The Argosy, January 1906 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

WHEN THE TELEPHONE FAILED. I sank into a chair simply because my quaking knees would no longer sup- port me. How long before the man’s confeder- ates would. come? Five —minutes— ten 7 For the first time the thought of fire- arms occurred to me. That my father had pistols I knew—locked away in his desk. But the wealth of all the Indies would not have tempted me to open that desk where I knew the money was at that precise moment. In one corner of the room was an an- cient musket. It was loaded, I knew— I had heard my father say so one day— and that the lock was jammed in some way so that he could neither fire the musket nor extract the load. But my confidence in my guardian angel was not all lost. Something seemed to tell me that I could fire that, musket if he could not. I took it up gingerly, laid it across my lap, trained it as nearly as possible on the window by which I fancied that my enemies would attempt an entrance— and waited. Time dragged. I thought of Edward Ridgely (to whom my father had a par- ticular aversion on account of sundry glances in my direction) and my tears flowed afresh. Edward was young—impressionable —and a little inclined to be sentimental. The thought of my danger A sudden sound outside chilled the blood in my veins, and the heavy musket lying across my knees shook like a leaf in the wind. ‘The rain had ceased, and only the scraping of the water-weighted branches against the roof broke the stil- ness. Then the noise came again. There was no mistaking it this time. It was the faint sound of a footfall upon the gravel under the window. A little later I heard another footfall, and then a queer little metallic snap. Were they trying to force the sash open without waiting for their confeder- ate inside? I was almost within reach of the win- dow. I laid the end of the musket against the pane, but it shook so that the glass rattled. Then: “ Are you ready?” asked a man’s low voice. 307 There, the con- t 3? “In just one minute. founded thing has gone wrong again! Again I heard the little metallic snap. “Do you suppose that she is asleep? ” “Tt makes mighty little difference so far as I can see whether she is now or not. She wont be for more than five minutes.” “Both together!” said the other voice —a lower one—hastily. “ Wait until I give the word. Now!” I don’t know whether I had meant to fire just then or not. I had known all the time however that I could fire that old musket if I wanted to do so, and I did. There was a sound as if the world was coming to an end, and the whole house shook as if fron an earthquake’s shock. Broken glass fell all about me, and I went over backwards and saw more stars than are usually visible even under the most favorable conditions. But there was another sound in my ears that stunned me worse than the explosion of that old musket. That was the “ pank-pink” of a guitar and the ~ tinkle of a mandolin mingled with the sounds of Edward Ridgely’s voice sing- ing “‘ Come where my love lies dre-a-am- ing!” and then the song had ended suddenly in a terrified howl that seemed to split the atmosphere. * Katherine Anabelle Watson, what on earth is the matter? Are you hurt?” I scrambled hastily to my feet, and, facing my father, fung myself into his arms like a catapult. “T was afraid ” I sobbed. “Why, I fancied that you would have a good time unpacking and arranging my books for me,” he said hastily. “ But I am sure that I heard some one cry out. Were you really. frightened, Katherine? Did you fe Hfe stepped through the window and looked anxiously about him. On the ground was a guitar with the strings snapped, and the fragments of a shattered mandolin. A little further on the fence was broken down. And a minute later we heard (the night-air carries far) the thud, thud, of running feet. Then my father looked again at my scared face—at the wreck of the window —at the fragments of the smoking mus- comichbook com