All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

62 ‘€ Just so,” Jones nodded. “‘ It is because I have seen that you are—er—interested in the young lady that I have’called you into council. I haven’t told Don Castro about the affair yet, though I suppose that Tomas has. He would hardly tell De Ullos the yarn which he served up to the other Indians. *“ Anyhow, Tomas knows nothing about the girl. So far, she’s your own little party, Jim. But the killing of Enrique will have to be explained in some manner, I suppose; and I suppose further that the law of the land will want all of the facts. Sabe?” “Sure,” replied Jim, after a moment of consideration; ‘‘ I wasn’t born the son of a coroner without learning that much. Like- wise, there’s a lot of dope turns up at an inquest sometimes that the newspaper chap- pies don’t turn over to the public. “‘T hate the idea of that girl being hunted: through the mountains by a lot of half- civilized and revengeful Cholos. Plainly, I want to find her myself; and when I do, Tl answer for her. ‘“‘ [ll bet my last Abe Lincoln copper that she didn’t have anything to do with that killing—but that ain’t going to prevent some miserable Indian from taking a shot at her for luck, if he thinks that she was connected with the snuffing out of a mem- ber of his tribe.” “Then you propose that we hold out the appearance of the girl?” “Why, I do and I don’t. I want you to do what you think is wisest, Bob. You’re the head of these works, you know. Still, I would appreciate it if she could be held out of the mess until it seems very neces- sary that she be brought in.” Jones smiled tolerantly at the younger man. “Very well,” he agreed. ‘I shall say nothing to the don about her, unless further investigation makes it imperative.” Impulsively Jim wrung his friend’s fin- gers. As he turned to leave the tent, the red-headed king of Bomavalu laid a lean hand on his shoulder and halted him. “My first duty is to Robert,” said the Martian gravely; “ but at any time that I can be of use to you, the services of Nambe and myself will be at your disposal. It is in my mind that you will find your princess, ALL-STORY WEEKLY. Mr. Arnold, and that you will be very happy—as I have been,” Kelly sighed, and his long features became a shade more melancholy. Poor ‘chap; he was thinking of the dusky wife from whom he was sepa- rated by so many leagues. When Jones went out to find Don Castro he noticed that Enrique’s body had already been sent on to his native village of San Marcos, and preparations to strike camp were under way. This was despite the fact that Tomas, as Jones had surmised, had told De Ulloa the truth about the death of the arriero. Jones added nothing to the Indian’s re- port. As the don was a former officer of the Peruvian army, and moreover had or- ganized the caravan, the American decided that he would leave entirely in his hands the . Investigation and notification of the authori- ties. . : De Ulloa said nothing to indicate what course he would pursue; but he suggested that he and Jones ride down to Chavin at once, which they did, accompanied by Tomas, and carrying torches, which Jones thought the Indian prepared -rather un- willingly. During the ride the Peruvian was preoccupied; and though he was cour- teous, as always, he was not talkative, which was unusual, As he had done on the preceding day, the Aymara tethered the mules at the bridge-head, and the three men crossed the chasm on foot and entered the ruins of the ancient temple. Out of respect for the superstitions of Tomas, Jones did not ask him to touch the uncanny corpse of the stranger, but himself dragged it down from where he had left it, atop the fragment of a toppled column. The hours. which had intervened since he last had seen it had not added to its attrac- tiveness. . From white, fanglike teeth the shriveled lips had drawn away, and that, with the wide-open, impersonal eyes, gave the almost expressionless face the semblance of a vague, horrid grin—a mirth too large to reck of human beings, a smile at fate, des- tiny, the universe. Don Castro, tugging hard at his enor- mous mustache, walked slowly around the COmiIclooOo SS C©