The Argosy, Vol. 75, No. 4 — page 219: what you’re looking at

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

DESERT LOOT. hint while in his cups. He bragged in a saloon that only one man knew Te- colote Cafion as well as he, the same being Feliciano Machado. “ T jailed the Mexican on a venture, and he confessed. Then the loss of the seventeen-thousand-dollar consign- ment — getting by the line - scouts, cached, and all that. JI thought Id take Pete easier. “The morning I arrived in Dugout, Pete and Miles clash and you leave town. Then I arrest Miles. He ac- cuses Pete of double-dealing—of hi- ding the contraband. “ Well, I had come prepared to mas- querade as Machado, working on the theory that there is always a chance of a prisoner escaping, and that if I couldn’t talk Pete into a division of the spoils I would track him to their hiding-place. I overtook you just as the storm broke, you remember, then—” He hesitated, caught her to his breast, and kissed her. “Are you sure you'll understand my position from what I’m about to say, dear?” he asked earnestly. “ It’s a mean act, and—’’ She slipped her hand over his mouth. “You forget that [ told Machado what I thought of you,” she laughed, with rising color. “By George, yes! You did tear into me, didn’t you? To continue: Pete was dead, but you, his wife, must have shared his confidences. I made a bold move—robbed you of your out- fit to get you in my power. Now I would reason or scare you into a con- fession. “But I had not made allowance for the condition in which [I found you upon my return. However, I told the line-rider who owns this camp a story and promised I’d leave the place in more desirable shape than he had ever known it if he would rent it and keep away. “ Well, Machado told you the rest, except the fact that I was not long in discovering that for once my sense of 921 duty nearly failed me. I hesitated to broach the subject, and only as the Mexican could I steel myself to the effort. : “1 blustered around here, threat- ened you, bargained to help you escape, gave you proof of my own identity, swore to kill my own self, let you get the upper hand because both guns were empty, and—to find out how much you cared for me. Feathers, here, found the map _ to Pete’s contraband cache in the barrel of Pete’s revolver, which I have had in my possession since the day of the cloudburst. As a result I have found the goods—and you.” Peggy flashed him a tearful look and buried her head upon his shoulder. “T am so happy,” she murmured, then added sorrowfully: “ Poor Pete. Wasn’t there no word, nothing — on the map? ”’ ‘ Nothing,” he said gravely. Yet, later that day, in the seclusion of the solitude a mile from camp, he thought of Pete Gilbert’s last message to his wife and, taking it frem his pocket, reread the scrawl: I’m goin to kick off from the smash that jim miles give me. what im about to say aint cos i care for you, an i dont want you to think it. nuther am i goin to tell you what my line has bin. its none of yer bizness. you kin find. out when you git the layout if yer smart enuff. i oughten do this cos you aint worth it. if i hadnt put in some hard knocks gettin them goods, you cud go plum to blazes for all of me. folly this map. if you git nabbed its your own lookout. Dr. Lencia turned and gazed at the far-stretching sand-flat in the east. He let his eyes travel over its bleak sur- face thoughtfully. Leagues away, upon its southern rim, where dark, redoubtable table- mountains rose like tiers of huge benches, the dust spirals romped about in devilish abandon. “Not ‘Poor Pete,’”’ he muttered positively; “but ‘Happy Peggy.’ ”’- THE END. comichook (C@)