The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

DARING THE DANGER ZONE. \ will see this thing through to the end, and we will win. “We stockholders of the I. O. U. mine,” he continued, “ are going to pro- tect our interests to the limit. Six months ago I could have raised all the money we needed in two days by telegraph. “Now,” he added ruefully, “I am afraid that seventeen dollars make up my entire stock of worldly goods, and that is the net result of six months of labor. But do not be discouraged! We will find a way out somehow. ‘To-morrow you can show me what the work you have been doing is like, and I guess that by figuring my time as of special value we can make a bluff at saving some of the claims any- how. I don’t believe father ever padded any of his corporation pay-rolls for a more moral purpose.” As Derby ended his sentence he caught the tired look in Nancy’s eyes and real- ized that she ought to have rest. “The shack next this is empty, I sup- pose?” he asked abruptly. Yes, except for Patrick.” “Good! With your permission [’ll make that my temporary home, and if Mr. West Symmonds appears on the scene again we will very soon know the reason.” His words infused a new courage into Nancy. Although the future was still hazy, the blackest of the clouds had lift- ed, and her heart went out with a glow of appreciation to the Heaven-sent stranger who had done so much for her. She took a lantern from its hook beside the door and lighted it. “Come!” she said to Derby, “I will show you your new home.” As they groped their way together across the rough ground to the next shack, Gerard placed his arm lightly upon her to steady her stumbling footsteps. A thrill ran through her frame such as she had never before experienced. The door was unlocked, and the lantern light showed them the whole of the small rough room with its two bunks. On a shelf, amid pipes and ore speci- 7A 97 mens belonging to old Moran, was a can- dle in a battered tin holder. Derby light- ed it and placed it on the board which, nailed across two boxes, served as a table. ‘This is a palace, compared with some of the places in which I have lived re- cently,” he remarked. “I shall do fa- mously here. Now, Miss Gale, I will guide you back to your shack, and in the morning, we will first find old Patrick, and then we will make the old I. O. U. mine hum,” As he extended his hand, in saying good night at her door, Nancy pressed it in both of hers, and her eyes filled with tears of gratitude as she bowed her head so close over his hand that a warm tear moistened it. Gerard stumbled back to his cabin, kicked off his boots, and flinging himself on one of the bunks, slept the sleep of the exhausted, For Nancy Gale, however, there was — no such thing as sleep. Her nerves were tense with excitement, and the events of the day reeled themselves over and over like a moving-picture film before her mind. Through the chinks of the shutters, which at Derby’s insistence she had kept closed, she watched the slow turning of night to dawn, of dawn to day. At length her ear caught the welcome sound of a - familiar bark— She flung open the windows, threw back the shutters, and gave a low whistle, followed by a call of “Bruno! Here, Bruno! Good dog!” which brought a thoroughbred collie bounding to the foot of the steps. Nancy ran to the door, and as she threw it wide, the dog rushed through it and ran round and round the shack, wag- ging his tail and giving little staccato’ yelps of joy. His mistress turned to watch him, a smile upon her face. As she looked she perceived that a card was tied to his collar. Calling the dog to her, she leaned over and scanned the bit of pasteboard. On COMMICOOOKS (E@)