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The Yellow Traffic
(Blachfe)
By JANET REID
Their slim young figures silhouetted against the fading skyline, they looked too light and free for aught but being poised, birdwise, for flight.
"It is a nasty job," Tom was saying, "and they're a tough bunch to down. They've got a good thing and a choice spot, and they can twist those slimy Chings into any way or contortion they may desire. ' '
"Do you know" — the girl was employing her woman's intuition — "I more than suspect Edward Allen of being the leader of the band. He seems to be crazy for Dad to sell him the Caroline, and I can think of only one use he could make of it — that use his smuggling operations "
' ' But. sweetheart ' '—Tom looked incredulous — "Allen's position is hardly calculated to make one suspect him of that dirty work. ' '
"I dont care," the girl retorted decisively. "He has a shifty eye and— what!"
Tom was leaning far over the cliff, his keen eye following a rough-looking fellow skulking along the strip of beach that skirted the foot of the cliff. There was a sudden shifting of the sandy edge, and Tom was precipitated down, leaving Alice, tense and gasping, looking after.
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"All right," Tom shouted, as he gained his feet and whipped out his pistol, to face the man who had lost no time in showing his. The struggle was brief and one-sided — Tom's young muscles were taut and responsive, his mind was alert; the man's senses were apparently befogged with bad whisky — and they emerged from the water, panting, captor and captured.
Alice threaded her homeward way alone that night, leaving Tom to hand over his prey to the officials, and her thoughts were very busy.
She knew instinctively that Allen had been there when she entered their neat frame house that night — knew it by her father's face. For only Allen, with his taunts and threatenings of foreclosure, could call that harassed expression to her father's jolly face. Tonight the strained expression was doubly evident ; it was apparent that Allen had been using new force.
' ' Cant you tell me, Dad ? ' ' The girl slipped her arm around his neck and stroked his weather-beaten old face gently. Captain Rawley groaned.
"It's the smuggling," he ejaculated despairingly; "he's been trying to rope me in — me, who've never taken a penny from the sea, or any