Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

DARK answer de summons! Dis precious chile been besiege aroun’ wid revellin’ wolves! Dese heah Daughters o’ de Desert try to make ’way with her good name. An’ dese heah white gen’lemen settin’ right heah try to steal ’way her gol’ mine—” “Oh, Aush, Aunt Jury!” Lynnie cried in an embarrassed undertone. But Aunt Jury had an audience, and if Mrs. Ricketts had fondly hoped that her dinner party would go down in the camp’s history as one never to be forgotten she was destined to see the fulfillment of her wish. Her guests sat open mouthed, entranced, listening to Aunt Jury’s chant: “T’s a sebenth chile! I’s named fo’ de law! I’s bawn with a veil! An’ when you is bawn with a veil— An’ named fo’ de law— You kin reckernize de sheep—”’ Here she glanced blandly at Mr. Baylor and Mr. Carruthers. “ An’ flustrate de goats!” As she subsided, Mr. Brooke’s smile held amusement and indulgent sympathy. But his mind was on the Jason’s Quest. ‘“Lynnie,” said he, “ this person whom you call the Prophet Daniel—” ‘“‘He’s not a person at all, Cousin Hor- ace; the Prophet Daniel is a crow.” Cousin Horace was rapidly losing all sense of reality. “ He’s a what?” ‘A crow, Cousin Horace, and he flew away—” But Aunt Jury had stepped forth again. ‘“Miss Lynnie, ma’am—Misto’ Horace, suh,” she began; “I slanderize ’at crow when I say he done stole de gol’ mine! ‘Hit was me! An’ I got it in my pocket!” With the manner of a conjurer entertain- ing children, Aunt Jury lifted her dress skirt and drew out of various deep pockets se- creted in her voluminous petticoat sundry objects, which she laid in a row on the table. There was the “ potato ” which she fond- ly believed had turned to stone; a black feather plucked from the tail of a turkey THE QO’ THE MOON. 845 buzzard; a bundle of herbs from which she made her famous “ mixtry ”; a rabbit’s foot; the aged, frazzled skin of a tiny garter snake; and, finally, the lost certificate! Mr. Brooke took the paper printed in bright green ink and adorned with red seals. He looked at it, smiling to himself, and gave slight heed to Aunt Jury’s final observa- tion; “Vou kin kiver up de fire,’ she began in sober impressiveness, “‘ but—I axes you— what you gwine do with the smoke?” Lynnie had been speaking to Mrs. Rick- etts. She motioned to Aunt Jury now and spoke in an undertone. The old woman nodded and disappeared. In a few mo- ments Aunt Jury, brown, silent and imper- turbable, was serving dinner. General con- versation had started in a laughing torrent. Mrs. Ricketts’s famous dinner party was under way. They stood in the shadows of her cabin porch—Lynnie and Archer Macken- zie. Outside, the camp lay grave and still in the starlight. The night winds, scented with sage, swept down the arroya, envelop- ing them, here in the darkness in secret, hushed ecstasy. They talked in whispers. Just for to-night their happiness was their own—unshared. And it was to Sophy Sanders they owed it all, Lynnie had told Archer in a passion of contrition. Now, in the generosity of their young love, Sophy was included in the scheme of their future life. In some way they would find a happiness. as great as theirs for little Sophy, too. “Archer,” she whispered, “no matter what happens, we'll never quarrel again.” He kissed her for answer. “Love like ours will last forever,” she announced with sweet didacticism. ‘ Our happiness will last forever. Oh, Archer, J feel that—don’t you?” Before he could answer there was a stir- ring of feathers on the tall perch in the shadows. The Prophet raised his head from under his wing. His sleepy, croaky syllables gave the final note to their happiness. “* Sho’ly—sho’ly,” quoth the oracular bird. ‘ Y-a-a-a-s-m.” END COMICLOOOK (CO)