Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

670 odor more savory. The wavering flame now and again lapped his flesh; but he tightened his jaw and never flinched. One by one the strands severed and at length, with a sharp tug, Jem jerked his wrists apart. He breathed soothingly upon his scorched, black streaked wrists. — ‘‘Strenuous treatment,” he murmured, * but it did the business.” He unfastened the remnants of rope cling- ing to each wrist. He swung his arms about joyously in his newly acquired freedom. But after the first surge of satisfaction, Jem returned to the sober reflection that his position was really not so much im- proved, after all. He was still a prisoner within that cabin, with no apparent method of freeing himself. The door was fastened on the outside; and even if he should over- come that difficulty, there was still the guard to be taken care of, he himself being unarmed. He examined the window boards. They were heavily spiked and cleated. Break- ing them down could not be accomplished without considerable noise, which would be sure to attract the guard’s attention—his attention and the fire of his gun. Looking down at the camp, Jem noticed that but few of the lights were now burn- ing. It must be quite late, he reflected. He went to the door and stared through the chinks. A glowing cigarette tip told him of his warden’s presence, although his person was indistinguishable in the dark- ness. If only the man would enter the cabin for some reason or other, Jem would take a chance with him, unarmed though he himself was. And, at that, he was not unarmed! His eye fell on the section of crowbar on the table. What a fine weapon that short bludgeon made! Just let him get his jailer’s head within cracking reach of that! Jem picked the bar up and swung it. Now to get that ruffian within range. A boyish grin crept over Jem’s face. He filled his lungs and opened his mouth, “QO bury me not on the lone prairie,’ These words came low and mournfully From the pallid lips of a youth who lay On his dying bed at the close of day.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, Never had the “ Dying Cowboy ” been wailed with deeper, more intense feeling than Jem now rendered it. Loud and mourn- ful, his voice rolled out of the room. A few minutes he howled without effect. Then a loud banging sounded on the door without. “Hey, you!” a voice outside called. ““What’s the big idea? Lay off that stuff! How’d you get that way?” The protest stirred Jem to more intense efforts. “QO bury me not on the lone prairie, Where the wild coyotes will howl o’er me,” he ululated. “Great guns!” his jailer protested. “That smack on the head must ’a’ knocked him cuckoo! Shut up!” he shout- ea. “Cut Ht out’ “ And the blizzard beats and the winds blow free O’er his lowly grave on the lone prairie-e-eee,” was his only reward. Another few moments of dismal howling on Jem’s part; then the other man’s nerves could stand no more. ‘* By jiminy,” he snorted, ‘ T’ll make you shut up! This ll drive me nutty if I have to listen to it!” The frantic pawing of the outside fasten- ings came to Jem’s listening ears. As the doorknob turned Jem’s singing abruptly ceased and a swift leap took him from the center of the room, where he had been standing, to the wall by the entrance. The guard swung open the door and started bellicosely into the room—then sank with a soft sigh to the floor. Jem’s bludgeon had descended on the man’s skull like a load of pig iron. Jem dragged the limp form into the room. He knotted together the pieces of rope he had removed from his own wrists and bound his victim. The man’s gun he transferred to his own pocket. The service the bludgeon had rendered him had endeared it to his affections; be- sides, he might still have need of calling upon it. He tucked it under his arm, turned out the lamp, and stepped out into the brisk night air. He drew shut the door and fastened the bar. oO CORMICG OOOKS eo