Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

380 {In less than a minute they were out- doors, under the friendly glow of the low- hanging stars. Hand in hand, just as two nights previous, they ran through the trees and bushes that clustered about the ha- cienda; this time fate did not play them false, for the horse was still where Rusty had left it. Briskly he swung to the saddle; then bent over, lifting up Rosita, who nestled comfortably in his strong arms. He urged the pony forward. ‘We must make haste, my Rus-tee,”’ she whispered fearfully. “‘ Yet may my father’s riders catch us!” “Were all the spare horses in the corral back of the big barn?” he asked. “Yes, Rus-tee.” “Then I guess we don’t have to worry. IT turned ’em loose when I collected this cayuse we're riding. Also IT put a dozen _ or so of saddles I found in the barn out of business.” “Never wee! I recover from the wonder I feel at you, my Rus-tee. You think of THE ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. U everything. And so you are not a poor cowboy, but the son of that reech man, Senor Towers! Rus-tee, never, never, would { have imagined that!” “You aren’t sorry to hear that, are you, Rosita?” “No,” she confessed, “ for eet ees true what my father said that night. Always do I like pretty clothes, Rus-tee, theengs that cost much money. But ”—her voice sank to a murmur, so soft that Rusty bent over in order not to miss it—“ for you would I gladly give up them all. Thinking you poor, I loved you, Rus-tee; knowing you are not poor, I could not love you more. That is impossible.” “And will you always love me?” he whispered. ‘‘ Rose of Mexico?” “Yes,” was her soft answer, “ always weel I love you, my Rus-tee—always; for- ever and forever.” And as the horse carried them swiftly northward the softly twinkling stars seemed to smile down in a tender bene- diction. END TREK ONG road or sea lane, Gray gull or white, Dreams that go winging Into the night. Ages-old urging On us again, song of the surging Mother of men. Pull up the stakes, boys, Wind in the dawn Stirring the covert Itch to be gone. . Long road or sea lane, al a sea - i: | Take which you will, ss Romance is waiting Over the hill! E. Leslie Spaulding. (E@) IMUCLNOOLS