Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

396 THE in his brain. But perhaps that came from following the easy, springing gait of Do- lores. Like Diomedes, she rose a little with every step, as if her small feet scorned the ground. He matched her pride of gait against the humility of her speech, and chuckled softly. Afterward he followed stealthily toward the dobe hut until he gained an advantage post at the rear wind, Through this he peered and saw Dolores scqiiciibead cross- legged on the floor of the hut. In the full current of the sunlight which slanted through the door, she dangled the string of bright beads, and as the light made liquid brilliance of each bead the face of the girl shone with an almost fierce exultation. With a soft little cry of delight she tossed the beads above her and caught them again with a dexterous hand as they fell. She poured them from hand to hand, swiftly, so that it seemed at times as if she were han- dling liquid fire. She slipped them over her head and, catching up a polished steel mir- ror, surveyed herself from every angle. Back to his comfortable chair on the - veranda the Senor Onate carried the image - of that smile. He forgot; in time, the head-hunt which El Tigre was carrying on in the northern hills. He forgot, even, the inevitable tequila which stood in a vase on the little table beside him. ‘Now, it is a dangerous thing to forget too much. It is also dangerous to think too much of one thing, particularly in a climate where the sun burns ideas home in the brain. There is nothing worse than brood- ing in the tropics or semi-tropics, and when a man becomes too visionary it is time for ‘him to travel north and coel his body with snow and his thoughts with change. Of this, however, the Senor Onate did not think. He gave himself up to visions like an opium smoker. The skin of Dolores, in fact, was hardly darker than his own. The complexion which he saw im his dreams, however, was almost an Italian olive. In those same dreams her smile grew softer. Her eyes grew gently conscious of him. Now these dreams were endurable during the day, but when the sun dropped from sight, and when the night wind began to ARGOSY, — whisper drowsily through the leaves of the palms. Senor Onate awoke from his reverie and began to think of reality. This, however, was no easy task. While he ate his supper the vision crossed between him and his plate. It dazzled him. He sat, absent-minded, until the meat grew cold. Then he roused himself long enough to curse the waitress and the cook in a needless fury, although ke remembered that a docter of re- pute had onee warned him against apo- plexy. At this, trembling with alarm, he called for a wet, cold towel, and reclined in a wicker chair with the towel wrapped about his feverish forehead’ He began to curse, cautiously, lest he should reuse himself again, the house, the servants, the country, the chmate, the Americanos, the Yaquis, and Dolores. Here he paused and began to repeat the name over and over, like a musician lingering on a pleasing chord. He called for more tequila. Meantime the word Dolores grew more and more fixed in his mind. He discovered that it was necessary for him to see her, speak to her. At first he thought of sending for her. Then he decided that he could not speak to her in the hearing of his eaves- dropping house-servants. Moreover, he wanted. the cooler, fresher air. He went out on the veranda again to think, but the moment he crossed the threshold he was aware of a great yellow moon pushing up above an eastern hill. He watched it with a peculiar fascination. It rolled higher until it seemed to rest, for a moment, like an enormous, illumined blos- som, in the crest of a Spanish dagger. And it rose higher, hanging poised directly above the hut of Dolores, daughter of El Tigre. Senor Onate walked toward. the hut. At the door he called her, his voice low and a little tremulous: “ Dolores.” She stood a glimmering figure in the dusk. He could net see her face. “Come out in the night, Dolores,” he said; “it is cool; it is pleasant. Besides, you should see the yellow moon.” She stepped out and stood. beside him. Still, he could not see her face, for the shadew of the hut struck aeross it. (To be continued NEXT WEEK.) (EO) OOK (C@)