The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

32 married woman; there was a softness about her eyes, but it was girlish, not maternal passion, The mouth—and that tender throat melting into the chin—were virginal. Her hair was of a lusterless dark-brown, like lamp-black, When she lifted them, the man looked far in; but between glances they were veiled like Turkish beauties. Her beauty went to his head—her fluted, upper lip, with the shadow! She seemed proof against cold. The wind lashed her bare throat rose-color. There was a dimple between her neck and shoulder, where the round-necked frock fell away, that looked like a finger-print inadvertently left by whatever artist hand had modeled her. “‘T was mighty glad to see you the time you came for a drink,” she said. ‘“ Ed and his mother were away, and it was just after that Kahokia murder. I thought one of those bandits might happen along any minute.” “You didn’t think I was one of the mur- derers,” McRae laughed.. Then he added rather triumphantly: ‘“‘ You weren’t afraid of me!” “Mister,” Hilairy broke in, ‘ what makes you call all of those men murderers? That ain’t right, is it? The law wouldn’t convict a nan of murder, would it, unless he had murder in his heart? And they say at least one of the men didn’t shoot or even have a gun.” “You'll have to put that question to a lawyer.” McRae brushed the matter aside with his quickened voice. But something in her face alarmed him again. For an instant it seemed to him that her drawl and her Missouri dialect were assumed. “Don’t go yet,” breathed Hilairy, and laid her hand on his arm. “TI want to ask you something.” She leaned against the tar-paper wall, her shoulders drooped negligently. Just clear of her gently-curving breast swung a necklace of dull-green stones; curious stones that looked like stage properties, but were fascinatingly pretty. She laid her hand on McRae’s arm. The slight pressure of her fingers stirred and woke him, then held him like a chain. He wanted to go away and could not. THE ARGOSY. ‘“What’s your name? You told me last summer, but not the truth.” The district attorney hesitated; he felt helpless with her and a little afraid. A spark showed in her eyes. She removed her hand and opened the cabin door. He was no longer afraid, except that she would run away in anger. He followed her over the threshold. _ Hilairy shut the door to keep aut the snow, and leaned against it. Her breast heaved as if with indignation. The man and the old woman had gone into another room, “T did tell you the truth, really,” in- sisted the district attorney. ‘‘ My name is McRae and I live at Queen City. ‘“Honestly?”? She smiled up at him. ‘“ Ed said you were fooling me, and I hated to think you would treat me like that.” She had gone a trifle too far-with him. He took ala-m; he was afraid she was filirt- ing with him, making a fool of him. Yet her eyes held his until he smiled. McRae was Scotch; a well-groomed, well- behaved little man of forty, who had never cared to marry. Now, suddenly it seemed to him he was still young. Was it too late —for everything in life? “T come this way rather often,” he said. ‘If I stop, will I always see you?” ‘‘ Always! I never go anywhere,” she added wistfully. McRae bade her good-by and picked his way through tumbleweed to his car. Snow was flying in the air, but he did not see the snow; he saw only light-brown, shin- ing eyes and dark hair without luster and a finger-print on a cold, white shoulder. Yet Hilairy seemed unreal; indeed the last hour was like a dream. He reached into the motor for his fur coat. As he was putting it on he glanced back at the shack. Hilairy was not in sight; his eyes fell on the window of the lean-to room. Under this window a weed had been broken off near the earth; footprints, plain in the film uf snow that now covered the prairie, stretched away from it, around the shack, to an arroyo piled high with tumble- weed. As the district’ attorney observed, a look of disillusionment and mortification grew in oO Comicbooe S CO