The Argosy, August 1905 — page 132: what you’re looking at

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

——_—_—_—_ -_- — ~ “Mr. Bethune, I am a poor man,” I said. “I have this ranch and just ten cents to my name.” ; *¥You havea bigranch. At your age it ought to make no difference whether you haye money or not. Eunice 1s a hard worker. When I die she will have that ranch of a thousand acres. Yours is two thousand. You will be rich enough, you two.” “ But,” I stammered, “ would Bunice consent?” ** Would she? Consent to marry you? When she knows that she must marry De Paro to-morrow? If she does not, she will be worse off. I shall be killed, but I care little for that. My time has almost come. But with you I know my Eunice would be safe.” “Tf Bunice wishes it to be so, Mr. Bethune, I will do it,” I said. I had become so reckless that I was ready for anything. I saw some difficulty ahead, but at least the marriage would be legal. It would give me the right to protect the girl if anything did happen to the old man. At my reply his eyes closed and a bland smile of happiness came upon his face. He slowly rose to his feet. He held out a trembling hand to me and I took it. He tried to speak, but his voice failed. He swayed with glad emotion or weak- ness, and I tried to help him into the buckboard. I heard him make a peculiar noise. T looked at him. His eyes were star- ing at me, and he was evidently trying to say something. An ashen gray color had spread over his face. “ Tt will be all right, Mr. Bethune.” I said. I was alarmed at his condition. He understood. The poor, worn-out heart gave way and he sank back against me—dead. CHAPTER VIII. I HUNT UR THE WRONG MAN. Here was a predicament that I had not bargained for. I now had my work eut out for me,and no mistake. It was ing dark, and Kunice was alone. I THE ARGOSY. same as I had, but none to protect her at the house. I wanted Miguel then worse than I had wanted money in New Orleans. But Miguel was nearly a mile away. Manuel was nearer. I could reach him by making a détour to the west on my way to Bethune’s house. But I could not take the old man very well on the buekboard, for it was not a large one, and the idea was not pleasant. I carried him inside my house and placed him in my own bed. Then I eaught my pony and, leaping into the saddle, galloped off. I found Manuel and spoke to him at a distance. ‘** Manuel!” I called. “ 81, sehor!” “Take a man with you, get Miguel, and go to the house. Mr. Bethune is there, dead.” For a moment he stood and stared. Then with a wild rush he caught a horse and, without saddle or bridle, started on a wild career to the southward. An- other of my pony herders followed, and I went on my way to Bethune’s. Eunice was standing in the door as I rode up, and her face showed great anxiety. “Mr. Wallace, have you seen my grandfather?” she asked. I dismounted hefore I replied. “Yes, Miss Bethune,” I said, “ he came over to see me.” _ “ About—about se “Yes, about to-morrow.” “What did he say?” “Sit down and I will tell you.” She sat down and looked at me in a way that seemed almost terror-stricken. I repeated just what the old man had told me, and she said it was all true. “Now, Miss Bethune, he asked me to assume the right to protect you.” “ How can you?” “Well, his idea was for me to ask you to be my wife. If you consented, it would give me the right. If you did not consent, of course I could do noth- ing any more than any friend.” She shrank from me. “But I do not know you. You do not know me.” “T explained all that to Mr. Bethune. But he seemed to think it was the only way out.”