Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

MISS ANGEL. “ Tris nouse was big enough for you and Arch Clayton!” | But his better judgment prevailed though ‘his self-love suffered the shock of her in- tention to get away from him. Dewilde made her way through the sil- ver night. Its glory permeated ‘her sight as music melts into the ears. And, equipped with those new wings that wafted her thought in one direction, her mind turned to Wharton. Would he feel this night? He would. She was sure the silver glory of outstretched plains under the luminous shower of the moonlight must sink and sing in him as it did in her. It was well on to morning when Dewilde waked. Her gray eyes were wide; she lis- tened intently. There was a sound outside. It sounded like an awkward kind of knock at the door of the shack. The blood rushed into her face; and she twisted and jerked herself out of the tight clasp of her blankets. Again the sound! There was no mistak- ing; ite was Switches. He was the only creature who made just that kind of an appeal for attention. She leaped up. Then she stopped short. Switches! Switches had left the Neck-and-Neck in bad company. Was the company with him, outside there, keeping still while the pony made investigations? Had the bad com- pany come back to find out whether the man he had struck was dead or not? She had heard tales of criminals return- ing, drawn by some fascination, to the scenes of their crimes. But somehow they did not fit this case. Maybe he was sorry he had stolen her pony! Impulsively she flung open the door. Switches, alone, stood there in the gray dawn. She flung her arms around the pony’s neck and sobbed into his mane. ‘“‘ Switches, honey, did you get away from him? Or did he let you go—to come back to me?” But, intelligent as Switches was, he could not answer. What he had done was quite usual except that the snow was exceptional. He thad made a trip front Mrs. Mosher’s to his mistress; he could see no cause for such marked celebration. 83 Then Dewilde stood back and looked him over to see if he were as good as ever. And she saw a small salt-bag dangling like the pendant to a necklace of heavy twine that was around Switches’s neck. She tore it loose and found a note in- side. Her heart beat like a trip-hammer till she saw Minnie Mosher’s writing. Am sending Switches home. Gentleman caught train. Morg did, too. He certainly is some goat. I'll come out as soon as Hank can fix up a sled. I am going to bring you back to town. Very resp., MinnNIE MosHEr. Dewilde stared at the"words. ‘“ Gentle- man,’ must mean her late guest, Arch Clay- ton. And Morg was on the train with him. She could not think of their meeting calmly. Waves of fear went over her. What would happen? And no word of Mr. Nemo! For a sec- ond everything went black before her. Then grabbing tight hold of Switches’s mane she moved away through the snow. The pony, with the direct action of the empty stomached, made for the lean-to. Dewilde plowed along beside him, swinging herself over the snow now and then by clinging to his neck. She was grateful for some strenuous physical exertion that re- lieved her from the sense’ of impending disaster. And her conscience beat a dreary tattoo into her brain. “It’s what he deserves; you ought to be ashamed!” were the words into which the reproach shaped itself. Switches went over the two-by-four that formed the threshold of his dwelling-place with that grateful ecelerity which testifies to the joy of getting back to bed and board. Dewilde patted him; he was all she had left. She pulled hay down for him from the little mow above his manger and, as she did SO, a paper caught beneath the. long splin- ter flapped for notice. Wonderingly, she drew it forth-and read slowly: I love you, Miss Angel. - The first’ words stood out in the bold writing; they burned their way into the sensitive records of her mind. comicook (C@