Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

464 the room, leaping suddenly out of the dark, was the figure of a man im gray clothes, wearing a tall, gray sombrero, with a long white mask across his face, and two dark holes where the eyes must be. She saw his hands; there was no weapon in them. ‘“‘ Stand perfectly still,” said Patricia, “ I have you covered with a revolver. I shoot well, and at the first move of your hands I'll press the tngger.” Then came the sound which she had heard Mother Martha describe earlier in the evening, but far more terrible than any description—a voiceless voice—something - between a whisper and a moan, ghastly, un- nerving. At the sound her arm and hand shook—her very brain reeled. ‘“T haye not come to harm you,” said the Whisperer, ‘“‘ I have come only to make you give St. Gore his freedom. You have only to speak a word, and I shall be gone . again. Say it!” “You will only leave in the power of the law,” said Patricia. ‘‘ I have you now —I have only to press the trigger—”’ ‘But you cannot,” said the Whisperer. ‘You were cool a moment ago, but now your voice shakes—you dare not raise it so thzt others in the house might hear— your hand is growing cold—” “You lie!” said Patricia. Cousin Joe!” But even as he had warned her, her voice was only a dry whisper. The hysteria of blind fear seized her at the throat. She knew that in another second he would be complete master—she could feel her strength slipping from her. He raised an arm and advanced a pace. “fam waiting,” he said. ‘“ Be brave— I have not come to harm you—you have only to speak and I disappear—’”’ Then she fired. — It seemed as if the Whisperer sat down, shoved abruptly toward a chair; then he collapsed along the floor. She leaped from the bed; in the distance she heard many voices—shouts, running steps. Over the prostrate figure she leaned, tore away the mask, and Jooked into the calm, steady eyes of Goggles: She could not conceive it at first; it was like the miracle which surpasses belief. “ Help! it was not serious. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. The revolver clicked on the floor, fallen from her nerveless hand. ‘“ You—you—you!”’ stammer. “ J,” said Goggles faintly, and smiled up at her. “‘‘ The game’s up, but it was jolly while it lasted!” There came a banging at her door—the shout of Ugly Joe. She leaned, picked up the revolver, and ran to the door, which she set a little ajar and peeked out. “T can’t let you n—I’m undressed; I was handling the revolver—and it went off —I’m not the least hurt.” “Thank God!” groaned Ugly Joe, and voices behind him echoed heavily: “ Thank God!” She closed the door, barred it again, and ran to Goggles. He had struggied to a half sitting posture, and as she leaned over him his eyes widened with a sort of fascinated horror. she could only “You don’t understand,” said he. ‘““Open the door; call them in. JI am the Whisperer! ”’ “Hush!” she said. “Little fool, be stall!” She leaned and picked kin up. He was hardly heavier than she, and she bore his weight without great difficulty. With her strong young arms she felt the frailty of the outlaw whom the whole mountain-desert had feared. For an instant his head lay helpless against her bare shoulder: the ner- vous right hand which had dealth death once that night hung limply down. She felt the quick, shuddering intake of his breath against her throat. Only an instant, and then she laid him on her bed. There she tore open his shirt. ‘The left side,” said he. ‘ You meant well, but the bullet must have glanced—on the ribs. A fraction of-an inch closer in, and—”’ He set his teeth with a light click and closed his eyes against the pain. Then she found the wound. It was bleed- ing profusely, but she saw at a glance that It had glanced, appar- ently, from a rib, as he suggested, and had furrowed through the flesh along his side. A erisly painful wound, but not mortal. She ran to her suit-case, ripped a. linen shirt GOnmiGlo ate UL SS CO