Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

82 girl was deeply interested, and it added to his bitterness. “ He’s one of the ‘ handsome brute’ kind of men. I didn’t know anything about him till we traveled together from Denver. He got to telling me about himself. He’s been everywhere and done everything and every- body. He boasts about his triumphs with women. They take to his size; and he plays up the hero stuff and then laughs at them because they fall for it!” Dewilde saw through to the man’s in- tention; but she felt cheapened by his sus- picion that Clayton had made an impres- sion on her. “What did you do to make him attack your” She had no intention of saying the words; they seemed to speak themselves. For a second, the real Clayton was silent, taken so completely by surprise that he could not find words to reply. “ Well?” she urged, following up the un- expected lead that her unmanaged tongue had taken. “He wanted the tomatoes!” Clayton replied. Dewilde remembered how the conversa- tions she had had with Arch Clayton swung around tomatoes, how he had disliked them. She had kicked the can that was probably the cause of the quarrel. When she became conscious of something besides her hurrying thoughts the real Clay- ton was eying her, with cynical amusement. “Mr. Clayton made a deep impression on you, I guess,”’ he ventured. For a moment she was wordless. Then her head went up as high as her slender neck would lift it; the scintillant beauty of her eyes blazed; her breast rose and stayed lifted with the soft fulness of a bird’s. “ He did. I trust that impression in spite of circumstances.” _ Every word crisped up with a positive- ness that seemed exulting in defiance to Clayton. “This isn’t substantial evidence against him?” he queried, pointing to his discolored temple. ‘“A man isn’t always to blame for the injury he inflicts!” she retorted. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. She saw the other’s eyelids quiver, his lips grow tense. Clayton had a swift and painful proof of a fact he had never more than half credited that a woman’s intui- tion goes straight to the truth where. logic often limps and falls short. . ““T guess the way he treated me is not the only count against him!” he observed, a defense that was an acknowledgment of her assertion. ‘“* Anyway, there is one less.” Dewilde said it coolly; she did not add that Clayton had shown no disposition to lighten the count. But he knew she thought it; and the antagonism between them began to crystallize into actual dislike. Clayton canvassed the situation. He felt better, so much better that he rose from the bunk and made a devious way to the bench by the fireplace. He had-held himself down till the nerves in him twitched and jerked; his mind was divided between the réle of invalid and that of well man which would enable him to get away as soon as pos- sible. | If he stayed on he had a chance to hunt for the formula; but the risked Morgan Martin’s return after his discovery that the real criminal was luxuriating under the roof of the Neck-and-Neck ranch-house. Clay- ton had no desire to be there should Morg come back with the knowledge that would make gun-play the natural form of expres- sion. He slumped down on the bench and thought about it. Nothing disturbed the quiet till Dewilde set a bowl of warm milk before him and placed a plate of bread beside it. “Good night!” she said as she finished with her preparations for his comfort. He muttered a good night to her. She crossed the room and picked up a roll of blankets, then carried them as far as the other door and laid them down on the floor while she put on her coat and stocking- cap. “You're not going out in the storm?” Clayton asked. “T’m going to the shack. I’ll be in to get breakfast for you.” Clayton’s tongue almost shaped a sen- tence. Go DOOLK C@ S|