Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

126 sitting astride on a blanket that he fastened between the saddlebags. He found a trail and followed it into the wooded hills, with little more idea of route or destination than he had when adventuring with Ronald. “ At any rate,” he said, affecting a cheerful optimism, “ we’re in unsettled country and it’s not likely that we’ll be traced and pursued.” “That doesn’t matter, either,” she remarked, apparently determined to re- main obdurate. “ Nothing matters. But I'll never be taken again. If we are caught, by the sheriff or by cow- boys, I know what to do. I have one of the sharp knives from the kit in the saddlebag, here in my jacket, and I shall keep it there.” “Don’t!” he said sharply, impatient- ly. 4 Death is better than most things in life,” she assured him. “ If it had come to me ten years ago, I should have been lucky. I should have escaped a living hell that no place of torture in the here- after could ever surpass.” In the afternoon they crossed a ridge and descended into a fertile valley. Smoke was ascending from a chimney on a log house, and Norman regarded the place curiously as they drew near- er. There was a truck garden under ir- rigation near the house, a good-sized barn with a corral, and some white beehives. “We will stop here,” he said cheer- fully. “I’m not sure of a warm wel- come, but I shall feel perfectly at home.” “ You know the place?” “ Oh, very well. The most hospitable house I’ve ever been a guest in. But I’m not acquainted with the hostess or the host.” ae He was enjoying the little joke, but she asked no more questions, and her utter want of interest silenced him. He turned the horse into the yard, and the woman in the great sunbonnet came out to greet them. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “ Howdy,” she exclaimed in a dry, friendly manner, vastly different from that of the evening of the first visit. “You young folks on your honey- moon, I reckon?” “No,” said Althea sourly, “ we’re not. We're not related, and scarcely know each other.”’ The speech was not so much for the woman’s information, as to put Nor- man in his place. “*Tain’t-very proper, then,” said the woman sternly, ‘for a couple to be travelin’ as you are. But it’s none o’ my affairs, I spose. You want some- thing to eat, I s’pose.” “That’s it,’ answered Norman. ““And, while this lady probably won’t admit it, she’s very tired and has been ill. She ought to rest up for awhile. - The man of the house at home?” ‘No, he ain’t. Went off last night to Split Canon, an’ for no good pur- pose. Reckon he must ’a’ got all lick- ered up, and he’s most likely in the calaboose over there now.” , ‘T hope he’s as well off as that,” said the young man. “ There was a pretty bad time at Split Cafion last night. An explosion at the mine—you must have heard it even out here—and a fight that took in most of the living creatures in the place. I hope your husband came out of it without serious harm.” “That’s his look-out, if he will go gallivantin’ like that. But it’s hard on me to do all the chores, while he spends the money.” “We came away from Split Cafion,” said Norman, as he dismounted and took Althea down from her perch, “ be- cause it was no safe place for a lady to remain in. It was much less proper to remain there, than to travel in the manner that you object to, madam.” “Have to expect most anything out here,” droned the farm woman, “ and you can’t look for much decency in any- thing or anybody. For all that, if this young gal ain’t goin’ back there, an’ wants somethin’ to do, I need a handy gal to help around the place.” Gomichooks a