Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

The Tent in the Mallee you were in New York,” she added, when she could speak coherently. He smiled. “T’m an old-timer here. I came—after— I came two years ago,” he finished with a trace of embarrassment ‘in his tone. She gave him her hand warmly. “This is a surprise. Oh, it is good to see you,” she added fervently. “I can hardly believe it.” Her hair was done up carelessly with silken strands loose here and there like spun gold shimmering in the sunlight. The fear had gone out of her eyes and its place was taken by something which made them radiant and bewildering. He held her hand and stared at her in silence until a faint rosy blush crept up the graceful column of her neck and diffused over her face, deepening as gently as a flower un- folds, and her eyes fell shyly. Then he came to himself. “You haven’t eaten lately?” “Yesterday morning.”” She made a rue- ful attempt to smile. He built a fire and began at once to pre- pare a snack of food, and while he worked they chatted discreetly about impersonal things, such as the country, the natives, and the heat, but she forgot her discretion for a moment and said how much she wished she were back in New York, and he blun- dered on and said he cared little where he was, because he no longer had a place he called home. “Don’t let the tea stand all day,” shesaid, pretending the tea was the most important thing in the world. She put out her hand and touched him. It was just the faintest sort of touch on the arm, but the very gentleness of it stirred him. His heart beat wildly and he spilled the tea when he tried to pour it into a tin cup for her. She took it from him care- fully, appearing not to notice his shaking hand, but she could not help the color mounting in her cheeks when he sat opposite and stared at her again without saying a word. At length she put the cup down and smiled brightly. ‘You look better now,” he said. Four words, only, but they made him conscious again of how beautiful she was, and took him back through the years. Memories he thought were buried flashed before him. The mere effort of speaking took his attention from the dam that 141 stemmed his feelings; a wave surged against a weak spot, broke through, widened the breach, and swept away his self-control as a Spring flood sweeps whatever is in its path. He sprang to his feet, trembling. “You look—Oh, my God, Marian! I’ve tried to forget you. For two years. I can’t forget you! Do you hear? I can’t! I can’t!” 3 She had been watching him with strange eyes. Now she came to him. “Oh, Max!” she said reproachfully. ‘‘I—I—” he said chokingly, miserably. “You don’t know.” He stopped helplessly. “Yes,” she said dismally. They were both silent a moment, as if they felt they had opened a gate which long had been sealed, and were entering a field where they must needs tread warily. When she spoke again it was in the manner of one who had decided that the time has come to cease dissembling. “I know what you mean, Max,”’ she went on. “I know what it means to be desper- ately unhappy, even to pray God to let me die, to give me peace. A year after I married him, we left home. We had to leave—no, don’t stop me, please—and we came out here. I believe he thought this was the farthest corner of the earth. I thought he wanted to start all over again, so I came with him. It was not a matter of love with me, by that time; it was just pride. I think if a woman has pride—the silly, selfish kind—it will lead her to do almost anything. So we came and hid ourselves, but it couldn’t have been worse. Gambling, drinking, everything that was evil, common, low, or disgusting.” She shrugged her shoulders. “There was something at Wild Horse Rocks, and we fled. We came to this spot, and he left me. Think of it! Left me in the bush. He took the only horse we had.”? Her voice trailed away. “I don’t even know where I am,” she added bit- terly. She looked up at him, but surprised at his expression, her eyes fell again and the old look of fear returned. “What is that?” She pointed to a mark on the grip of his revolver, where it projected from the hol- ster. Burned in the wood was a sinister broad arrow. He turned away, unwilling to answer. oO COmicloo (©