Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

SPIRITS OF peared they went back to the fire. Silas came in with the hired man and pointed to the guest’s baggage. “Take that upstairs to the two front rooms,” he instructed, and added a little scornfully, “I guess they will want to sleep in different beds.” Then he said to his guests: “It’s lucky you didn’t come when deer week was open weather, or you might have had to sleep on the floor.” Both men laughed. “Pardner, I’ve slept on the ground so many nights that the floor always seems like a luxury to me,” said Buchanan. “Out Montana way we prefer a saddle for a pillow any time.” Silas merely grunted, and started to help the hired man. It was the latter who said: ““T saw Tom Marsh’s boy, and he said they were afraid Aunt Maggie might have frozen in this spell. Nobuddy’s been able to get through to her house since the storm started, and she so feeble she can hardly make a fire. No telling what has happened to her.” “That so?” questioned Silas. “It’s a shame her folks let that old woman live alone off there, with no one to help her, Like as not she is frozen by now, and no mistake.” “Frozen?” questioned Harmsworth. “Can’t something be done?” The hired man shook his head. “ Nobuddy could get through,” he said, “Tt’s two miles over the north road, the worst you ever saw. A couple of sleighs tried to travel that way yesterday, and they had to come back. No, sir, nobuddy could get to her house on a rough night like : this.” “ But she can’t be left to freeze,” said Buchanan. ‘ There must be some way.” “No, there ain’t no way,” Silas affirmed, “ But mebbe she’s all right, though she’s eighty and kind of feeble. And I guess she ain’t got any of her favorite remedy, either—Dr. Miles’s rheumatism cure. She has been taking it for twenty years, I guess. And she was expecting a couple of bottles by mail, but they ain’t come. That’s a good remedy, too. I take some of it my- self.” 10 A THE STORM. 785 “Does it cure your rheumatism?” asked Buchanan, the suggestion of a twinkle in his eye. “It ain’t cured yet, but I don’t have se many pains. Aunt Maggie says it is the only thing that has kept her alive. She takes it regular, and I hope she has a little left. I’ve only got a dose or two myself, and I’m saving that for a bad day.” Then Silas and the hired man removed the baggage, leaving the two guests before the fire with feet extended toward the blaz- 'ing logs. They lay back in their chairs, watching the flickering light from the wood playing about the room. Outside, the storm still growled and rat- tled at the windows. Buchanan reached into the embers and extracted one with a glowing end, which he touched to his pipe, then passed it on to Harmsworth. ‘“‘ Eighty years old, and nobody to build her a fire,” he remarked. ‘ That seems like a little more than one old woman should have to bear.” “Yes; but I suppose it would be im- possible to reach her place on such a night,” answered Harmsworth. ‘“‘ The road must be impassable now, with the snow still fall- ing. There is a chance, no doubt, that some of her neighbors will reach the house.” Buchanan replied in a monosyllable, and both men looked long into the flames, watching the little castles and the fairy maidens appear and disappear in the em- bers. Once more the talk turned to the ex- pected hunt. Silas came back, but gave them small comfort. ‘“‘ Never had such a storm since I was a boy,” he said; “and it deer week, too.” “IT suppose we can’t do much to-mor- row unless it holds up,” suggested Harms- worth. “It would be hard work finding a trail in such weather.” “Can’t be done,” declared Silas in his comforting way. “A trail would be cov- ered before any deer had gone a hundred yards. I’m going to bed myself. If you want to stay up a while there’s plenty of wood, though you needn’t burn it all. And there’s a lamp for each of you on the COMMiICoookKks (C@)