Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

MIRRORS. washed and washed at his forehead—furi- ously. With dripping hands, he rubbed un- til the flesh nearly left the bone. Then for some time he knelt quietly over the pool—eyes still shut; fearful of what he would see when he dared open them. He saw what he had seen before—the red splash on his forehead. He did not cry out nor fall backward this time, for he grimly told himself he was insane and that he must be calm if he wished to coax back his reason. He even took time to study the outline of the imaginary stain, assuring himself over and over again that it was not there, yet with his eyes he saw it. It was uneven of outline—three inches . long and perhaps a half-inch wide at one point. It was just such a stain as he might have made by drawing a bloody hand across his brow. He didn’t remember whether he had done this. That was no matter, any- way—the stain was not a stain at all; it was a figment of his tortured fancy, no more real than the mirages he had often Then, with freshening horror, he saw what it resembled. It was in outline like a blood-stain he had seen on the cheek of the man he slew. He remembered it now. He had seen it on the face turned up in the starlight, and again as the body lay under the yellow glow of the lamp inside the cabin. There was no doubt about it. It was that very stain transferred to his own face. It had been the only stain on the face of the dead man. Most of his shots had gone into the man’s breast. One had crashed into the side of his head, but the blood from that, He didn’t had not flowed onto the face. know how it had got there. Possibly when he had dragged the body into the cabin. _ But enough it was that he saw—or thought he saw—the stain on his own face, Surely he must rest. He must sleep. He must ease his nerves. He scarcely remem- bered anything since he left the cabin, but he did remember that he had slept but little. That was the trouble. That was why he saw this stain. Why, surely—he could close his eyes and still see the stain. He could still see the face of the man and the R7 woman. He could still hear their voices. And they weren’t there—any more than this stain was there. It was all imagination—a trick of his fancy. A sound sleep would banish all these fantasms. And then he would be himself again. He could make good his es- cape with some sort of system, instead of reaming like a wild man in these desolate He lay down on the grass and wondered if this would be a safe place to sleep for the night. Mechanically he drew the back of his hand—more sensitive of touch than his palms—across his forehead. He could feel that stain! it felt dry and rough. With staring eyes, he slowly brought his hand down and gazed at the spot which had brushed the stain. There was no mark upon the hand. A long time he stared at it—fearful even of moving, lest some new and horrible ap- parition confront him. A long time he stared. He did not raise his hand to his forehead again; nor did he again gaze into the pool—nor did he think further of resting there. Instead, he shoul- dered his pack and plunged into the forest —walking, stumbling, running, stage gering, until darkness found him exhausted in a hillside cave. He slept that night, because he was worn dewn to the point where nothing mattered. He slept just where he had sunk down. He did not eat. He did not even take off his boots. He slept the long night through -—without a dream. And he awakened wondering if the stain were still there. He wondered, but he dared not take pains to find out. He assured himself that the best way to get back his reason was to for- get that fanciful stain—and he could for- get it only by ignoring it. He would cheat his fancy. He would not even feel for the stain, nor. look for it again in water-mir- rors. He ate heartily from his pack. He was greatly refreshed, and left the cave feeling quite cheerful. He drank, with eyes shut tightly, from a creek—and even started off with a humming song. Surely, sleep was a wonderful thing. . Continuing his journey, more leisurely COniclboooks C@