Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

THE SINGLE TRACK, started up Main Street in the obvious di- rection of the Full Blast. She was undecided what to do; his er- rand on the wharf might have been a per- fectly legitimate one, and at the moment she herself had no right to be there. Un- doubtedly he was an employee of the Northern Star; she had seen him in the store frequently and about the storage yard with the other members of the bull gang; and his face, with its lowering brow, near- set, deep-sunken eyes, and wide, high cheek- bones was not one which could be easily forgotten, although she did not remember ever to have heard his name. Even should she report his presence there, the girl doubted that she would be able to pick him out positively from so many other Russian and Slavic employees at the works if she were called upon to do so, and she resolved, for the time being, at least to keep her own counsel. Yet as she made her way slowly home, a disquieting thought pervaded her conscious- ness and would not be exorcized. What if he were the still undiscovered man who had betrayed the location of the dynamite to their enemies, the traitor to the Northern Star? CHAPTER XII. PIETRO. THE little side street upon which stood the shack where Peddar and Jane had taken up their abode began like a narrow alley, with ramshackle frame _ buildings standing shoulder to shoulder on either side, their porches crowding out over the single plank which served as a walk. Farther on, the houses thinned, with long gaps of open space between, and where the unfortunate Bud Sawyer had built his home only the deserted, tumble-down ruins of another shack, fifty feet away, bore it company. As Jane passed it, her thoughts still busied with the man she had seen lurking in the shadows of the ore-pockets on the wharf, she heard a faint groan, which seemed to emanate from behind the heap of broken, weather-stained boards, and paused. The place was eery and deserted, 287 even in the paling light of the sun, which was already disappearing behind a murk of cloud once more; and the Janetta of a month ago would have taken promptly to her trim high heels, but now she hesitated. If some one were ill or hurt, lying there all alone, some one of her outfit— Even as the thought came to her she heard an- other groan, deeper and more prolonged than before, and waiting no longer, she picked her’ way through the oozing mud around to the back of the ruined shack. A man was lying there, his limbs twisted as through pain, both arms crooked over his face and head as if to ward off a blow; and as she stood looking at him, a sort of broken sob tore its way through his throat. ‘““Oh, what is it—what’s the matter?” Jane asked pityingly, and then shrank back in horrified amazement as the man’s arms dropped and he essayed to rise. His face was bloody and battered almost beyond recognition, one eye blackened and closed, and a deep, hideous gash ran across his cheek-bone. ‘““Mees!”” The word came in a sobbing gulp, and as he fell back again she saw that the knuckles of both hands were abrased to mere pulp. ‘‘ Mees! Please-a you go! No place-a for you. Maybe he come-a back!” “Pietro!” In spite of his mangled countenances there was no mistaking that soft voice, wistful even in pain. It was the lonely little Italian who had shown her the picture of his bambino only an hour or two before in the store. ‘ Pietro, what has happened to you?) Who has hurt you like this?”’ There was silence for a minute, the silence of a race which keeps its own counsel and seeks its own revenge. Then, reluctantly, through set teeth, came the single word: . ‘“ Malison.” A partial light broke over Jane, and with an involuntary shudder she glanced about her, but no one was in sight, and she said decisively: ‘““T can’t leave you here like this, Pietro, and I won’t! Come! Try to get up and lean on me. My own home is near by, and we must get the company doctor—” COPNICLOOOKS com,