The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

240 He wasted but a moment. A knife was not worth his time. He had a surer, bet- ter weapon with longer reach. He stalked on after the would-be incendiaries whose mob spirit was getting ahead of his plans. CHAPTER XV. DESPERATE MEASURES, "TURNING her back to the window, Evelyn surreptitiously studied her newly acquired weapon of defense. It was a hideous thing to look wpon;. far more suggestive of murder than the tiny, deadlier automatic to which she was quite accustomed. She shuddered; was shaken suddenly with the doubt whether she could ever force herself to use it. Then, as the doctor delayed his return, came the hope that she might never have to use it. She waited, prayed, hoped. An hour passed — between the occasional sounds of a running battle which seemed to shift to and fro at an ever-increasing distance from the bungalow, the bell of Haggins’s wall-clock tolled off the hour of midnight, struck one—two—three— Exhausted, she sat down on the floor to continue her vigil. She grew so anx- jous at thoughts of her father that she would have welcomed Pinhon’s return. It seemed as if the suspense would provide death for her. The clock struck four—five— The dingy dawn of a foggy day made the trees dimly visible. The fog gave place to pouring rain. The light in- creased. And now her anxiety for her father re- doubled. Whatever had been the truth as to Pinhon’s words, there would be no question now about her father’s wish for water. She wondered if he would ever get it. Had the peons killed the doctor? It seemed hardly likely as yet. Had they ' done so they would be hurrying back to carry out their threat of burning the plant. Had they chased him into the jungle’ THE ARGOSY. as they had chased Phillips? If so, what would they do with her and her father? Hope died. There was no chance. There had been no chance—since Phil- lips basely deserted the outfit and buried himself in the jungle. Then despair leaped into desperation. She heard a shuffling of feet in the other room—a groan. “But my daughter,’ a feeble voice pleaded in English that she alone could understand. ‘‘ Where is she? Eve, dear —Eve! Oh, please bring me a drink, Eve! Thkey’ve jarred up the old wound and—lI’m so very thirsty. Eve!—” The lock scraped—the door opened. It closed again, behind Pinhon. For an instant’ she-could scarce recog- nize the physician. His clothes were in tatters. His face was scratched and bleeding.” One of his eyes had been blackened. His skin was as yellow parch- ment and hung wearily, it seemed, to his flesh. * He was tired from the long battle of the night—a battle for just supremacy enough to give him time to take away the woman of his desire. His feet dragged heavily, his shoulders drooped. He was a pitiable remnant of the fine real gentle- man he had been but a few days since. But his eyes still burned with the pas- sion that had become a monomania. His lips drew back in the same leer. “You hear him? Will you marry me now, or wait ~until he dies?” Could she kill him—this broken wreck e—with a knife? The thought set her shuddering again. It seemed the- night had finished the last remnant of her nerve. The- broken wreck came toward her, Through a ripped sleeve his bare arm shone white. It had no such muscles as Haggins possessed. It had enough. In spite of his weariness, Pinhon was still strong. And his hard, smooth jaw clamped upon the indomitable purpose of an Indian. “You hear him? Are you ready? Do IT call my men? Hear him?” COMMICLOOOK (C©)