All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

* MIDNIGHT OF THE RANGES. 19 Then, when he was driving Berenice back to town, they met Maretta on horseback. The Mexican woman tried to imply things in her acquaintance with Burlane, and Berenice fell a victim to the other woman’s wiles. That night she cried herself to sleep, having first dismissed Burlane with the taunt “ he was just like other men.” Mother Wickson, with whom Berenice stayed in town, thought she understood the girl’s trouble. CHAPTER XIII. BARNEY PROMISES TO COME. WEEPING back toward Ox Bow, S Maretta kept her keen eyes on the ‘trail far ahead. So it was that she saw the object of her quest long before he had sighted her. roan, his father’s favorite mount, tricked out in a fine outfit of new clothing he had had sent up from San Antone, plenty of money in his pockets, was in high feather that afternoon. | He felt that everything was going as he wished. Working through Weaver, Bar- num and Maltrane, he had kept up a con- stant running fire of small talk, indicating public impatience with the slowness of jus- tice and the need of severe punishment against Peters. Toward Burlane he was studiously polite. He hardly noticed Bere- nice. So he was feeling sure of himself. He had dismissed Maltrane at noon, intending only to ride about the home grounds of the ranch. After inspecting near-by improve- ments ‘that he had ordered under way, he had ridden out to the main trail junction. He had held- himself in leash, now, for days. All the wild urges of his sullen pas- sions were seething inside him, and he was really ‘longing for an opportunity to give vent to his nature’s inner stresses. The routine task of browbeating, deceit, domi- neering had palled on him. Maretta could not have appeared at a better moment. With the wisdom of her kind, she was about to ride by, seemingly without more than a casual nod, when he touched his horse with spurs and in a moment the roan was beside the white mare. He glanced about. They were alone on the trail. It was safe to spend a few moments in dalli- ance with the dark-eyed woman whose taunts had worked such a deep influence upon him! His hand went out to check her mare in. He caught the bridle rein, tugged at it. Barney, astride the huge - The little mare, submissive, and hearing also her own rider’s voice, slowed. Barn- quist pulled the big roan to a walk. The Mexican girl shot a glance of slumberous provocation across the space between their saddles at the new heir of Ox Bow. ‘* Feet is long, Barnee,” she cooed throat- ily, “‘ dhat I wait to see you.”’ “Yes, Maretta, but it’s been a busy time for me.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand, leaving the rein slack. He jingled his gold pieces seductively, smiled at her. “You never thought, when you ragged me *bout not havin’ money, that I’d be in pap’s boots so soon, with oceans of cash money, did you?” he demanded. “Oh, Barnee, I deedn’t theenk so much ‘bout dhat monee,” she wheedled, eyes alight. ‘“‘I was justa makin’ a joke for you.” c Huh! ”? He outthrust his chin, jingled his money again, took up the limp rein. He let go the rein of her mare. . “But you come soon to Chaparral Cock?” she asked softly. ‘It ees so lone- some dhere, Barnee.”’ He glanced about. No one was in sight. -A short quick gallop, and they would be there. She laughed, letting her eyes flare over this features, on which his raw, callow desire burned fiercely. . ‘Yes, Pll come—soon,” he agreed, lean- ing toward her so far that his saddle leather creaked with the strain he put on it in the leaning. an ‘““How soon?” the lure of her coming to him stronger and stronger as she met him halfway by bending toward him with the supple grace of the born horsewoman. ‘““ How soon—”’ Her lips, fiery, compelling, swept his; his caution dissolved. ‘““ Now!” and he struck her white mare a smart cut. The white mare bounded forward. The woman’s light laughter trailed as the mare made off before his cCoOmiclbooks C©