Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

950 to take from me my dearest, my loveliest possession. Thee did. And so I slew thee —slew thee to save thy soul. It were bet- ter so, John—better so.” Carefully, sorrowfully he returned the skull to its place on the mantel. Then he as carefully took down the second. Now his voice suddenly became harsh. “ And thou, Angus MacDonald—thou! Spawn of hell, thou proved to be! Thee did { befriend. Thee did I feed. Thee did I give of my goods when thou wert in want. Thee did I succor in sickness. And how didst thou repay me? When God in His goodness led me to gold in the hills, thou came in the dead of night with greed and murder in thy heart. Thee sought to kill me, to take my gold, thou son of hell! And so I slew thee—slew thee with my bare hands—to save thy soul. It is well thou didst live no longer, Angus MacDonald.” Spellbound, frozen in horror, the Killer watched and listened. As the old preacher replaced the second skull and took down the third, a high, shrill wail whipped at the corners of the cabin. Steve Rork fell back a step or two, his face blanched. But the old man did not seem to notice. He was lost in contemplation, and now his rigid, square shoulders seemed to have slumped a little, to have lost some of their dauntless- ness. His face seemed suddenly haggard. His voice was tired. “ And thou, Paul—mine own; thou, my son—mine only begotten son. Thee did I cherish above all. Thee did I instruct in the ways of the Holy One. Thee did I watch over and pray for and guide. But it was of no avail. Thy heart was bad-— rotten to the very core. Wine, women and gambling—every sin of a sinful world. Lower and lower didst thou sink into the sloughs of hell, down until thy very soul was buried in the slime. And because there was no other way to save thee, I slew thee— slew thee, my only begotten son---slew thee to save thy soul. Forgive me, Paul—for- give me—but it was the only way.” And then, like some wild beast of the field, he suddenly turned on the Killer. His long arm flung out wildly and a bony fore- finger pointed accusingly at Rork. ‘“And thee, Steve Rork, thy time has ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. come. Thee hast broken every law of God and man and thy time to pay has arrived. God hast delivered thee into mine hands, and like these others thou must pay the penalty. But enough of this. I have many things to say to thee, but first we must eat, for thou art hungered.” Without waiting for a reply, the old preacher set about the preparation of a meal. From the wall he drew a small table toward the center of the floor. From the back room he brought dishes and presently steaming food, It was evident that he had been engaged in cooking his evening meal when Rork arrived. The Killer watched him with mingled emotions, In all his polychrome career he had never been shaken as he had in this short experience. The setting was so weird, so little short of ghostly, that it had struck chords in his nature of which he had been to this time entirely unconscious, and their discovery was far from pleasing. His mind was confused. In fact, it contained but one coherent thought—that he intended to kill the eccentric old preacher, and that be- fore long. But he would eat first. “Come, draw up thy chair,” invited the old man as he brought forth a steaming pot of coffee. ‘‘ Let us eat.”’ Rork drew up a chair and placed it across the table from Preacher Job. He sat down with a swagger of arrogance. Once more he was the domineering tyrant with another to do his bidding. And he was chuckling inwardly at the trick he was going to play on the old man when they had finished their meal. Pretty good, that-—to let him have a full belly to die on. And then for the first time he noticed that the table, instead of being laid for two, was set for three. Rork gazed at the third plate curiously for 2 moment, and then, jerking an admoni- tory thumb toward it, he looked across at Preacher Job and asked crustily: ‘“Who’s the third plate fer, old man?” For a long moment the ol@ expounder of the Gospel did not answer. He sat mo- tionless, eying Rork steadily. The black flames from his deep-set eyes seemed to pierce the Killer to the very marrow. It was only by the utmost exertion of his will COMG DOO! S ©