Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

MYSTERY FARM. and one night in his searching he stumbled on a paper that gave him not only the se- cret of the treasure—there is still five or six thousand dollars in gold coin in the little cave where he had us corraled, by the way —but of the underground river as well, and told how to reach another opening in the great chain of subterranean caverns, nearly thirty miles south of here. “This, of course, gave him a chance to disappear. He simply went down through the caves to the other opening, built a shack and set up as a hermit. No one thereabouts knew him, and as his hut was in an inaccessible ravine in the woods, seven or eight miles from the nearest house, no one bothered him much; but he used to come back to visit the old place once in a while, and that’s what caused trouble, on uO vu retorted Warren. 745 the rare occasions when the house was oc- cupied. I guess that’s all, Dicky.” “Except one thing,” replied Dick with a grin. “ You'll have to find a new name for the place. It is no longer a Mystery Farm.” “Well, I'll leave that to you and Ruth,” “You: two solved the mystery.” “Don’t forget the cat,” returned Dick. “Tf she hadn’t found Elinor’s handkerchief and yowled about it, we’d have been guess- ing yet. Let’s call the place after her—if she has a name—what are you all laughing at anyway?” “It’s fate, Dick,” answered Elinor. “The cat’s name happens to be Mystery, too. So this must be ‘ Mystery Farm’ to the end.” U U IN TURKESTAN N Turkestan, in Turkestan Beside a cassia tree there stood A maiden with a jasper fan Who blew a flute of sandalwood. And she was like a dim cocoon All wound in mazing gossamer, Like ivory toys in ivory shoon Were the little feet of her. And she was sweet of jessamine And smooth as honey garnered from A morning full of purple sheen In swinging buds of saccharum. And I would have her for my own To love beyond a fabled sea, A golden slave beneath my throne To shine through veils of lazuli, To make upon a flute a song Lighter than a feather’s fall, And like a sun-bird sing among The sun-birds on the palace wail. In Turkestan, in Turkestan There vanished in a limpid gleam Ivory shoon and jasper fan, Like the dreaming of a dream. Martha Ostenso. Gomichooks co