Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

THE WHISPERER. “ Well,” said Goggles thoughtfully, “TI. suppose he might, but that would only make him stay the closer. He doesn’t fear any- thing, you know, and he would laugh at the thought of any four men taking him. Even such men as you have. Did you say Jack Tucker is one of them?” “ He is,” said Patricia, and in spite of herself she began to almost admire the cat- like cunning of the dapper litthe Easterner. ‘“T see your plan, and I suppose that a man like the Whisperer would take the challenge of my—trap—as a sort of sport- ‘ing proposition. Being your friend, he would try to make me release you—try to make me give you your freedom.” She straightened, her eyes shining. “ And that would bring him at last face to face with me. I,don’t ask anything more.” “You take my breath—you really do,” said Goggles, “but if the plan suits you, suppose I go pack my grip? I’m all ready to start.” “Certainly,” said Patricia, and her scornful glance followed him through the door. He reappeared, carrying a bulky suit- case, tightly strapped and bulging at the sides. His horse was led around at the same time and the suilt-case strapped behind the saddle securely. On the way out he had little to say. He seemed more amazed than intimidated, and at this she wondered, until she was able to explain it to herself through the fact that the man trusted all things implicitly to . the Whisperer, and had grown so accus- tomed to the infallibility of the outlaw that he did not dream of worrying over any pre- dicament. In fact, there seemed no place for worry in the mindlessness of the fellow. Worry, after all, suggests thought, and that was something, apparently, which never burdened the brain of Mr. St. Gore. Once he brought his horse, a fine animal, to a sharp halt in order that he might gape upon a cloud of singular shape which floated down the western sky. Now and then he broke his silence to speak to his horse ‘in @ conversational manner, as one might speak to any rational being. To Patricia, in fact, looking from the 453 fine, high-held head of the horse to the he- spectacled face of the rider, it seemed that the brute was by far the higher type of ani- mal. They were in sight of Ugly Joe’s place before the fop directly addressed her. He said: “‘I presume that I shall have protection against these—er—ruffians of yours, Miss Lauriston?”’ ‘‘T shall personally,” she answered, “ be your guarantee.” “ Will you really?” he queried gratefully. “ Awfully thrilling to have your interest, you know!” She looked at him sharply. In almost any other man the speech would have been a subtle jest, but his face was more blankly - serious than she had seen it, as yet. They dismounted at the central entrance, opening on the patio. Here Goggles cried out sharp- ly and ran forward a few steps with his arms outthrown. He whirled sharply on Patricia, his face ecstatic. “’ Miss Lauriston!” he cried. “ I’ve been thinking it rather queer of you to bring me away out here, but now I thank you—I positively do! I haven’t seen flowers like these since I left—” His arms dropped—his face grew grave and almost drawn. ““T beg your pardon?” queried Patricia lightly. “IT beg yours,’’ answered Vincent St. Gore, and he bowed with something which almost approached a gentleman’s quiet dig- nity. ‘I shouldn’t have eommenced a sen- tence which I may not finish.” To Patricia it was as if a cloth of bright, simple colors were suddenly reversed, and on the other side she saw some marvelously intricate design; so much one touch of grav- ity did to all her preconceptions of the man, and all her knowledge of him as she had seen him this day. Ugly Joe, crossing from one side of the patio to the other, stopped short. ‘ Hello!” he called. bird, eh, Pat?” “You see him,” she answered. “You got your Ugly Joe approached to within reaching — distance of Goggles, who adjusted his spec- tacles and leaned forward to peer at the . newcomer. Ugly Joe grew ugly indeed. " Listen to me, my hearty,” snarled the OOOLK CONMUC (COL