Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

THE LAUGHING RIDER. mother’s sick headaches. Leastwise, that’s what I wrote. If Denker didn’t make no mistake you sports are due to sleep to-night like you never slept before. It ‘ll do you good.” Profanity overwhelmed this last assur- ance, but Billy’s solicitation for their wel- fare did not lag. ‘‘ You sports don’t like me worth a cent,” he pointed out, ‘“‘so I thought I’d sort of fade out before morning. You'll lend your hawses, maybe?” They sat silent, fascinated, feeling the drug overcome them. “ Vou—” Menzies and Cree Thatcher at- tempted a duet of villification, which Billy deprecated good naturedly. “It’s the dope,” he assured them. ‘* You don’t know what you’re sayin’. You'll be sorry for it later.” Flat Head rolled over and began to snore. Cree and Menzies muttered tenaciously and drowsily dark predictions as to Billy’s fu- ture both here and hereafter. Menzies gave in first, and Billy very kindly tucked him up in a blanket, while Cree, half conscious, feebly endeavored to pull his gun from its holster. “Let me,” offered Billy helpfully, and taking the butt of the gun from Cree’s hand, he drew it for him and laid it in the half- breed’s lap. Cree tried to pick it up, drew a deep breath, and went to sleep like a baby playing with a toy. He muttered a drowsy curse as the drug overcame him, and Billy, all tenderness, pressed the gun gent- ly Mito his hand for him: With a grunt of satisfaction, Cree hugged the weapon against his cheek, and slumbered. “Now they’re all a-bed,” smiled Billy to himself, “I can have a quiet lil smoke all to myself.” - Like a kindly father, he leaned against a tree and puffed his cigarette with the ut- most serenity, gazing the while upon the peaceful scene of strong men fast asleep by the dying embers of their fire. He made no haste to leave that quiet spot, but renewed the fire ever and anon, to hug its grateful warmth until nearly daylight. Then he made his way to the horses and, mounting Concho, rode away, leading Cree Thatcher’s and Flat Head’s horses beside 907 him. Menzies’s horse he left hobbled in its place, and he did not take the weapons from the sleepers. CHAPTER XXXV. AN INNOCENT MAN. ‘‘¥ IKE flame!” cried Annette Savardé. She stood on the veranda of her father’s house and looked out over the undulating prairie. The icy breezes which had disturbed Billy in the night were tempered on this bright morning by the sun, and the air touched Annette with a tang that that invigorated and uplifted her. The icy breezes had also touched the countryside, however, and as a result every tuft of grass, quivering leaf, or lichen cov- ered rock was ‘‘ like a flame.” A million fires seemed to burn upon the prairie with an alchemy which gave them varicolored lights; and the wind playing with the grasses sent a lambent yellow blaze flowing like liquid toward the house. Then Annette noticed that among these brilliant fires one moved with limpid flam- boyancy in a direct line down the trail. It was a steady flame, a large and predom- ‘mating, and for Annette it was an old flame. It was Staff Sergeant MacQuillan. She watched the translucent beauty of that scarlet tunic as it approached, and the glitter of the sunlight on the polished brasses. She noticed with approval the erect carriage of the horseman, thought in- stinctively of Billy, and felt a contraction of her throat as it occurred to her the ser. geant might bring bad news. When he approached closely enough for her to see his face MacQuillan’s expression confirmed her deepest fears. She rushed down the pathway and cried out to him even before he had dismounted. ‘What ees eet, sarjon? come?” she cried. He dismounted with deliberation and turned to her with indescribable gravity. ‘“ Annette,” he said, “ I’ve come upon a very difficult job—a very difficult job in. deed.” His gravity convinced her. “ Billy!” she cried, and her voice was COMME OOOXS Why do you (©)