Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 105: what you’re looking at

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

THE WAY OF ‘the expression in Ballantine’s eyes in the moment after the shot; it had appeared to him that Ballantine had been: gazing into unfathomed distances, seeing something that no other eyes could see. Strangely oppressed with regret, afflicted -with an unaccountable depression, Cameron drove the engine to the works and turned it over to the man who was torun it. Then without a word to any of the men who had come to meet him, and with only a mirth- less smile at Dell, the engineer, he walked toward the office. He did not go inside, but sat on the steps, his chin in his hands, gazing toward the white ranch house. The crowd had dispersed. There was no one on the level stretching between the white ranch house and the foot of the slope toward town. But as Cameron sat there he heard the rapid beating of hoofs off toward the slope, and he turned his head to see two horse- men racing across the level toward the ranch house. One of the riders was Joe Gibson; physician who had attended Ben Baxter. Cameron watched them as they crossed the level and entered the grounds beyond the picket fence. Dr. Mills dismounted at the gate and ran down the walk toward the ranch house, with Gibson close behind him. Cameron did not change position, al- though he was puzzled to account for the apparently desperate haste of Gibson and the doctor. Virginia, he supposed, had been overcome. He remembered how, after Bal- lantine had turned away, she had swayed and stumbled as she followed him. Cameron was still sitting on the steps half an hour later when Dr. Mills came out of the house, walked to the gate, mounted his horse and rode toward him. When he saw that Mills was riding to the office Cameron arose and walked to meet him. The doctor’s face was grave as he slipped off his horse and stood, looking at Cam- eron, “ Cameron,” he said, his gaze quizzical, “your gun carried the charmed bullet.” Cameron stiffened, paled. ‘‘ You don’t mean—”’ he began. “ Exactly,” said Mills with a queer smile. “Vou hit him. In the shoulder. been hit. the other was Dr. Mills, the THE BUFFALO. 95 Rather high; through the major muscle. It’s a clean wound, though. He'll get well. He’s as tough as leather. Virginia told me about how he stood there—nobody knowing he’d Marvelous! “Cameron, strong.as you are, if you’d have got that bullet you’d have gone down. Nothing but will power—and maybe aston- ishment—held the old wolf up after that shot! “Tl get him around all right. But, Cameron, Virginia doesn’t want this thing to get out. She says it would break the old fellow’s heart to have it known that a bullet had finally got him. ““ He didn’t say so himself, but he’s ter- ribly depressed. The wound itself doesn’t seem to bother him very much. His only anxiety seems to be over what people will say about it. He kept you from knowing, and the crowd. _“ He and Virginia made me promise that I wouldn't tell. But I had to tell you; it’s a thing you ought to know. But don’t worry about it; he’ll sure come around all right.” Dr. Mills got on his horse and rode to town. Cameron went into the office, dropped into the chair before his desk and tried to work. But he hadn’t been in the office more than ten minutes when he put on his coat and hat and walked across the level to the white picket fence. As he went down the walk toward the house he saw a rider just vanishing over the crest of a low hill westward. He rec- ognized the rider as Joe Gibson. Cameron paused at the edge of the rear porch. The screen door leading to the kitchen was closed. He stepped upon the porch and moved toward the door. He heard a light sound, and saw Virginia coming toward the door. She was pale and strangely calm as she came to the door and looked at him. “Oh!” she said impressively. “ It’s you.” She closed her lips tightly, and appeared to wait for him to speak. Her face was pale, and although her eyes were troubled he saw no blame in them. CcomicloookS.e@©