The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

GOLD GRABBERS. upon Bremerton, for the more immi- nent danger claimed his attention. Suddenly the horse whirled to the right and ran into the swale, dragging its rider over the rough ground and through the greasewood. Bremerton was bumped against stones, lashed with brush-branches, and threatened at every leap with the pounding, iron- shod heels. He felt his senses going, and sur- rounding objects slid past him in a confused blur. Dimly he was aware of beating hoofs close at hand—not those of his own runaway horse, but others. One thought rose paramount in his befogged mind. They had him! At last those mysterious forces he had de- fied were closing in on their quarry! The horse stopped. Some one dis- mounted. The next moment his re- leased foot fell and his body lay prone upon the ground. There followed a preliminary trampling of the earth, ending in a tattoo of hoofs that faded into silence along the swale. “Mr. Bremerton!” He realized that his horse was gone; that another horse stood quietly a few yards from where he lay, and that on her knees beside him was Mariquita Mallory. He sat up, bewildered. “Bring on the rest of the gang!” he said presently. He felt for his automatic revolver, but it had been lost out of his pocket. There was nothing left with which to defend himself,.and he must take whatever was to come. “Can you get up?” The girl put out her hand. With her assistance he gained his feet. “Where are the rest of them?” he demanded, glaring in the direction of the trail. “They are behind,” she answered, “and crowding us close. Come, we must hurry.” “Crowding ws close?” he returned. “You may not believe it,” she said, with a trace of bitterness, “ but they would not spare me any more than 529 they would you. You'll have to trust me now, Mr. Bremerton, and you must pull yourself together and do your best.” She straightened and peered anx- iously up and down the swale; then she bent her head to listen. What she saw or heard was beyond Bremerton, but a look of wild alarm crossed her pallid face. “Quick!” she whispered, and seized his arm convulsively. He yielded himself passively into her hands. Whether she was a friend or foe made little difference just then. He knew his danger could not be more acute either way. Leaving her horse, Mariquita pulled lim toward the bank of the swale. There she dropped to her knees and began climbing through the thick brush. The quirt, trailing from her wrist by a leather loop, got in her way. She jerked it from her arm and flung it aside. He followed her on all fours up and up through the mask of the chap- arral. His brain was clearing and*he wondered why she had abandoned her korse—why they had not both mount- ed the animal and galloped away. If she was really trying to befriend him that would have seemed like the safest course. He could not hear a sound in the depths of the scrub behind them. What had become of the man who had fired at him at the fork of the trail? Perhaps the murderous scoundrel had been frightened away by the fail- ure of his plans; perhaps the girl was being’ carried away by her fears—she was a woman, and he had not much faith in a woman’s resourcefulness at such a time. In spite of his doubts, however, he made no protest. On hands and knees he crawled after the girl to the top of the bank. He would have spoken then, but she looked at him wildly and placed a finger on her lips. He started to rise, but she pulled him down. cCoOMmiicloooks CO@