Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 167: what you’re looking at

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

The Death Watch “T agrees with Bud,’ grumbled the bearded Reuben on the bench. ‘Thar hain’t no law ner sense in keepin’ a body from his bed jest to wait on a dead corpse. I got a lot o’ work to do tomorrow, myself.”’ ‘“‘Aw, shet up, Pap!” snapped his son. ‘Mitch, let’s yo’ and me have a leetle game o’ mumblepeg.”’ Mitch hesitated, then agreed; but selected a space of floor well away from the fire- place. Sam Tabor, on the bed, was snoring loudly. The lantern flame, fanned by the wind which snarled between the unchinked logs, sent eery shadows crawling over the walls and ceiling. The hound had ceased to howl, but the storm showed no lessening of violence. Old Reuben got up, paced the room a few times, then, grunting, stretched himself on the bench. Clint, dampened by rain beating through the leaky roof, pondered the scene below with rising doubt. After all, it was natural that ignorant men, steeped in medieval superstition, should act strangely in the presence of stark death. Bud Kash, hunched up on his chair and nibbling ‘his finger nails, indicated nothing but primitive fear. Mitch’s conscience might be reminding him of past sins, but he was playing a good game of mumblepeg. Even the complaining Reuben had quieted and was asleep. The sheriff began to question his own theories.’ His plan might frighten the five suspects to the brink of panic, but it could not wring a confession from the innocent. And nothing short of a confession or a tell- tale remark would lead him any closer to his prey than he already was. Uncle Johnny could have been stabbed while he was spending the night camped out in the woods; or his body might have been carried farther than Clint reckoned; or somebody might have lied to him or Dave Arnett that day. Anyhow, Sheriff Hawkins now admitted to himself, his most important deductions very possibly were wrong. “Tf Andy don’t find anything,” he mut- tered, “I’m p’intedly up against it. I won’t know which way to turn or what to do next for evidence. Likewise, if morning comes and nothing has happened, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do to them men down- stairs. They’ll ‘low I’m a plumb fool and orate it all over the county.” Clint’s great body was stiff from lying 157 in one position and he was feeling the strain of the last twenty hours. Weariness began to numb his senses. He struggled to keep awake. But, he asked himself, what was the use? He was learning nothing of real legal value. With the slow passing of an- other hour, he dozed. His subconscious instincts, however, did not let him sleep long. Within sixty minutes he aroused. The storm had subsided, roll- ing toward the east. There now was only an occasional mutter of thunder, otherwise dark and heavy silence. Beneath him Dave Arnett was speaking curtly: ‘“Y’m tellin’ yo’ fer the last time, thar ain’t no use in yo’ boys gittin’ restless. Mitch, I’m not goin’ to answer any more questions, neither.” Clint looked through the _ peep-hole. Mitch Robertson was standing beside the coffin, bareheaded, gazing intently at the lifeless form, his thin shoulders stooped. Bud Kash had turned his chair around and was facing the blank wall, his back to the others. Gus slouched against the window sill near his sleeping father, across the room opposite the deputy. Some one had lighted the second lantern on the table, the other apparently having burned out. “Dave, what air we waitin’ here fer any- way?”’ inquired Gus, petulantly. The deputy’s instructions covered such a question at this time. ‘Wal,’ he drawled, “one thing we’re waitin’ fer is Andy Spurlock. He’s gone to fetch us a pair o’ brown shoes, cut acrosst the toes.” The remark had no noticeable effect, although Clint could not see the men’s ex- pressions plainly. After a moment Dave went on: “Uncle Johnny was knifed while he was undressed and in bed. But whoever put his clothes back on him atter that was in sech a hurry he fergot his shoes. Andy went to find ’em. O’ course,” he added, “‘we can’t let the colporter be buried in his sock feet.” Bud swung around in his chair. “IT recollect them shoes!” he exclaimed. “T seen ’em on Uncle Johnny whilst he was at my house that day!” Gus Skaggs glanced behind him out the open window, which faced the east. Mitch continued to stare down at the coffin, as if he had not heard. micloool (© inn