Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

92 Nobody but a skirt, and all alone. on in!” The woman was the only ornamental thing in the cabin. Its walls were logs, chinked with mud and unadorned. A.box- like shelf, cushioned with straw and cov- ered with a pair of gray blankets, was built in one corner for a bunk. The small iron stove was rusty, but glowing now with life. The lamp swung from the wall by an iron bracket. In the center of the small room stood a home-made table. Except for these and some men’s clothing hanging from nails the place was bare. But the woman was distinctly an orna- ment. She was tall as the average tall man, a six-fodter and built in proportion—as nice a piece of work as the fabled Juno. The trail clothes she ‘wore—man’s overalls stuffed into high boots, a blue flannel shirt and over that, hanging open, a wool sweater of dull wine-brown—accentuated her hand- some figure.», Her hair was piled thick, the color of straw long exposed to the weather, and her eyes were blue and long-lashed. In a more womanly dress she might have seemed commonplace; as it was she fitted her environment perfectly. The knock at the door startled her at the stove, where she was tending a frying-pan and coffee-pot, but she answered almost without hesitation with an invitation that held a hearty welcome. When the three men came in she stared hard at her peculiar guests, but she asked no questions. “Sit down and dry off,” she said, ‘ and one of you boys close that door. Grub’ s pretty near ready. Been following the trail far?” The hoarse-voiced one, who had dropped his pistol into the side pocket of his mack- inaw coat, answered her. ‘‘ Yes’m, come a long ways—all the way down from Sno- quamish Pass since morning. And a rotten soft trail that is!” | She nodded affably. ‘‘ Well, I should say it was, this time of year!” Her eyes turned curiously to the manacled man. “ My name’s Holt, lady, John Holt, of Atkins’s International Detective Agency. This here’s my partner, Gus Kidder.” The hoarse-voiced one turned up the lapel of his Come ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, coat and showed a nickel badge. “ Deputy sheriff in this county.” He brought several papers from his pocket and offered them to her. ‘ My credentials, miss. Me and Gus have been up to the Pass after this party here, Wallace Poe. He robbed a bank mes- senger in Seattle two weeks back. Got bonds mostly, one hundred and fifty thou- sand dollars’ worth. He and-another guy. We haven’t got the other one yet, but we got this bird all right, eh, Poe?” Holt grinned jovially at his prisoner. -The pris- oner said nothing. The manacled man’s silence seemed to tickle Holt. He explained, “ Poe ain’t much of a hand for conversation, lady. Just don’t seem to feel like talking. I guess maybe he’s saving all his talk to spill to the judge and jury!” He laughed heartily at this, and Gus, who was thin and habitu- ally glum, condescended to grin. The woman surprised the prisoner in a blush. The dirt on his face was crusted too thick to show the hot blood ‘of shame, but by his eyes she knew his emotion. “ Grub’s ready,” she announced. “ Draw up and eat plenty.” She served them ham and eggs and fried potatoes and they wolfed down the hot food. Holt released his prisoner’s hands for the meal and promptly returned the manacles when he had finished. They did no talking until they had eaten, then Holt, expanding under the influence of food and his pipe; put a number of ques- tions about tthe trail, about the distance to Hydro, the nearest town eight miles away, and finally, ‘‘ Homesteading here, I s’pose?”’ he inquired. The woman nodded, yes. “Husband gone for long?” “My husband! Oh, well he’s not gone— because he’s never been here. I haven’t any —not married.” “Ts that so! eh?” ‘“‘ Single woman.” She answered his questions composedly. There was just a hint of amusement at his volubility and his curiosity. She said her name was Carr; that women homesteaders were not so unusual; that she was not at all frightened at the life and too busy with Well, well, single woman, COnliCGloo <S) C© 5}