The Argosy, Vol. 75, No. 4 — page 207: what you’re looking at

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

DESERT LOOT. good breeding to one another upon the occasions of first acquaintanceships. He dismissed her expression of gratitude with a sportive wave of his hand and flung a leg over the table- edge. ~ “You flatter me, and yet I deserve it for the great stroke of good fortune that permitted me to be on hand to help you. For, generally, [ am hunt- ing—in fact, always hunting. How- ever, [ found’you. You had evidently fainted, cutting your temple on a rock. “T brought you here on my horse, a matter of eight miles. Subsequent- ly, nervous shock and loss of blood developed a violent fever. ‘That's about all save the fact that I could have found no more pleasurable occupation in the past four weeks than the one of making you well.” “Four weeks! gasped Peggy. “Have I been here—” His large eyes sparkled good- humoredly. “You have, Mrs. Gilbert—you see, I even know your name. I am par- ticularly thankful to your delirium for this, for it was owing to my discovery of who you were that decided me against seeking relief for you in the Dugout Hospital. I—well, I preferred to give you my personal attention. Per- haps you have heard of me. I’m Dr. Lencia, of Sand Dyke Bar.” For an interval Peggy’s heart ap- peared to stand still. Because of the mist that rose before her eyes she closed them, while she muttered some acknowledgment and feigned weari- ness the better to hide her agitation. Yet even in her extremity she felt that her benefactor was looking at her, and that there was a queer insinuation in the look. A moment after he was arranging the bedclothes. “JT am sorry,” she heard him say. *T’ve just worn you out with my prat- tle. It’s certainly unprofessional of me.” Following which, from the sub- dued sounds in the kitchen side of the house, she knew he prepared the meal. Then, for many minutes, Peggy 909 struggled with her bewilderment. Could she credit her ears? Did the Dr. Lencia of her imagination, the quack, the shameless sot, the man who had spirited her husband away on periodical carousals, and whom _ she had blamed for his death, really find being in this courtly, clean-cut, strong- limbed stranger? The antithesis was too pronounced, too shocking, for off- hand acceptance. What had she said, how little sad she left unsaid, in her criticism of him? Humiliation and remorse came with re- membrance. She had run the gamut of ugly language, characterizing him in terms that were anything but laudable, and had once almost determined to horsewhip him into repudiating Pete’s friendship. Yet here was this same Dr. Lencia, _ the man who had rescued her from cer- tain, horrible death, had given her the advantages of his professional services, attention and care, and whose very speech and action served to make her welcome more complete. After all, Machado had spoken the truth, and such an avowal she could not make for her own husband. This was why and when the last remnant of her faith in Pete died. Now, let it not be understood that Peggy Gilbert was a woman of poor affection. She was, on the contrary, warm-hearted, trusting, and constant to the degree of overzealousness where the object of her sympathy was con- cerned, For years she had clung to a sinking ship, searching the horizon of the future, day after day, for some sail of hope that did not come. Pete was much the idol of her girl- hood. She had humored him, petted him, forgiven him, followed him about in his ne’er-do-well career, and loved him. This had been in the glorious hey- day of their first few married years. In due time she stumbled on the truth, a fearful truth, and it perched itself upon her brain like a nightmare, and stayed. Pete was a born drunkard, COPMICLOOOKS (E@)