Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

ues = Ss as ~<a? ae >. = a = HE pool lay crystal-like at the base of a rocky shelf and Roper’s parched lips had almost dipped into the cool water when he drew back with a gasp of horror. A terrible face, gaunt of lines and scraggly of beard, was thrown back to his fevered eyes from the limpid depths. For a moment he thought he had seen the face of another man staring up at him, like some wild beast about to spring. He had not reckoned on this great change. The murder had been done five days ago and this was the first time he had drunk in daytime. At night the pools and creeks had not been mirrors to him—and the change of five days burst upon him with acrash. There had been no gradual prepa- ration. Thinking of himself as he looked a week ago, he hardly knew himself after five days as a fugitive in the wooded hills. But neither the gaunt face nor the knur- ly beard, nor yet the fevered eyes, gave him such a pang of horror. It was none of these things which caused him, kneeling on the brink of that pool-mirror, to tremble as though each nerve were a twanging harp- string, and to clasp his hands to his eyes as though to shut all the world from vision. It was none of these things which cracked his dry throat with a wrenching sob, and made of his breathing a mere fluttering in the breast. Across his broad forehead was a smear of blood, its scarlet undimmed by the soils of the forest—a smear as red as a flaming sun- Set. 1rror i YoNe neh, Ya, Roy W. Hinds About him the hills towered, seeming to hem him in. Spearing upward from the shoulder of a near-by crag loomed the gaunt shaft of a dead tree, gnarled and stripped of all foliage—up-pointed like an accusing finger. The floor of the little val- ley was level and bush-clumps spotted its verdure. It was not unlike a great cham- ber of justice, with the silent hills sitting round about in judgment. Roper knelt at the pool as though in supplication at the feet of Doom. Impulsively, he shut tight his eyes and plunged hands into the pool, swiping his forehead again and again with the water. He rubbed furiously and then, when the rip- ples had quieted, he gazed into the limpid depths. Mirrored back to him yet was the livid stain, lessened neither in outline nor in glare. ; ; : He gave a rasping cry of despair and fell backward on the grass—eyes shut tightly, as though fearing to gaze even into the sky. He lay until burning thirst again drove him to the water, and when he drank it was with eyes still. closed. When he had finished drinking, he slowly opened his eyes. Yes, it was still there—a red daub against his skin. He lay back on the grass, a strong man from whose breast hope had fled. He lay thus for an hour, not caring how near was pursuit and with the panorama of his crime reeling across the screen of his fancy in endless procession. comiclboool< C@