."

Cravens flourished a bottle of moonshine, two-thirds empty. "An' bloody vile stuff it is. Blarst them thievin' temperance—"

The cockney finished with a string of oaths.

"Give me that." Stollard rose quickly, seized the bottle and threw it to the ground where it was dashed to pieces on a rock. Cravens was wild.

"Ye blarsted, bloody ———," he roared and, made bold by alcohol, rushed at Stollard, swinging his fists. The American thrust out one hand and pushed him back. Cravens lost his balance and fell to the ground.

"Now see here," said Stollard. "You go over to that tree and sit down while I make a fire. We're going to have a little chow and move on. I'll break camp while the food's cooking."

With the air of a whipped dog, Cravens obeyed.

Stollard busied himself gathering sticks with which to start a fire. Cravens noticed that his back was turned. At the Englishman's side lay one of the canoe paddles. Silently he rose. He picked up the paddle.

The big man whistled as he worked, while the cockney slipped nearer. Rising to his full height, Cravens swung and brought the paddle against the other's head, flat side front, with all the force in his little wiry body. Had he struck with the edge it might have been a death blow.

Stollard fell forward. He was momentarily stunned, but his great vitality brought him, to his feet again, his head throbbing as if it would burst.

"You damned little cur!" he shouted, and seized Cravens. In the heat of his suffering, he struck the cockney several times in the face, drawing blood, and pommeled him in the side unmercifully before he regained his composure.

The cockney's resistance was futile, and he cried for mercy. Stollard flung him to the ground.

"You dirty little cur!" he said.

"Another trick like that, and I'll break every rib in your miserable little body."

Suffering less now, Stollard turned to to the tree and lay in misery, groaning his work, while the Englishman crawled and rubbing his wounds.

The American was rather ashamed of his anger. "He's a miserable little rat," was the trend of his thought. "and I'll get rid of him soon, but I shouldn't have hurt him so much. Of course, one like him couldn't be expected to know what fair fighting means."

These thoughts prompted Stollard step ten yards away to where the supplies were concealed under the overturned canoe. He would open a jar of sliced bacon and have a real feast, just to show the other he held no animosity against him.

Cravens saw his companion move away, and took from its place of concealment the revolver he had taken