The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

SOUTHWEST OF present situation. I will kill fifty —a hundred—a thousand, if need be. I will torture them—TI will torture your father —TI will torture you. Fiend—lover! “T have given the order. Even now two of the peons are waiting with the stretcher. I go back now. I will bring your father to this next room. He shall lie there—and he shall let you hear his cries for drink—until you have married me!” She stared at his mad face. He was so utterly insane that his speech came in short snatches of utter fury. He panted with the strain of his wild thought. For one moment she was on the point of bidding him bring on his witnesses. Then a doubt assailed her. She realized that the only word she had of any extreme danger in moving her father was the word of this man. She had believed him before. She could no longer believe anything he said. And her father had had little fever for weeks. Rarely, indeed, did he call for water through the nights. Pinhon was lying. Yet he might be speaking the truth. Her whole life had been spent with her father, her love for him was deeper than her love for any husband would ever be. Again she was ready to enter this dreadful half-legal marriage. Again the thought of it sent chill shudders through her weary body. It wrung from her lips a cry of agony: “Oh, God! God!—help!” | Suddenly the flare of torches showed through the window. Loud shouts arose, and louder. “ Burn! bungalow, his papers! Abao! A diavolo!” The pale face of the crazy Indian be- fore her lost the last vestige of its native color. A moment only he stood wavering. Then he wheeled quickly. “T’ll be back when I’ve attended to them,” he said, as he hurried from the room. Again she heard the lock of the door Burn them all! Burn his Burn the shops! THE LAW. 239 turned raspingly. A moment later bed- lam seemed to break loose outside the building. It. began with the crackle of two auto- matics seeming to fire their charges with the rattle of machine-guns. The shrieks of wounded men drowned every other sound. Through her window she saw them fall back—the torches were hastily extinguished to afford the protection of darkness. ‘“ Back!” Pinhon’s voice was. shrill with rage as he shouted the order. ‘ Back —to the. stockade—every one of you! Back—”’ He but covered a hasty replacement of a magazine in one of the weapons. let it talk for him—once, twice, thrice, it spoke its sharp word of death. Then it seemed that all the men had managed to find the cover of trees or buildings. Pinhon came fearlessly on along that rear wall of the bungalow, his pistol wav- ing to and fro, his lips shouting half-ar- ticulate defiance. He reached the spot opposite her window. As he did so, he wheeled suddenly. He was just in time. A hand shot forth from the darkness behind him, a sharp stiletto aimed at his shoulders. The pistol spoke. The dark, bare arm, with the ugly knife still gripped in its fin- gers, waved in a wild circle through the shaft of light from the window. It seemed as if its owner had been spun around by the force of the bullet. The circle ended with a crash against the bars. The knife— Evelyn Reade leaped back as it shot “downward at her very feet, hurled by the force which had ended with that blow upon the irons that kept her prisoner. Then a hysterical laugh welled up within her. She stooped, picked up the long, point- ed blade, hugged it to her bosom. It was the precious answer of her frightened prayer. Another shot—and Pinhon was stoop- ing over the dead man, searching for the knife. The girl choked back her laugh. COMMIGOOOKS He (C@