The Argosy, Vol. 75, No. 4 — page 240: what you’re looking at

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

942 And mad through and through, but still badly puzzled himself, Marsh ran to the doorway and bawled an order. There was a shtiffling of feet, the clank of guns and equipment, and three native cavalrymen marched in, escort- ine Pedro Salazar, the famous ladron! Marsh had an eye for the dramatic, and he said nothing, watching closely to see how they took it. But. there was no need of argument — Salazar was known by sight to evefy man present, and he had served under Raney. He grinned when he saw his former cap- tain, and saluted mockingly. “Pedro,” said the chief sternly, “who is that in the corner? ” ‘The man’s shifting, restless eyes had scanned the big room at one swift elance as he came in, and he kftew then what was on the board, But he feigned ignorance, crafty, feeling his way to the last, and swag- gered over and looked down stoically, indifferently at the dead face—so like his own, THE ARGOSY. Then in one of the unexplainable, freakish impulses that distitfguish so many criminals, he told the truth. ‘He was my brother, senor—-a hermit who lived near the falls, on the upper river. He died of plague night before last, and his neighbors threw him in the water.” Marsh edged away from where he had stood, close to the thing on the board. “Call the presidente!’ ordered the chief suddenly. The desk sergeant hastened to obey, jerking open the door of the detention reoin. On the floor lay the presidente, his knees drawn up under his chin, his limbs oddly twisted, his brown face turned a grayish, mottled hue. One cramped hand clutched a printed police circular. Backing hastily from the room the scared sergeant turned and faced his chief. “ He’s got it, chief! ’’ he cried hoarse- ly. “ He’s got it himseli—the plague! ” BUBBLES. Piper in hand, my lady fair Tosses bubbles in the air. _ (Pleasant occupation ). Really now, ‘tis rather strange That a breath can make such change— Yes, a transformation! Just a breath in pipe of clay, And they grow and sail away, For your delectation; And in each one you may trace= See !—the image of your face. So, my lady, when on me Breathes your spirit tenderly, Lo, a transformation ! All the dulness of my thought Into filmy fancies wrought By the inspiration, Shimmers into rimes that rise, Floating round you bubble-wise For your delectation. And behold! These bubbles, too; Fach reflects its mistress—you! Charles F, Lester. (E(O) VOOKS AMI (E@)