The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

THE MAN WHO MUST BE HANGED, had sat under his invective while a jury was urged to hang him by the neck till he was dead. He had not forgotten. His ratlike features assumed a wary expression; yet there was something triumphant in his grin. McRae did not like that grin. And still he assured himself these men would not dare offer personal violence to the district attorney. As soon as it became known the whole county wauld be roused to hunt them. At the trial, months before, Schwartz had cowered before the severe gaze of the dis- trict attorney; he had whined for mercy and had promised amendment, to no pur- pose. He did not cower now; but neither did the man who had fallen into his power. The pupils in McRae’s eyes became mere specks. And Schwartz, who had tried to face him insolently, was compelled to look another way. He walked over to Rawley Lord and asked: ‘““Do you know who that is?” Less and less McRae liked the look on the faces of these men. Finally they held a sort of conference by the table at which Slim and the man with the small head had just taken supper. The man nearest the well-shaded lantern was Rawley Lord. The light showed his features plainly—a mist of freckles brown. on his nose. He had beautiful eyes, very dark and shot through with laughter, yet with shadows of lurking passion in them. In his gay youth, seated among these wretched beings, he seemed to“belong to a finer race. All at once the district attorney saw this boyish face go white as starch. What prop- osition or decision had suddenly shocked Rawley Lord? McRae’s heart quickened with apprehension. And yet he hoped they would not dare. After a little, Lord rose and walked toward him. The district attorney did not flinch, yet did not let his eyes leave the boy. After all, he was a murderer, the law said he was a murderer; and there was no saying what he might do. Lord was trembling. As he walked toward the district attorney he rolled a cigarette with an attempt at nonchalance; oo but his fingers, which were long and deli- cate as a girl’s or an artist’s, shook from nervous fear. If he had a sentence to exe- cute, he was shrinking. “What time ds it?” asked McRae. At the sound of his voice Lord started. McRae, who was not so sensitive as this boy, had once been compelled to shoot a dog; and as he approached, the dog had looked up and barked a friendly query. He had stopped his ears from hearing. Lord, however, laughed and took out @ gold watch. ““ Nine o’clock,” he said. McRae continued to watch him. He moved around to the side of the prisoner. McRae turned his head. Lord was drawing aside the blanket that shaded the window to peer into the night. Presently he began to whistle something from “ Madame Butterfly.”” McRae began to be sure that if any harm had been de- termined by the council of his enemies, the sentence was to wait a while for execution. The violinist continued whistling. Now, it was “ The Girl of the Golden West.” He whistled like a mocking-bird; and his voice went through and through the prisoner, flexible, gay and passionate. In his ner- vous state, music was soothing wine to McRae. Soon afterward Lord and the man with the small head went to sleep in a rear room. The other two sat up playing poker. No- body spoke to the district attorney; and he decided that if he saw a good chance he would slip away and take his chances in the storm. But he was watched far too closely. After a time he abandoned the idea and dozed a little in his chair. He was roused by the noise his guards made in going to bed. Lord and Pinhead immediately took their places at the table. McRae did not like that; it resembled too much the changing of a man’s guards be- fore the death-cell at State’s Prison. But he was determined not to let the situation get on his nerves. Rawley Lord looked around and saw him watching him. , ‘You had better go back to sleep; it is only two o’clock,” he said. comicbool< CO