Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

FLIGHT TG * ve’re a better man then what I he, because I hain’t got no other weepin’ on me, save only a jack-knife—an’ thet’s got a busted blade. Now I reckon ye’d better git inter thet thar jolt-wagon, because I aims ter fare onward. I’m in haste—but I’m willin’ ter go forward or back--whichever ye says.” He pointed to the wagon, and she went toward it, refusing to accept the pistol and pausing for a moment to consider the matter of reaching the high seat over the wheel. Murrell remained standing where he was and made no offer to assist her. Some sense told the girl that, for all his disclaimers, he was affronted at her suspicions, and that, even to help her mount to the awkwardly steep place where she must sit, he would not touch her unless she asked It. She flirted her bobbed head and climbed up with the unaided agility of a monkey, and as she went the man, who was used to barefooted women im calicoes, caught a glimpse of shapely legs that showed the flesh of their knees over rolled stockings of silk—now torn and spoiled. ‘“ Which way—once an’ fer all?” he de- manded. ‘“ Any way,” she made savagely emphatic reply, “ except back.” When she had seated herself, he himself hung the lantern under the forward axle and mounted to his own place, gathering up his reins and flapping them over the backs of the two horses. For a while Cynthia leaned against the hooped support that held the covering, her eyes, in the duskiness, looking through half- closed lids at the head that was a silhouette of shadow. ‘Ts the road all like this?” she asked in a low voice, feeling a vast relief in the shadowy protection of the dark and the wildness—in the absence of alarming head- lights and the shriek of motor horns. She saw the driver’s head shake. ‘Hit hain’t skeercely more’n a whoop an’ a holler from hyar afore we comes out ergin on a new-fangled road with automo- biles ski-hootin’ along hit like shootin’ stars,” he said. Cynthia gasped and for a little while sat silent, her heart palpitating with a new fear. A99 She had hoped that the hills had taken them. At length she heard the voice, this tim soothingly low, inquiring: ‘Don’t ye enjoy ter ride highways thet’s full-traveled?” Just as between her involuntary exclama- tion of fear and his question there had been a margin of silence, so now between his question and her answer another elapsed. Then she found her voice sound- ing strained and taut-—-though she was trying stanchly to conceal her desperation. ‘“ No, I hate them,” she said, ‘‘ I might as well tell you. I haven’t done anything wrong——but I’ve been put in a position I can’t explain. I don’t want to be where there are officers of the law.”’ She broke off, then swept on again passionately. “I give you my word, I’m as innocent as a baby— but I can’t prove it.” He made no answer for a few moments, but as the wagon lumbered around the first turn of the journey the rutted road dropped suddenly, and, at what seemed a steep dis- tance below, the girl could see shafts of rapidly traveling light cutting swaths in the darkness. That must be the road of which he had spoken—the road where ended her little plunge into a concealing wilderness. Wade Murrell jerked his horses to a standstill and clamped on the cumbersome brake. He turned and faced Cynthia, hold- ing her eyes with his own. ‘1m travelin’ in ther night time ’stid of by day,” he informed her, “ because hit’s kinderly easier on ther horse-critters an’ likewise because ther shortest way ter Cow- bell Mounting lays along thet thar road. In the night time a man kin drive handier, because he don’t hev ter keep turnin’ out so offen fer them automobiles. Nuther me ner these critters hain’t none too well used ter them things.” He paused, and the girl nodded her head as if accepting a necessary ordeal. * Ef we makes good time,” the man went on, “come sun-up, we'll be offen thet thar new-fangled highway ergin an’ gittin’ right nigh ter Cowbell Mounting.” ‘Is that where you live?” “Not by a jugful,” he answered. * That’s jest ter say ther start of ther jour- THE HILLS. CoOnnicloool.