The Argosy, April 1912 — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

AT LONE WILLOW STATION. ““And what does he say?” asked Eld- ridge. “Why, he has actually become quite sen- sitive on the subject.” Eldridge looked at Border, who returned his glance with a knowing look, as though each could read the other’s thoughts. 103 “Tl be going,” said the sheriff, as he moved toward the door. ‘One moment, Mr. Border,” said the lawyer. “I will call at your office as soon as I can freshen myself up a bit. There is a matter of importance about which I wish to consult you without delay.” (To be continued.) At Lone Willow lation By KK Thompson / fe SAID good-by to Margie, and stood on the end of the station platform, wa- ving her out of sight over the crest of the hill. Then I turned, and, raising my two fists to the leaden sky, cursed aloud the fate that made me what I was, a miserable way-station agent in the wilderness at forty er. ; Marriage on that— Even the silent air seemed to shrink back before the harsh mirthlessness in my laugh. I stamped across the bare boards of the platform to the office, banging the door to and sinking down in my chair. My head went forward on my _ out- stretched arms on the littered telegraph ta- ble. Ihad forgotten. I wasn’t even a forty- dollar-a-month station-agent, too poor to get his girl. More than that stood between me and sweet Margie. I was—I was— The five-fifty! tore open the door and stood watching the north- bound express go thundering by. No slacking; it did not mean tostop. I peered up the track after the diminishing billow of smoke and cinder- dust. The last puff whisked out around a bend of the hillside. Still Jim had not come! In Heaven’s name, what kept the man? My hands were opening and shutting. At least he might have written—he could have written, safe- ly enough. Somehow the plan must have fallen through. What else could I think? Eight weeks I had been holding down this fake job, waiting for Jim Whalen to show up, according to previous arrangements, to pull off his burglary with my assistance. So far not a word had I heard from him. I had no assurance that he was even alive. If only something had happened to him—but, of course, I couldn’t be sure. That was the deuce of it. I was all in the dark. Noth- ing to do but—wait. It was just two months ago to a day that Jim had come to me with his brilliant scheme. Somewhere he had kicked up the knowledge that the smelter, ten or twelve miles up the spur from this tiny station, was in the habit of making weekly pay- Bounding to my feet, 1 ments for ore delivered by the railroad into GoOmiGc soo S CO