Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

628 “God!” breathed the marshal. ‘‘ Then what’s the hope?”’ | ‘“‘Qne small hope. I’ve sent an auto- mobile up the valley to bring Padre Miguel from San Vicente. The priest from the mission itself will surely be able to con- vince them.” “Will he try?” “T think he will. The men I sent will tell him exactly how the case stands. I know Padre Miguel. He has the courage of a crusader. They'll be back in a moment, and we'll see from the windows what he can do.with them. I want him to make a talk to the crowd, and I think he will.” * Margaret’s heart went out to the pale, drawn face of Garth, and yet it beat with pride in the strength of Henry Tyson. With his single hands he had set a force in operation which in a night could check all the powers of Garth. Garth would win, in the end. She even yearned for a man’s form so that she could fight at his side, but she was glad from the bottom of her soul that the victory must have its price. For Garth had told her, briefly, what passed between him and Tyson the day be- fore, and at the end Garth had smiled. CHAPTER XXXVIII. : LA PALOMA. HERE was no flinching in Garth in the crisis. He talked quietly with the marshal, taking up one plan after another, like a purchaser examining sam- ples, and laying them down again, unsatis- fied, but with the determination to go on until he had what he wanted. Now and again, when a fresh roar of shouts rose from the hordes of peons who covered the dam, he raised his head a little, and a cold gleam came in his eyes. Yet, on the whole, he was cool as a gen- eral who directs a victorious army under fire. She was seeing what men can be, and she rose to the occasion, for there was in her the blood of the fighter. ‘“‘ Now,” said Garth, raising his great bulk from the chair, “ here comes the padre —and the crisis for the dam.” . ay eee % > a ” Perea Jom Oe te ee ner ow - ) aie | I ) 11 TROL al ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ‘“And for Edward Garth,” murmured Margaret to herself. ~ The clouds over La Blanca had broken up under a stiff breeze, and now a shaft of the morning sun struck in behind Mar- garet and made her bright hair like a halo around her face; antl she sat with her head far back and her eyes and her smile for Garth alone, though every other glance went out the windows toward the dam. An automobile had swung up the slope from the valley and from it dismounted three men who walked still higher up the slope behind the Padre Miguel. His head was bare and the morning light gleamed on his bald head, and the rising wind twisted at his rusty robe. Straight toward the thickest of the crowd — of Mexicans he walked. They gave back before him, opening a broad pathway. The word seemed to pass with the speed of rumor through the idle host; from the out- skirts they packed in increasing numbers toward the left flank of the dam, and when at length the padre stood on a rising bul- wark of concrete there stretched on all sides of him a black mass of humanity with bronzed faces upturned, and the light of the morning sun struck aslant across that bronze ocean. The wide murmur of the multitude swept up from the dam and reached the office of Garth and the silent group within it. A silence followed over the entire scene; the padre had lifted his arm. They could follow him from period to period by the slow gestures of his arms. They knew, from the office of Garth, that when he swept his arm up the valley he was speaking of the mission of San Vicente. And there was a sad solemnity about the thought of the old priest, talking there be- fore the throng, and pleading for the de- struction of his own church. They could tell the power of his words. For most of the crowd near by followed the gestures of the padre with ripplings hear and there. At length he stretched out both his arms and raised his face. Of one accord the whole mass fell upon their knees. “He wins!” cried Garth, in an indescrib- able voice. “They are praying. And at his feet!” ICHOOK