Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

400. ‘seeing the sun through a smoked glass—it did not look like the sun, but he knew that the brilliance was there. There were other puzzling things about her. Not the least of these was that at this moment he did_not feel as if he had left her forever; there was none of that definite sense of oblivion which a final parting brings. 5 . It shot home to him that that might have been what the girl was thinking when she sat there with her chin on her fist, studying him. Was it calm confidence that he would return? The idea brought him to a sharp stop, and, throwing back his head, he _ laughed shortly. So doing, his eyes fell upon the heights of La Cabeza, and there he saw, indistinct- ly; lost in shadows, a mighty face. He closed his eyes, he rubbed them, and stared again; the face was gone. For a moment he felt a vast relief; the thing: must have been a mirage.. He studied the top ‘i ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. of the mountain. The last light of the day played dimly across the crags, burying one prominence in darkness and lifting out an- other, as a worker with charcoal uses the broad, soft end of his stick and changes his composition with strong, slow strokes. Yet a moment of thought brought back the disturbance. In spite of the fact that he could not find it again, the features of the face remained clean-cut in his mind; or, rather,, the featurelessness of the face.’ It had been like one of those antique sphinxes of Egypt, with nose and eyes and lips and chin obliterated by time; yet the impression of the face is only the sharper for the ruin. A smiling face—a mocking smile. With an uneasy spirit Tyson circled the heights of the dam, and swung down toward La Blanca. Superstitions do not rest easily on the twentieth century mind, and it was little wonder that Tyson walked with his eyes upon the ground. This story will be continued in next week’s issue of the ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, the consolidated. title under which beth magazines will appear hereafter as one, v ER name was Valerie Eloise St. Vin- H cent and she married John Smith. The names tell the story, but it may be expanded. Valerie St. Vincent was a masterpiece; like a Greek tragedy or a Chopin prelude she gave that classic feeling of complete- 7 Biigitiaed by Co gle by Max Brand ness—which means that every detail of her was finished. Every one has seen beautiful French women with large ankles, and beau- tiful English women who become flabby at thirty, and beautiful American women with bony hands, but Valerie St. Vincent was perfect. Her manicurist, for instance, TA . oficinaltrotm (C(O) mn iG 0)(0)C0)| KS pGCOINAN Ty THE OHIO STATE UNIVERS