Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

364 ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. before making his ride back to camp. From the booth adjoining he had been overhearing for some time scraps of conversation when the voices rose in protest and answering explanation, in perplexed appeal and earnest assurance. Weir’s own reflections finally ceased. His head turned and remained fixed to listen, while the cigar grew cold between his fin- gers. For ten minutes or so his attitude of concentrated harkening to the two voices, a girl’s and a man’s, remained unchanged. Little by little he was piecing out the thread of the confidential dialogue—and of the little drama being enacted in the booth. His brows became lowering as he gathered its significance, his lips drew together in a tight, thin line. He did not move when he heard the man push hack his chair to leave the place, nor alter his position until there came the sound of the door closing /at the front of the restaurant. Then he reached for his hat, stood up, and went lightly around into the ether booth, where he pulled the green calico curtain across the opening. A girl of about seventeen, of plump; clean prettiness, still sat at the table, which was littered with dishes. The cheap finery of her hat and dress showed a pathetic at- tempt to increase her natural comeliness. ‘At this minute her face showed amazement and a hint of apprehension. “What are you coming in here for?” she demanded. “T want to talk to you for a little while,” Weir replied, seating-himself. “ You will please listen. I’ve overheard enough of your talk to catch its drift; you came here to get married, but now this man wants to induce you to go to Los Angeles first.” “That isn’t any of your business,” the girl flashed back,: going white and red by turns. “Ym making it mine, however. You live up on Terry Creek, by what I heard; that’s not far from my camp. I’m the manager at the dam, and my name’s Weir.” At this statement the girl shrank back, beginning to bite the hem of her handker- chief nervously and gazing at him with ter- rified eyes. _“T’m here to help you, not harm you. .You’ve run away from home to-day to marry this fellow. Did he promise to marry you if you came down to Bowenville?” “And now he wants you to go with him to Los Angeles first, promising to marry you there?” The girl hesitated, with a wavering look. “ Yes.” “He gives you excuses, of course. But they don’t satisfy your. mind, do they? They don’t satisfy mine, at any rate. It’s the old trick. Supposing, when you reached the coast, he didn’t marry you after all, and put you off with more promises, and after a week or two abandoned you?” “Oh, he wouldn’t do that!’ she cried with a gulp. “That’s just what he’s planning, He didn’t meet you here until after dark, I judge. You'll both go to the train separate- ly—I overheard that part. Afterward he could return and\deny that he had. ever had anything to do with you, and it would simply be your word against his. And - which would people hereabouts believe, tell me that—which would they believe, yours or his, after you had gone wrong?” The girl sat frozen. Then suddenly she began to cry, softly and with jerks of her shoulders. Weir reached out and patted her arm. “ What’s your name?” he asked. “ Mary—Mary Johnson.” “Mary, Um interfering in your affairs only because I know what men will do. You must take no chances. If this. fellow is really anxious to marry you, he’ll do it here in Bowenville.” After a few sobs she wiped her eyes. ‘He said he didn’t dare get the license in San Mateo, or his folks would have stopped our marriage.” “Then you could stay here to-night, go to the next county seat and be married to- -morrow. His parents are bound to learn about it once you’re married. A few days more or less makes no difference. And though I should be back at my work, I'll just stay over a day and take you there in my car to-morrow to see that you’re mar- ried straight and proper: Why go clear to Los Angeles?” comicbooks-com