Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

90 stay within the limits of my own experi- ence. ‘* Does that mean that you'll let that gun alone?” he asked. “It does.” He laughed aloud. There was that in her voice, in her eyes as she gave him a | fleeting glimpse of them which seemed to say, “ You're too big and too strong, too much of a man altogether for me to com- bat you; I cry quits!” She moved toward the fire, which needed replenishing. As she bent to pick up a log, Clayton rushed forward. “‘Let me do that!” he said, tossing it on the fire. ‘Oh, but you are quite strong!” she ex- claimed. Her gray eyes swept him with a glance he could not read. He fell back on his réle of invalid. , “Td try anything for you! But it— makes me wabbly,” he answered, swaying slightly as he caught hold of the mantel. Dewilde’s eyes said nothing. Her softly closed lips did not move. But deep within a silent voice told her he would leave that ranch-house at the very earliest moment. She hated him as she hated a rattlesnake. Counting on the gain he believed he had made in her good graces, Clayton paused beside the fire. “Would you mind if I sat down here?” he asked. | “Of. course not. Do!” she responded, her hand itching to feel the pressure of her gun’s butt. “Tt’s certainly some exclusive here,” he observed, creeping warily up to a point on which he had thought intently. “Tt’s the end of the world—when it snows,” she responded, feeling like a mouse that a cat had let run for a second. “Have you any idea when Mr. Martin will come back?” 7 “Morgan Martin is a peculiarly deter- mined man. He’s gone to get the man he believes tried to rob my uncle and kill you. Of course, you are not dead; but he— doesn’t know that; and he does know what this—-this black-hearted beast did to Mr. Capet!” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, For reasons of his own, Clayton made no comment; and Dewilde sat in a miserable reverie. The fire crackled as it bit into the new log. And in the silence of the room, they heard the heavy drops of rain come pelting down on the roof. Somehow, the foreboding that Martin would find out who was really the fiend that had mistreated Capet ground into Clay- ton till he was terror-stricken. “ Rain! Rain!” ‘‘ The snow will go. You can get away!” She ran toward the door. From the cor- ner of her eye, she sent a wishful glance at the two guns lying on the table; but dared not risk an effort to secure them. ““T'll have to look after some things out- side!’ she called back over her shoulder. Slipping into her coat she rushed out into the snow, capless. Once beyond the door, her breath stuck in her threat; and a great sob pushed up through it stiflingly. Weary, worried, wretched, she ran to her one comforter. Switches whinnied softly as she burst into his stable and shut the door behind her. She dropped the latch in place as if even so slight an obstacle between her and the man in the ranch-house were a comfort. The instant the door slammed behind her, Clayton shot up from his place on the bench. A moment later he heard the sound of another door closing. | Martin might come back. He dared not let another moment pass without making an effort to secure the formula and then seeking a means of getting away from the ranch-house. He strode to the bunk. With a jerk he pulled the bedding out on the floor. Then lifted the springs so that one side rested on the board that formed the front es the bunk. He grabbed his Seo and a piece of paper, copied the first symbols of the for- mula and bent to move the springs so that he could see the rest. _ “Well! I never!” The voice startled him as if it were the crack of doom. He whirled guiltily. Mrs. Mosher, eying him grimly, stood on the threshold. (To be continued NEXT WEEK.) Go DOOLK Dewilde exclaimed. CO