Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 4 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

PEMBROKE’S made a final, convulsive effort. His claw- ing hands closed on Servisss arms. He tried to haul himself back to safety, twitch- ing his body upward with every ounce of erergy he could summon. Then his body slumped back, suddenly, as he fainted. An instant Serviss teetered, thrown off his balance by the dead-weight as his victim sagged. Together, while the laughter of the madman reechoed, they went whirling to death. Rex Serviss turned shivering from the gorge. He led Dorothy away from it. She must not see what he had just looked upon. It was enough that she would be haunted by that last, crazy, skirling laughter of his father’s which had rung out as they reached the end of the path. Mutely they looked at one another. His eyes told all there was to tell, and as she sobbed he took her in his arms. While they waited for the help, that the machine which had brought their fathers here to death, had gone to bring, he held her close in the lengthening shadows, and related all he knew of the mad vengeance born of the murder of Jacqueline. “And now,” he finished as she became rigid with the horror of it. ‘“ Now it is done.” He looked at her head resting with (The WOR a moment I could not quite make up my mind whether to be indignant or amused. ‘“Thirtv dellars a week!” 1 exclaimed, with an ironical laugh that was a compro- mise between the two moods. “ And you dol face buried on his shoulder, and gulped the choking in his throat. “ You said to-day that I wouldn’t want to marry you because PARTNER. —hbecause—”’ He left the reference to her father unsaid. ‘“ Now it is you whe will rot—”’ “Hush!” Her face, wet with tears, lifted, while she took between her soft palms his face, aged again far beyond his years. The dead are dead, Rex. We—we must join our sorrow and—our happiness.” So for the moment did love brighten this place of death. | EPILOGUE THE pines, themselves damned, stark and aching for rest, endlessly tell the rust- ling of the shrouds. The creek, deep in its rugged, tortuous bed, mumbles protest that it has been cheated, that ten were promised; then it batters and makes sport of the five—or six—that were given. The Voices: That liquid note — hear it! — is hers; the gentle tone, her mother’s; the swelling anger—there!—her father bidding Jacqueline cease her prayers for the release of those who are numbered on the Rock, who—listen!—moan forever their purgator- ious lament! But come some night when the moon is full. End.) Ath Bertram Lebhar expect me, an honor student at law school, and with five years’ experience as a prac- tising attorney,. to come to work here at that salarv! Why, I know a man—an un- skilled, illiterate foreigner—who makes 4 much bigger income by washing windows!” MICOO© re) (C(O) SJ (Co)