Argosy, Vol. 120, No. 1 — page 139: what you’re looking at

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

AN: HOUR OF DAYLIGHT. squinting up the fat around his keen, pig- like eyes in vast amusement. As he did so he lowered his hands, and extending the right, stepped forward. ‘“‘ My narne’s Lacey—Pete Lacey. Don’t know who you are; needn’t tell if you don’t want to, but that gun-play’s no way to welcome the only other white man in three hundred miles.” He laughed again, and his tone was wholesome and confidence mspiring; but his blue eyes gimleted into the other like lighted candles. “ Put Bessie up and shake,” he said. “I’m friends.” Bardwell lowered the gun, but did not move. ‘Where you headed for?” he insisted slowly. ‘‘ It’s late; you’re way off the trail.” A crafty gleam had stolen into his face, and he spoke thoughtfully. Although the newcomer had never seen him before, he caught the look. and catalogued it. ““So’re you, stranger. Welcome to it and no questions asked.” He slitted one fat eye with jocose significance. “ If perhaps you're a mite leery; if.so happen that you’ve got reasons for not wanting to be bothered by strangers dropping in like this just now, let me whisper to you. When I pulled out, some weeks back, I didn’t leave a forward- ing address with the postmaster myself; clean forgot it, I was in such a hurry. “Perhaps we’ve got things in common between us, perhaps not. Doesn’t matter. All I want now is fire, feed, bunk till moon- up; hit her again if it don’t snow too hard. And if you happen to need any little thing for supper, I’ve got a few small extra snacks out there. What say, stranger, will you start that fire or will I?” Bardwell said nothing and made no ges- ture to accept the proffered hand. But he put away his gun, moyed forward slowly, as if he were still pondering, and began to lay paper. and kindlings in the stove. At that the big man went out to unharness his team. After he had finished, they sat down to supper, nine-tenths of the grub, as well as the whisky, being from off the visitor’s sled. As for the liquor, Lacey had put out a pair of bottles, one for each. To Bardwell it was nectar, utter bliss, heaven on earth. For weeks he had parched after it. Before 9 Arcosy 129 the other had fairly commenced on his, sip- ping temperately, he had guiped it down and begged for more. Smiling queerly, Lacey produced it from beneath his coat. There followed a second and then a third; there followed a sea of perfect happiness, passing off into restless hours of oblivion, punctured by two things only that were stable: Lacey’s eyes. — It was three days after this, and one and a quarter after the moment that Bardwell’s consciousness had painfully awakened to the truth, that having formed a plan, he went round and knocked civilly at-the big man’s door. Lacey admitted him at once, and without referring to anything that had passed, of- fered him a stool by the stove and a cigar. Bardwell accepted the second, but declined the first. He showed the effects of his debauch. He was bearded more frowzily than ever; he was disheveled and blear- eyed. Lacey, as usual, was smooth-faced as a baby; his hair was carefully brushed, and a clean flannel shirt was open at the neck. He Stood by the stove, his hands behind him, sucking at his noisy pipe and waiting for Bardwell to speak. “See here, Lacey,” Bardwell broke out abruptly, “ there’s something else I want to talk about. You got more grub than you can use, and I’m cleaned out. I told you that. I want you to hand some over. You owe it for taking my house away from me. Besides, you make me miserable. You've no right to come in here and do things to trouble me.” ‘““How do I maké you miserable?’ de- manded Lacey judicially, putting his foot on the stove and drawing at his cigar. ‘“ Only half the room I had.” Lacey blew the smoke ceilingward. “As much as you can use—as much as 1 have.” “But I was here first. Suppose there was a dozen more, and they all acted the same as you. I’d be thrown out into the snow. Would that be right?” Lacey grinned. ‘Well, I'll reserve that,” he said. “ Go on; what else?” “T hate the sound of your fiddle.” “Your own fault. bows that you’ve GOMIIG OOO S CO@