Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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460 him, some waiting for his nearer approach, some elaborately calculated ambuscade. This quick action, nine chances out of ten, would throw him off his guard. And in the presence of four men like Yale and the others, one mistake would be the last. She felt a queer pain, as well, at the thought that through her this wild scourge should be removed from the mountain-desert. No matter how terrible he might be, it would be like the shooting of an eagle—a grim thing to see the air robbed of its lord and its tyrant. By noon the riders had not returned. In the dusk of the evening Woods, Riddle, and Tucker, hot, weary, discomfitted, trotted up to.the barn and came in silence to the house. In the first wild burst of speed Harry Yale, better mounted than the others, and riding without caution, had out- stripped the others, and they had last him in the windings of the hills. All the rest of the day they stalked him, but could never get his trail again. They told this tale to Ugly Joe. To Patricia they would not speak at all. -She had been the general, and she had failed her army in time of need. For her own part, a sense of guilt oppressed her. Somewhere out there in the gathering dark the tall form of Harry Yale must lie motionless. Over it the buz- zards, perhaps, were already gathering. ' In the midst of her despair there was a shout from outside the house, and she ran out to see the form of a horseman rapidly maturing through the dark. “ Hey, Harry!” called the chorus of his bunkies. But after a moment, a soft, thin voice answered: “ Halloo, there!” “ Goggles!” groaned Chic Woods. “* Goggles!” said Patricia, and she wished him heartily a thousand leagues under the honest earth. He came, trailing his feet with weari- ness, having put up his horse in the barn. “ My word!” sighed Goggles. Will you believe that I was lost in those wretched hills? Yes, indeed! I should hardly have found the house if I hadn’t seen the lights at jJast! Think of .wandering all night through those hills! I’m going straight to my room!” @ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, And he went. The others settled down at the entrance to the patio to wait. They were silent; for an hour the only sound and sigh was the occasional scratch and blue spurt of a match. They were thinking of Harry Yale, and they were thinking of death. But at the very moment that Ugly Joe finally rose and turned toward the house, they caught the patter of trotting hoofs through the night, hoofs that clapped the earth more loudly, chugging in the sand at last directly before the house as the horse came to a halt. They were too excited to challenge the rider. . ‘“Halloo!” called the voice of Harry Yale. A happy cheer answered him. Woods and Riddle ran toward him. ‘‘ Stay where y’are!”’ barked Harry Yale. ““T got an oath not to stop with you.” “You met him?” called Patricia. ‘T’m saying nothin’ except this thing,” answered Harry Yale: “ Bob Riddle, you’re the next to go. That's ptraight from the Whisperer.” “Wait!” called Chic Woods. “ Yale, y’ain’t going to leave us up in the air like this?”’ ‘Chic, if you come near me I'll start a gun-play. I’m under ’n oath higher ’n heaven and deeper ’n hell. S’lang.”’ And the hoofs started again, and chugged softly away through the night, fainter,: fainter, until the last patter died out. As for the men, none of them stirred, but |. Patricia fled back into the house and found Mother Martha. ‘ I want to stay with you to-night!” she pleaded. ‘“ I’m afraid!” “Of what, honey?” asked Mother Martha. “Of ghosts!” said Patricia. “Of - s! 99 “Tm older ’n you, Patty,’ answered Martha, ‘“‘ and I’ve seen a pile more of the ways of the mountain-desert. You'll never get the Whisperer this way. He'll hunt down men one by one, just the way he did Harry Yale to-day. Poor Harry Yale. He’s done for. To-morrow he'll take water from a Chinaman. That’s the way of the Whis- perer. If he don’t kill the body of a man, we fl ecomnilelaoolks (CO