Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 2, 1922 — page 150: what you’re looking at

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

620 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Warriner ran to the stable to tell Creagan and found the foreman already starting for the fire with every man about the place. ‘Warriner went back to the drawing-room and joined Marianne at one of the French windows. The broad expanse of clipped lawn and shrubbery, the winding gravel driveway, were swept by gusts—covered by sudden sheets of blue light. The windows rattled to the crashing thunder. The storm was at its height when a curve ‘in the drive that had been bare but a mo- ment before was blotted out by swift forms. Horsemen riding hard and low. Thorne and Snarg with a halfscore of men at their backs. Marianne, sensing danger, cried out. “Tricked, by the gods!” gasped Warri- ner. ‘‘I didn’t think lightning struck that barn! They set fire to it and drew off the men or they would never dare this!” He had, perhaps, as much as one full min- ute before they would come beating at the door of the manor. The white face of the girl was turned to him, as to a strong tower. Could he hold out until Creagan and the men came back? He doubted it, against such odds. He could not hide her; they would search the house from top to bottom. He could not escape with her, for there was no time to saddle horses. He could think of but one course of action and he decided upon it between two breaths. ‘“ Marianne!” he cried, seizing her hands. “Listen carefully to me! Go to my room! There is money in the teakwood cabinet— take it. Then down the servants’ stairway to the stable. A boy’s there. Tell him to put the fast black mare to the chaise, drive you across the back meadow to the main road, and get to Port Franklin in the best time the mare can make. There you'll be safe. To-morrow you sail. Go, Marianne, and remember, if you think of me, that I love you!” “ But you?” she whispered, clinging to his arm. ‘* Why don’t you come?”’ John Peter Warriner laughed. His blue eyes filled with points of cold light, like little points of naked steel. “T must engage the attention of these gentlemen for a matter of ten or fifteen min- utes, mademoiselle! Now, go quickly!” ‘“ But—you are alone!” #99 ‘Go! In the name of Heaven, go!” He pushed her toward the door. “Tf 1 must, monsieur—adieu!” Her slippered feet pattered upon the stairs. Warriner could hear the shouts out- side as the men flung themselves from their saddles. He leaped into the library, snatched up his saber, flung the scabbard into a corner, and ran back to the stairway. He began to back slowly upward, shifting both pistols to a left-hand pocket. Halfway up the stairs were broken by a landing. A very good place to defend. Above he heard cries and hurrying feet. The women ser- vants were taking refuge in the third story. The massive black walnut front door swung open and thundered back against the wall with the silver knocker banging. The doorway filled with a rush of men. Alexander Thorne led, as befitted him. <A tall, dark man; elegant in spite of his sod- den clothing. Behind him pressed Snarg and Captain Nippy Smith, a pock-marked bandit. It was the crew of the boat, then, with which they made the raid; hard fight- ers all. ‘ Warriner!”’ called Thorne from the foot of the stairs. “ I’ve come for the girl!” John Peter Warriner, leaning upon the basket hilt of his saber, smiled down at him. Thorne carried a pistol in each hand. So did Snarg. Most of the others carried cudgels in sight, and knives, no doubt, where they could be reached. Warriner preferred to see the pistols, for a pistol could only bite once. There would be no time for re- loading in this fight once started. “Thorne,” he said, “ come and take the girl if you can!” He saw a half dozen barrels gleam in the weird gray-blue light and dropped to the floor of the landing, low but with his legs under him. He drew and fired at Thorne as he went down. The volley crashed, filling the house with a cataract of sound. The wainscoting above his head cracked and splintered under the impact of the lead. “Raw troops fire high!” he thought jauntily as he sprang to his feet. His heart sang with the joy of battle and he hurled the empty pistol into a face that came out of the billowing black powder smoke. The second pistol leaped to his hand. eonnichbooks.conn