Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

ae \" COLD STEEL. 355 - sweep away the thought, while his son ran toward him. “Father, you’re sich ” Steele exclaimed, putting an arm about the other. And, in truth, the elder man seemed fainting, ready to collapse. ‘‘ Come, let me help you in so you can lie down. I must bring a doc- tor.” Steele aiaact carried him to. the bed. On it his father sank, remaining with closed eyes, and scarcely breathing. “No doctor; bring no doctor,” he said painfully, at last. “TI, feel—tI feel as if— dying.” “JT must bring a doctor. And I have a flask of whisky. Let me pour you a little to revive your heart.” The change the words wrought from pas- sivity to action was startding. The elder Weir arose suddenly on elbow, glaring fiercely. “ Whisky, never! It brought me to this it damned my life. If it had not been for whisky—” Without finishing the words he fell back on the bed. The loathing, the hatred, the utter hor- ror of his exclamation, banished from his son's mind further thought of using this stimulant. “But the doctor?” he inquired gently. “No use, Steele. Ive been the same as a dead man for days. Just ashes. I want to die; I want to lie by your mother there under the big ia And maybe Pll have peace—peace.”” Steele took in his own the wasted hand hanging from the bed. He held it tight, with a feeling of infinite tragedy. “You'll be yourself again soon,” he said comfortingly, though without faith in the assurance. His father’s lips moved in a whisper. ‘No; my time’is here at last,” said he. ‘But don’t go to San Mateo, Steele—don’t go, don’t go! Oh, spare me that!” ‘“Would you have me break my. word? T never have to any man, father. I ac cepted this offer and signed a contract. ['m morally bound; these men are depending on me. Were you ever at San Mateo? Was it something that happened there that makes you fearful to have me go? San Mateo is a thousand miles from here.” The face before him became like the face of a corpse. For an instant Steele’s heart went cold in the belief that his father had died under the effect of his declaration. But at last the eyelids raised, the eyes gazed at him. And all at once the features of the harsh visage seemed softened, changed, lightened by a dim illumination. ‘“T see you now as you are, a man, stronger than I ever was,’”’ he murmured. ‘“T lived in fear, but my fear was not for myself. Had I been alone, nothing would have mattered after your mother died. But my fear was for youz—and of you. I was afraid your life would be blasted; I was in terror lest you should hate and despise me when you learned the truth. So I sought to conceal it.” ‘You had no need to fear that.” “JT see it mow. Tell.me everything or nothing, as you wish, about your going to San Mateo to work; it will frighten me no longer.”’ Steele briefly spoke of his new work — there, of the magnitude of the project, and the desire he had had that his father might be with him: “Tm proud of you,’ his father said. “God knows I have not been the pa I would or should have been to you.” ‘““Tt’s enough for me if your heart’s easy now.” ““T feel as if I were gaining peace at last and—and I must speak. In San Mateo —ah, Steele, you may hear of me—you may have to fight the damning influence of my name and past, but I know now you'll come through it. And all I pray for is that- you can retain a little love for me despite everything.”’ ‘‘ Whatever it is I shall hear of my fa- ther, I should rather hear it from his lips than from strangers’.” The hand in his closed spasmodically. For a long time nothing was said, and the only sound in the room was the ticking of the tin cleck on the shelf busily measuring off the seconds of the old man’s failing span. To Steele, it was as if his father were slowly summoning the few remaining shreds of his fortitude to reveal the cancer of his past. ‘“Y’m a branded murderer,” he gasped. _ Commlicoookxs.COm