Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

A BOOB THERE WAS. give up searching until you have it. No; there’s nothing else to say. And you un- derstand me? That parcel must be found.” He slammed the receiver back on the hook, and turned on Van Carpen with sav- age resentment. “A nice mess you’ve made of it!” he snarled. “The girl has got away from them.” “Oh, they'll find her all right.” Van Carpen tried to speak confidently, but it was rather a failure. He was pale and shaky as a result of the news. “Find her—when?” J. P. demanded scathingly. “She isn’t on the trail; and you know that away from that the most experienced old desert rat can get hopeless- ly lost in ten minutes. And how long can she, a girl, keep going without food or water? Yes, they'll find her—when she’s dead. “ By glory, Van Carpen!” he exploded. “We've got to do something. It isn’t a case now of playing the hero; it’s to save our necks.” He fingered at his collar as if he already felt the clutch of the noose about his throat. “There’s too many in the know, I tell you. Somebody is sure to squeal, and the responsibility will be traced back to us.” He crumpled up the sheet of paper on which he had been working, thrust it with the contracts into his pocket, and stood up. “ Hold on!” cried Van Carpen. “ Aren’t you going to do that signature? No mat- ter what breaks, we’d better get hold of that seventy-five thousand.” For answer, J. P. held up his hand. It was shaking like that of an old man. The nerves of the forger must be under perfect control. Once more something had happened to prevent the signing of that paper. CHAPTER XVII. DESERT STUFF. NOTHER day. The sun came up with all its justly celebrated lighting effects, and turned the dull, drab wastes of the desert into a shimmer of gold ee 737 and purple and crimson like the carpet of an Indian rajah. From crest to crest of the sand dunes the warm glow glinted. The hollows and levels changed hue like a chameleon under its transforming touch. On and on swept the sunlight until at last it rested on a mass of tangled wreckage that had once been an airplane, and set all its polished metal parts to winking in the reflection. The flash caught the eye of a girl who was trudging along through the sand about half a mile away. She did not know the cause of the sparkle, and quickly threw herself on the ground as if to avoid observa- tion, But when nothing happened she cau- tiously crawled to the top of the nearest sand hill and reconnoitered. What she saw brought her to her feet with a cry of startled alarm and sent her hurrying toward the wreck. Before, her footsteps had lagged, her shoulders had drooped; she had shown in every line that she was spent and weary. But now, keen with apprehension, her fa- tigue was forgotten, her head was thrown up, she fairly flew over the ground. Ar- rived at the smashed-up airplane, she hesitated a moment and half drew back; then, summoning all her resolution, she lifted one of the crumpled wings and peered underneath. Down among the twisted wires and be- side the overturned fusilage she saw the back of the luckless aviator. “Cale! Cale Northrup!” she screamed, and, catching the huddled figure by the shoulders, tried to drag the man out on the sand. He roused under her touch, twitched like a sleeper who does not wish to be awak- ened, and muttered thickly: “ Paging Mr. Northrup, eh? Well, don’t disturb me. I think you'll find him over on the other side of the lobby.” Then he sat up, blinking vacuously about him. The girl fell back a step or two at the sight of him and gave a cry of amaze- ment. ‘““Bob Moore!” she exclaimed. Her voice recalled his scattered senses, and yet at the same time seemed to befud- dle him still more. Gomicbdooks (E@