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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"


The steward had aroused from his nap, and I watched him lower the
table, and spread it with a white cloth. Now the distant clatter of
dishes proved him to be in the pantry. He could be dealt with there
even to better advantage than in the cabin, and, noncombatant as he
undoubtedly was, I felt it safer to place him beyond power to create
any alarm. The task confronting me was far too serious to leave our
rear unguarded. I slipped silently along the short passageway, and,
watching his back closely, investigated the lock on the pantry door.
It was of the spring variety, easily set to fasten, and could not be
operated from the inside. As I pressed in the catch there was a
clicking sound, which caused the negro to turn around, the whites of
his eyes gleaming oddly.
"Oh, my Lordy! I nebber heard you, Massa Craig. By golly, sah, dis
yere niggah sure thought he was shot."
"Not yet, Louis," I replied quietly, standing in the opening, one hand
still on the latch. "But it is just as well for you to be serious
about it--I 've got the weapon all right--see," and I pushed the
revolver butt forward into his range of vision. "I don't mean to hurt
you so long as you keep still."
"What--what you a-goin' fer to do, sah?"
"Get away from this ship if I can, and you are going to help by
remaining right where you are, boy.


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