Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

THE WHISPERER. he kills the heart, which is worse, a lot.” “T won't give it up!” said Patricia. “I daren’t give it up!” “ Why not, honey? Who elected you a man- -hunter?” “Tt’s the first thing I’ve tried by my- self—the first real work. I’ve got to win! and I will win, because he can’t beat me until I release St. Gore from his parole with my own lips.” “ Patty,” said Mother Martha, “ I’ve seen stranger things than that happen on the mountain-desert.”’ Not a comforting thought for Patricia to carry away to her bed. She lay awake long considering it. For how, after all, could the Whisperer force her against her will to retract the parole of St. Gore? Per- haps at the point of his revolver; perhaps by striking down Ugly Joe—and even ’ Mother Martha. Yes, to the Whisperer neither man nor woman made a difference. When she finally slept it was only to dream of a great weight that pressed down on her, an invisible burden that beat against her out of the thin air like the wings of some tremendous, ethereal moth, suffocating her, pressing her resistlessly to the ground, killing her in the very sight of her friends. She woke the next morning with little violet circles painted beneath her eyes, and in her throat a steady burning. The rest of the household was already at the break- fast-table, in silence, and when she entered every one looked up, but no one spoke, ex- cept Goggles. He was more dapper than ever, and seemed to have perfectly recuper- ated from the effects of his long ride of the day before. There was even a little touch of pink in his usually colorless cheeks. ’ He rose blithely at the sight of Patricia and pulled back her chair. Her loathing of him rose to a physical horror. She could not sit down while the man stood behind the chair. “Thank you,” she said heavily, at last. “ Won’t you take your chair again?”’ | ‘Oh, said Goggles, ‘“‘ of course, if you wish.” She looked across to Ugly Joe and met a scowl in reply. “ What is it?” she asked. No one would speak, at first. Then she 461 noted for the first time that Bob Riddle was not there. “ The Whisperer, ”” she gasped. “ Last There came a peculiar, hysterical laugh from Chic Woods, and his little pig-eyes wandered wildly. He tossed a scrap of paper across to her. ‘““T found that tied on the horn of my saddle this morning. Maybe you can make | it out for yourself.” She read: Gents, I’m gone. Nothing this side of hell can bring me back,:so don't try. All I can say is: Chic Woods, your turn comes next, and God help you. | Bos RIDDLE. She read it again, and this time aloud, and as she finished. Chic Woods sprang up, cursing hideously. He was plainly hysteri- cal with fear. ‘“‘T ’start myself,’ he cried. ‘‘ Tucker, if you're wise, you start with me. Any man [’ll fight, but this damned ghost—”’ ‘He turned and fled through the doorway. He was never seen again, it is said, in the mountain-desert. Whether he met the Whisperer and death on his flight, or "whether he simply left forever his old haunts, will never be known. CHAPTER X. THE MESSAGE TO PATRICIA. S for Jack Tucker, he leaned forward heavily on the table and followed the flight of Chic Woods with haunted eyes. ‘For me there ain’t no use in running,” he said slowly. “TI can see that plain. I can see why the Whisperer didn’t shoot up the rest, but just scared ’em off. He didn’t want ‘em; he was wanting only me! He is Howe, by God, and first he got Mort and now he'll get me! He’s cleared out the rest—well, if he gets me, he'll get me in this house—d’ye ‘hear? And nobody ‘Il make me leave it! I got two guns that shoot straight and clean, and from now on I eat in my room—d’ye hear?”’ To his glowering eyes every one who sat at the table, apparently, had that mo- COLMUC OOOLK (CO