All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

B4 ordered a trusted peon to take water and feed to the stallion, hoping by keeping away himself that the big black would quiet down and forget him. Behind the well-concealed door Mid- night stood, alert. His eyes blazed for a time, then paled. His head drooped. The wan light from the window was dispiriting. He shifted about, shook himself, and then stood, the picture of equine dejection. All his great heart was yearning for one thing and one thing only—the touch of a loved. hand on his velvety muzzle; the sound of a loved voice that, in answer to his deep- chested whicker, would say in the well- remembered tones: “Darned ol’ son-of-a-gun, you, Mid- night!” Early the next morning,- when Burlane appeared for his usual call at the Wickson place, he found gaunt Pop Wickson out be- hind the house, busy at some chores. Bur- Jane sat himself down upon an upturned tub close to the rear door of the house, smoked, idled. A whisk of shimmering hair near the back window, a half-mouthed phrase by Berenice to Ma Wickson,.told Ed that the girl was inside, combing her braids, hair- pins in full-lipped mouth. He had caught several glimpses of her so upon fortunate occasions when the door had been swung ajar by Ma Wickson, issuing from her do- main to give orders to Pa. This morning Ed was not hoping for a distracting glimpse of Berenice after that” fashion. He wanted to be justified. And not mechanically, end-on, but casually, as if naturally. He had planned the scene with deep cunning, according to his own estimation. “ Anything on you’ mind, son?” Pop mildly inquired. “Who? Me?” Ed -answered, making sure that a certain pair of shell-pink ears were listening through the crack of the ajar door. Sidewise he had caught a hint of her presence inside—just where he want- ed her to be. ‘“'Why, yas, son, I was p’intin’ my mind towa’d you-all.” Pop grinned at Ed, friendly-wise. ALL-STORY WEEKLY. “Well, no, Pop, unless I might hitch up those ponies an’ have them skulldrag that buckboard out to Twin Springs.” ‘“‘ Better do that thing t’-day, son,” com- ing tothe step to sit down with Ed and light his pipe. This suited Ed exactly. “Say, Pop,” with what Ed judged to be absence of guile, ‘“‘ you remember how you told me th’ other day I ought to keep an eye on that Mexican fire-water joint—th’ Chaparral Cock—for news of Midnight?” “Why, yes, son. What ’bout it?” “That Mexican woman from down there spoke to me on th’ trail ‘yesterday evenin’, and she ‘lowed she wanted to see me again soon.” ‘“ Well, son, you’re of age, full age,” Pop puffed. ‘“ She’s a bad un, that Maretta is. But if you c’n get any news out o’ her, you git it. No tellin’ what she might say to a handsome man—”’ There was a scrape of a chair inside. Ed caught, through the door’s crack, the flirt of a disappearing skirt. ‘“‘What’s matter wi’ your face, son?” Pop asked in surprise; ‘‘ you lookin’ like a boiled owl soured on his wife’s relations. Dawg-gone it. I ain’t said _ nothin’, have I?” ‘“Not a darn thing, Pop,” and Ed got up. “ Well, s’long; I’m-goin’ to drive out to Twin Springs, and after that I’m goin to ride out to the Chaparral Cock to quiz Maretta.”’ ‘“‘ Pop, he came ‘long noble until th’ cli- macterical point,’ Ed confided to the off buckboard pony as he harnessed him a few moments later; “‘ he meant well, but he didn’t tip off th’ hand I played right through. If he’d left off that ‘ handsome man’ part an’ just let her know, casual like, that he’d urged me to play that bar lady for news, it would have been O. K.’ He sagged onto the buckboard’s seat tooled the ponies to the front of the Wick- son house. Here he called: “Ho, Miss Berenice. C’me on out, an we'll ride out to th’ Springs. It’s our day to.” A large and profound silence followed Ed called again—again. The off twitched his ears. comiclboolk C©