The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

80 the guy was who stood outside and shot in at me,” Moore said. Fleming had dropped wearily into a chair. But he sat up at Ben’s remark. ‘““What’s that?” he asked sharply. Ben told the story of the rush of the intruder across the veranda and into him. He described the look of the desk when he entered the room after the man had es- caped. Then he paused. He was put to it to know how to pro- ceed without casting too great an illumi- nation on the fact that he had had a com- panion in the experience. ‘“The chap hung round outside,” he said carefully. ‘Then, all of blazed away and knocked the lamp out of commission. He came to the door and de- manded that I give him a piece of paper. Do you know anything about a document in your desk that some one else wants mighty bad?” “ My desk?” Fleming repeated as if non- plused. Moore picked up the candlestick and walked over to the disorderly desk. ‘You see what’s been done to it!” he observed. “‘ You’d better take a look. That small drawer has been opened, you see!” Moore pointed to the drawer from which Fan had extracted the piece of paper. He watched Fleming closely. But the weather-beaten face of the ranch manager expressed no alarm. It mir- rored an uncertainty peculiarly trying to Moore’s patience. ‘““Tf you kept anything valuable here, you’d better be looking to see if it’s gone!” he exclaimed, stepping back. But Fleming did not budge. thoroughly uncomfortable. “You don’t seem very much concerned He looked about that piece of paper!” Moore snapped. “No, I ain’t. I don’t know nothing about it!” Fleming exclaimed. “Tt was here in your desk!” “This ain’t my desk. That is, I ain’t used it for some time.” Fleming made the admission in curt tones. He turned as if he meant to make his getaway. But Moore interposed. He stepped between Fleming and the door. a sudden, he. THE ARGOSY. “Tf this isn’t your desk, whose is it?” he asked. “‘ Fan’s been using it for a good while— till you come,” was the reply. “You say you know nothing of a piece of paper that might be of importance to some man willing to shoot and steal for it?” Moore said thoughtfully. ‘“T don’t know nothing.” Moore believed him. But the conviction was attended by a poignant twinge. The paper was a matter between Fan and the man. “You couldn’t make a guess at who might be interested—who the man was?” Moore asked. “Search me!” Fleming replied. In spite of Fleming’s apparent truthful- ness, something in his manner stimulated Moore’s suspicion. “Tf I just knew what the paper con- tained I’d be able to draw some kind of a conclusion,” Moore ejaculated, worried and vexed. ‘““T got to see Fan, Mr. Moore,” Fleming suddenly declared, starting toward the door. Moore watched him go, impressed by the awkward suddenness of the manager’s de- parture. ‘“ Confound it!” he muttered. Fan’s actions, her father’s behavior, the mystery of the man who had played so strange a part during the evening, all com- bined to irritate him. He went out on the veranda. A light glowed from the windows of the cottage. Fan was safe. He heard the thud of a horse’s feet. Listening, he concluded it was Fleming. He seemed to be making for the corral as if he were pursued. __ Indeed, he was. For Nunkie was a timid man with words. His actions were the interpreters of himself. His position as go- between for Fan with the ranch-owner was wearing on him painfully. He knew he balked and floundered in the simplest state- ments he made to Moore. Now a new trouble had come up. Moore suspected him of some knowledge that he did not possess. He tried to think what lay behind the inquisition on the subject of the paper. It was obvious that Moore oO Comicbooe S CO