Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

THE WHISPERER. made the stanch dobe walls quiver time and again, and little drafts set the flames jumping in the lamps. Mrs. Gregory rese to fasten the shades on the western and windward side of the house, and, opening a windew to do this, a piece of paper, evi- dently inserted under the edge of the win- dow for this very purpose, whipped from the sill and came fluttering across the room like a white bird, settling gently on the center of the table. Jack Tucker, cursing softly, leaned for- ward and snatched up the paper, unfolded it, and read aloud, slowly, with a grim-set face: “Gents, ve been waiting for you a long time. I never expected to get you all to- gether. Harry Yale, you come first. THe WHISPERER.” He tossed it down for examination by any who cared to look. Gingerly, like men touching deadly poison, they raised the little paper one by one and examined the clumsy, scrawling writing. It was back- hand, and the letters were formed with the same crude care that a child of seven uses. “ At least,” said Patricia thoughtfully— and she and Goggles were the only calm people in-the room, “it proves one thing. The Whisperer is not your man Howe. This is some uneducated man from the moun- tain-desert. Look at his writing! Isn't that a sufficient proof?” ‘‘Ma’am,” said Chic Woods hoarsely, “nothing proves anything about the Whis- perer. I don’t mind a man—but a damned His eyes traveled across to Harry Yale. The tall man stood like one _ transfixed, swallowing hard, so that the great Adam’s apple jumped up and down his throat. Through that bronze tan he could not show pallor, but his lips seemed to have grown harder set, and- they were pulled toward the hollows of his cheeks by the ghastliest of grins. In the silence that followed every glance turned finally upon Harry Yale. He stood it for a moment, and then in a sudden fury he pushed back his chair, rose, and smashed his great, bony hand down on the table. — 459 “Am I dead already?” he roared. ‘I ain’t any ghost now, am I? Look some- where’s else—and to hell with you all!” He strode to the door, hesitated with his hand on the knob, and then jerked it suddenly open, and stood tense, staring into the dark beyond. He closed the door, dis- appearing into the further room. Chic Woods raised a shaking hand and mopped his forehead. ; el CHAPTER IX. THE SECOND AND THIRD MESSAGES. ATRICIA, with her four gun-fighters, Pp felt like a general with mighty forces to direct. It was she who planned the campaign for the next day. She schemed in this way: First of all, Goggles was almost certain to use his freedom at ence and ride out to meet the Whisperer, whom he would supply with accurate infor- mation concerning all that went on in the house. Her plan was to trail Goggles when he rode out, using Harry Yale to do the trailing, because Harry had now the most vital reason for wishing to gét at the great outlaw. One man could probably trail the inexperienced Goggles very easily, and the other three in turn would follow Yale at a safe distance, scattered out on either side -of him. In case Yale were to find the Whisperer they could gallop in at once to his assis- tance, enveloping the outlaw. She disclosed her plan to the four men, and they agreed readily. Any plan was a geod plan to them. What they wanted was action, and quick action to get at the com- mon enemy. ) She proved a true prophet. Almost im- mediately after breakfast Goggles sauntered out toward the barn and a few minutes later was riding toward the hills at a brisk gallop. He was not out of sight before Harry Yale, spurring at every stride, raced after him, and behind Harry, at a short interval, came his three companions. Patricia, from the kitchen door, watched them disappear with a smile of content. The Whisperer, certainly, would expect some dilatoriness in the campaign against GOR GDOO SS (COL