Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

454 rancher, who had been at sea in his time, and whose walk still oddly suggested, at times, the heaving deck of an imaginary ship. ‘‘ Listen to me: You're out here be- cause the lass wants you here for reasons of her own. Maybe she’s told you about them. Now IH tell yeu one other thing: Don’t be lingering around when you find me alone. I can stand the sight of you, maybe, when there’s witnesses near by, but when I see you alone I want to fix my fingers in that skinny windpipe of yours. Understand? You damned, sneaking cutthroat!” And Ugly Joe turned on his heel, after a farewell glare, and stalked on toward the nearest door with his wobbly stride, lifting high to meet the imaginary deck. CHAPTER VII. GOGGLES TALKS. Mi word!” sighed Goggles. ‘‘ Who is that person?”’ “That,” said Patricia coldly, “ig my cousin, Joe Gregory.”’ ‘Isn't he the rough chap, though?’”’ ‘‘ Ah!”’ she cried, with a sudden, over- whelming burst of disgust. ‘“ Can you call yourself aman? You weuld shame a dog— a creeping, whining—dog!”’ And she turned and ran from him. She was shuddering with shame and horror in the thought that such a craven, such a spineless cur, could be a man, walk and talk and think like a man, and yet be at heart such a travesty on all noble qualities of a man. More sickening. because his admiration of the flowers a moment before had made him almost akin to him—had brought a sudden softening and sympathy into her heart. ‘She despised herself for it - now—loathed herself, as though she had touched the face of a leper, and the touch - had made her unclean, forever. By contrast she drew the figure of the Whisperer. Perhaps at some time in his career a service had been rendered him by this cravenly scoundrel, St. Gore, and now, to pay the debt; he constituted himself a strong and invisible shield between the Craven and the world. More and more details of the Whisperer’s character were ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. creeping up strongly in her imagination He was large, undoubtedly, since so mani tales were told of his prowess. And th whispering voice, so horrible to hear, wa undoubtedly the result of some incurab affliction. She had heard of men with con#- sumption of the throat, which affected their vocal chords so that their voices became’ like that ascribed to the Whisperer. Without doubt the man had come to the’ Southwest to be cured of his affliction by the purer, drier air. To support himself he: had been forced into a life of outlawry. Then this sneaking dapper fiend, St. Gore, tracked the man whom he had befriended in | some small thing years -before, and lived. off the earnings of the Whisperer’s dare- devil depredations. In the mean time the outlaw was dying slowly of his malady, but would be terrible until the end. This was the story which grew up of itself in her thoughts, until it seemed to her that she could not bear to face St. Gore again. The temptation to shoot him down —kill him like a snake—would be too great. | It was into this stormy mood of hers that harmonious music ran. In fact, it was so akin to her thoughts of the moment that she hardly noticed it at first, and only gradually it grew out distinctly upon her. It was some one playing on the piano in the distant room, the Revolutionary Etude . by Chopin, and playing it with consum- mate strength and mastery. Not an easy thing to do, as she knew by experience, but this musician played with easy perfection. The difficult bass, which must roll, but not thunder, swept by in a vast rhythm like great ground-swells which roll along and toss the ship, and in tum block out either horizon and tower darkly into the heart of the sky. She had seen such waves, and she saw them again in the music. The treble darted across the scheme of harmony like sharp, stabbing bursts of lightning, illuminating the whole scene. The Revolutionary Etude—a study in conflict, in an ominous and rising danger like the passion which had held her a moment be- fore. She left her room and wandered toward the place from which the music came, ecomiclooolks (CO