Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

174 “Any way you want to put it,” he re- plied carelessly. ‘It’s the sort of luck I want. besides, there’s one greaser less in the world, and another burr under the saddle of Senor Onate, damn his eyes! Where’ll we camp?” ‘Up this canon to the left, a few miles. _ There’s a good spring there and a circle of cottonwoods. We'll camp in the center of ’em.” “ Risk a fire?” ‘I tell you, they ain’t going to hunt you to-night. They know you’re with me. They know my hoss can carry double farther and faster than any of their ponies. Maybe they won’t hunt at all, but trust to your bad luck.” ‘ Qver this he brooded in silence while they worked their way up the rough bed of the ravine until they reached the circle of trees. They were ancient, mighty cotton- woods, nourished by the water from the spring. In the center of the little grove they kindled a fire, for they found an abundance of dry wood, and the whole, half-rotten trunk of a fallen giant. Then, propping themselves against their saddles, they sat on opposite sides of the fire; he rolled and lighted. a cigarette and she sat with her hands locked in front of her knees and her face turned up to the stars. Even the sailor has less love for the stars than the dweller of the desert. To the sailor they are guides and steering points, but to the desert dweller they are friends — the eyes of friends which look down through the long, breathless silence of the nights. The two held their positions for minute after minute, unchanging.~ They were happy, for the quiet, the sense of space was their proper environment. Now and then the flicker of the fire flashed clearly across their faces, but for the most part they were withdrawn and lost in the deep gloom of the night, and the glow of the fire with its thousand shadows actually helped to con- ceal them. ~~Fall, broad, black as the heart of the night, the cottonwoods fenced them in. There was but one way for them to look, and that was straight up, past the dizzy. 5 THE ARGOSY. tops of the trees and on to the yellow lights of the stars. Up to these the girl stared, but the man, his head lowered to the palms of his hands and his face made ominous and ugly by the fire-shadows, stared steadily across at - Jack. An age-old instinct, perhaps, di- rected them, for woman looks up—in ac- ceptance—and man looks down—in doubt. By the flare and the leap of the fire he was studying ber features, and every penetrat- ing glimpse was like the reading of a new page in an endless story, each one strangely revealing. Finally he got some fresh wood and piled it discreetly, so that it made a thin little arm of flame, stabbing into the night, and by that light he could look steadily at the girl. She paid no attention. Her face was still raised, and her expression was one of deep, vague content. | ; Looking at her in that manner he could well understand that no human thing in all the world was necessary to her. It gave her a singular charm—this same independence of attitude. And also it was deeply chal- lenging. It made him long to break through her reserve. Without knowing it, he adopted toward her little household gods the attitude of an iconoclast. CHAPTER VIL. THE ICONOCLAST. -s [PDP y’ ever hear about souls that get tangled up after death and come back to earth in the wrong shapes?” he said sud- denly. ‘““I dunno,” answered the girl. “ Seems to me like I heard something about it. Why?” “Well, I been thinking, wouldn’t it be funny if the soul of some old sour-dough come back and hopped into the body of a beautiful girl.” “ Well?” “Tt’d be kind of funny, that’s all,” he murmured contentedly. ‘““H-m!” said the girl. ‘‘ Maybe you don’t noways mean me by that?” He was much surprised. “You? Did say you?” CORmMicloooK<s (C@)