The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1942-08-07
CHAPTER vi

CUrC s CuTlOuS IeclulS dDOuI NhOho-
han persisted all evening. It was
not SO much what the man said as
how he said it. Restraint in this
hulking fellow was odd. Again the
impression of something lacking in
Bill Henderson's manner came to
him. Neither Bill nor Stats Mona
han was as cordial as Curt might
have expected.
Curt found himself paired off with
Montaya for the night in canvas
tent. There were comfortable cot
beds on a raised wooden platform,
mosquito bars-essential here, a
camp chair, small table on which
stood vacuum jug and glass.
Opening his musette bag to pre-
pare for bed, Curtis hand came in
contact with the sharp corner of a
bit of folded paper, apparently
slipped under the flap without OPEN
ing the bag. Curt pulled it out, un-
folded it in the light of the lantern
hanging from the ridge pole.
He read: "Curt, watch yourself"
It was printed with pencil, in ir-
regular letters, as though hurriedly.
1t wasn't signed.
Curt heard Montaya's steps. He
palmed the paper, rummaged in the
bag, found a bottle of quinine cap
sules, and as Montaya entered was
washing one down.
''My wife's pet phobia," Curt said
easily.
"And a good one. It is my rule
that all workers in exposed areas
shall take daily Doses"
Getting to sleep wasn't easy. Curt
lay staring in the dark. Who had
had an opportunity to slip that note
into his bag? Here at this camp at
some time during the evening each
of the group had had occasion to
leave the mess tent where they'd
been talking and downing cold
drinks after dinner.
Henderson and 'Monahan, Of all
these men, knew that musette bag
of old. 1t had been familiar piece
of Curtis field equipment, swinging
from his shoulder or hanging over
the back of chair in camp. So
the note came from one of the two.
watch yourself" 1t tied in with
Fora Mitchell's ''Don't comet"
warning. A string of suggestions
flooded Curtis mind again, circled,
and suddenly one shot off on a tan
gent.
His thoughts raced. The Chief
Engineer for the Compania Agricola
Tropical was the key figure in their
getting into production.
This murder of Mitchell-was it
beyond Old Man Moore to hire the
job done? Big business has few
scruples when it comes to protect
ing or advancing its interests, espe-
cially in frontier work such as this.
Pursuing this idea, there was an
other possibility. Perhaps Montaya
had personal enemies who would
want to slow up the planting.
On this new theme-was it Mitch
ell the man, or Mitchell the Chief
Engineer, who was killed?-Curt
finally fell asleep.
Sleep washes our minds. When
Curt awoke in the morning he did
not remember at once the note
slipped into his musette bag, but
first sight of Stats Monahan brought
it back with a rush.
Monahan, having shaved before a
mirror hung outside on the wall of
his tent, was now dancing noisily
under shower.
Curt, in breeches and boots, made
for the mirror and began lathering
his face. He shivered involuntarily
at sight of the other. Taking bath
in this chill morning air required
CUTS, for though this was tropical
country it could certainly get cold
overnight. Monahan dismissed the
native and was rubbing himself
briskly with a towel when Curt spoke
out of the corner of his mouth.
keep your voice down, Stats, and
don't look up at me. You touch
my bag last night?"
''No."
Didn't put anything in it?"
"No. Why?"
Somebody put note in it warn
ing me to watch out. Watch out
for what, Stats? Any idea?"
"Hell, dunno, Curt. Got any
thing to do with Chigger Mitchell's
murder?"
"That's something I'd like to
know. What about that murder,
Slats?"
''Well, dunno, Curt. They let
out it was a grudge killing, and I
kinda think it must've been. You
know how Mitch was"
"Yeh, ! know"
"Only :"
''Only what?"
''Well, do know this. Mitch was
stewing about something for sew
eral days before they got him, who
ever it was"
What do you mean?''
''Well, he had something on his
mind. Last time he came out to