Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

SILENT creosote bush and tough mesquite roots; a frugal supper to be prepared; blankets to be unrolled, and ground cleared for beds. The desert-smitten boy, too; every pos- sible care must be given him. He was still lying limply below the tarpaulin which Starley had thrown over a creosote bush. During that long, withering afternoon, he had given no sign of renewed life, al- though the desert man had been prodigal with his water supply, bathing the sun- seered face, forcing larger and larger amounts between the puffy lips. “The night will tell the story,” the des- ert man announced to Tin Can. The bur- ro was watching the preparations for the evening meal, patiently waiting a chance to get his silver nozzle into the flapjack flour, or coffee can. “Get away, there, you thieving devil! Blast your tough hide, you’d eat a tin can if it had the word ‘ tomato’ printed on it! Get away, I said! Go find yourself some filaree or fox tail. Beat it!” Starley waved a dripping spoon at the burro, who flicked his tail lazily in answer. ‘As I was saying, to-night will give the answer—life, or death. Poor kid! Too young to go out this way. Wonder who he is, how he happened to be out on this pave- ment of hell without even a canteen.” Tin Can showed little interest in his master’s words; his big, hair-screened eyes watched the little pile of flapjacks grow on a pie tin. Starley turned to scour his fry- ing pan in the sand, and the burro saw his chance. His white nose thrust forward; he seemed to grin as his big teeth closed over the cakes. Whang! The frying pan de- scended on the burro’sebony hips. Stoical- ly, the pack animal moved away, munching his stolen supper. Starley grinned. That was a daily con- test between master and beast, the cun- ning of the animal against the watchful- ness of the man for the possession of the flapjacks. To-day Tin Can had won at least a partial victory, but the desert man took his less good-naturedly, eating the re- mainder of the cakes with more relish be- cause of the little by-play. He topped off the flapjacks with a cup JERRY. of coffee and a bit of sweet chocolate, then prepared for the night. Once more he bathed the face of the unconscious boy, and forced water between his lips. A tattered blanket was wrapped gently around the limp figure, which he carried closer to the fire. Then Starley rolled up in his own blanket, rested his head on a roll of extra clothing, and was ready for sleep. The firelight cut a red glow in the desert darkness. Shadows danced. Overhead, the stars seemed to drop lower and lower, as if suspended from silver tassels. The sharp cry of coyotes sounded from the foothills; occasional scurries in the brittle brush showed that other animals were curious, or hungry, or both. The air which brought the coyotes’ cries down from the hills was uncomfortably cold now. Starley pulled the blanket tighter to his body. 325 “Wonder who the kid is,” he muttered. — But he didn’t wonder long; sleep comes quickly after a long, exhausting day on the desert. It claimed the desert man almost instantly. The fire smoldered, died out; darkness reigned. Its black blanket enveloped a sleeping man, an unconscious boy, and a white-faced burro who was nosing around in the hope there might be more food to steal. Jerome Starley awoke suddenly. There was a weight on his chest, fingers at his throat—clutching, frantic fingers. Mo- mentarily, he was too surprised to move. Then he fought his attacker savagely. His huge body rolled over; his hands pushed at the face he could barely see in the. dark- ness. Now he was on top, holding his assailant pinned to the sand. Surprised he was, at the ease with which he had turned the tables, the feebleness of the other’s defense. | _Then he realized that his attacker was the scrawny boy he had saved from the desert’s maw. Immediately his huge hands loosened their grip on the youth’s throat. “What’s the matter with you?” he de- manded angrily. ‘“ What’s the idea?” ‘You shan’t take me back,” came the answer, shrill, hysterical. ‘‘ You’ve caught com Ghboo <S) (E@)