Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

THE CRUCIBLE. ‘“ Silly,” she said, “it isn’t the fish I’m thinking about.” She went slowly down to the shore where her canoe lay at the little timber landing stage and glided silently toward the opposite margin of the lake. She was perfectly at home on the water, but since Brent’s arrival a few weeks previous had found this solitary method of transport less and less attractive. For the first time in her life she had been thrown into intimate contact with a man whose station was higher than hers, and the situation held for her an increasing interest. The daughter of a man whose horizon was bounded by mines and mills, and who had lived constantly on the fringes of civiliza- tion, she was hungry for the experiences of other girls more fortunately surrounded, and of which she read avidly whenever the opportunity came. She was a little contemptuous of those of her own class, especially if they were of her own sex, and believed that destiny would carry her beyond boundaries at which she had already began to chafe. The advent of James Brent seemed to make this possible. She did not yet admit that she loved him, but only knew that she wanted to be with him and that he ap- pealed to her more than any man she had ever known. And, in truth, there was that about Dorothy Parfitt well calculated to awake a masculine response, especially in the wilderness. _ Her smooth face had a touch of the voluptuous, and she was dark, lovely, and as agile as a deer. She knew that she was in the setting that suited her best; and that helped enormously. Brent watched the canoe from the win- dow of the assay office until it dwindled to a speck, then turned thoughtfully to his work. There was much to occupy him at the moment. During the first few weeks after his arrival he had given himself up to a close examination of the property from every possible angle, and had come to the conclusion, first, that there had been es- tablished the existence of a promising body of ore; and, second, that the reason that the mine was not more profitable might involve ens as eet as Sense factors. ey am ~ ee ne * ae : goes: 2 — ee, ~ aoe eae Sn 7 Se ere ae Mea So Sst —_— alte features. EBs. nee lifted his ee ‘His = = Fog! 5 ae = c eas gt a eee Se Se ge 71 He had already begun to be troubled, but considering the fact that he was still a comparative stranger on the ground, was wise enough to keep his own council. He had started his assay furnace, and was busy pulverizing samples of ore when another visitor entered his office. Brent gave a nod. how goes it?” Bob Murdoch was underground foreman of the Victrix, a tall, lean Scotchman, who had been at the Victrix since the mine was discovered, and knew its underground workings as the palm of his hand. There was something in common between him and Brent. They shared the same upstanding directness, the same fearless’ candor, and measured each other by the same simple and exacting standards. But of late, and for some reason that he tried in vain to determine, Brent felt that Murdoch’s manner had undergone a subtle though significant change. And he puzzled his brain to know why. “It’s all right on the third level, sir,” said Murdoch. ‘Did you fire that round of shots?” “ Yes.” “And what does the vein look like now?” “Tt looks good, about six feet from wall to wall, and all quartz.” Brent grunted contentedly. ‘“‘ That sink- ing pump is lifting properly since we put the new valves in?” ‘““She’s doing a good deal better than she did yesterday.” “The shafts making any more water?” ‘No; about the same.” Murdoch glanced at the assay furnace. “I’d be glad to know how those last samples came out.” ‘“T haven’t finished yet, but they seem to carry a little free gold. TI’ll tell you to-morrow, or after supper if you like to come in again.” Murdoch nodded, seemed about to speak, then checked himself. “Anything else?” said Brent, glancing at him curiously. The other man hesitated, while a shade of uncertainty crept over his usually reso- “Well, Murdoch, ‘ Sie= x3 —= — ~ =. Sa er. — ae - . a Pa aa de an pe ecole cam