All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

LAND OF THE SHADOW PEOPLE. _He recalled having seen a few moments before the opening to a small cave in the side of the defile where he was; and he re- traced his steps. A startled movement and two greenish. eyes staring at him from its darkness, ap- praised him that his contemplated refuge already held a tenant. The click of hoofs on the rocky floor assured him that at least it was not a puma. “ Come out of that!” exhorted Jim, clam- bering in. “ Got to do it, old chap. Don’t start anything.” Out it came with a snort and a scrabble, nearly overturning Jim, and went clattering and snoofing down the rough pathway. It left behind it an odor so disagreeable that Jim made haste to light his brier. For quite a time he sat with his back to the wall, his pipe making drifting dream- clouds in the cave’s mouth, in which his fancy traced strange changing shapes and graceful visions. For under Jim’s ready, quizzical good humor was hidden a strong vein of romance, almost of poetry. Pres- ently he slept; and while he slept the moon rose. How long had she been sitting there, he did not know, or how long he had slept— if indeed he were not still asleep and dream- ing; but he saw defile and cavern bathed in silvery light, and sitting beside him, so near that he might have reached and touched her from where he lay, a glorious girl. As nearly as he could venenibee after- ward, for all details were hazy and indis- tinct, she wore a gown of soft, dark stuff, sleeveless, and gathered below her bosom by a broad girdle, in which was a dull gleam of metal. One of her feet, from which the gown had fallen away, was san- daled. Heavy rings glittered on her bare arms and on her wrists and fingers; and from her neck hung a chain of crudely cut stones, rimmed about with golden bands. Her night-black hair was parted at one side and held back from ther forehead by a fillet which appeared to be woven beadwork, set with rude gems. She was white, or nearly so, and her features were superbly beautiful. “Who are you?” In his bewilderment 52 Jim forgot his topography entirely, and asked the question in English. The girl, who had been gazing down at him, started at the sound of his voice. A puzzled, half-frightened expression dis- turbed the musing tranquillity of her fea- tures. It was the expression of one gripped suddenly by a strong old memory, so long forgotten that it startles in returning. ‘““J—I—am—Nee-Nah,” she replied in the halting utterance of one jong unused to speech. As Jim would have said more, she bent over him and laid a hand on his forehead. From her lips came a low, sibilant, whisper- ing melody, the like of which he had never heard. Its effect was mstantaneous. His faculties, only half aroused, succumbed to the lulling mfluence of those aspirated ca- dences, which were like the music of forest leaves. A wave of drowsiness flowed gently over his spirit. His eyes closed. When he awakened the girl was gone, and it was gray morning. Outside the cave, pawing and snorting in high dudgeon, was the “ old chap” whem Jim had disturbed, a big Cholo mountain ram, whose skull was adorned with four curling horns. As Arnold stood up stiffly, something fell from his clothing and tinkled upon the rock. He picked it up, whistled, and put it in his pocket. In the next canon but one he found Tomas, returning to camp with the stolen mules. The Aymara told a lurid tale of battle with the ladrones, which Jim did not at all believe. In fact, he strongly sus+ pected Tomas of having compounded 2 felony. But later, when the Indian made his report and repeated his tale, Jim noticed that Don Castro did not chide him. As soon as he could get Jones to one side, Arnold told his own tale. “You were tired and weakened by the soroche. It was a dream, Jim,” said Jones. Arnold shook his head. There was a rapt expression on his face and a ight in his eyes that as friend had never seen there. “No, Bob; it was no dream. I almost wish that it had been, old chap. That was a living, breathing girl; and,” with a vehe- mence which was foreign to him, “I’m gos cCoOmiclbooks C©