Argosy, Vol. 120, No. 1 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

16 parings, and Burns saw a drop of water that was not from the pan splash on her hand. ‘“ It was the last one I brought you yesterday, Harry.” ' “You can chew my smoking at a pinch,” offered Dave. ‘‘ There’s quite a lot of it yet.” ‘* All right.” He began to pace the fivor, hands deep thrust in pockets and his oiled moccasins padding heavily. ‘‘ The spring drives will begin the first of the month, Dave, if the snow goes like it usually does. Three dollars a day and board for the best men!” “Yes,” agreed Burns. “I was thinking of that a little while ago.”’ ‘“Drat the luck! Six to ten weeks of work on the river, and a good time thrown in!” It was as much as to say, that he was not going and Burns, wondering, was about to ask him why when a second thought stopped the question. There was Molly. It had been just after the river work of the spring before that Stowe had brought her home and so the problem had not been faced before. Of course one of them would have to stay with. her—at least, that was the way it looked to Dave—and there was no doubt that it must be her husband. He knew many a man who left his wife to split wood and carry water, but it did not occur to him that Harry Stowe would his—not such a wife as he had. - “TJ won’t need much of my pay,’ said Dave, at length. ‘‘ Now [ got a home I won’t need it and I’ll send it along, Harry, every time we hit a post-office on the river.” “Hey?” Stowe halted and glared, al- though not in anger at Burns. His wrath was against fate. ‘‘ Nobody’s going to sup- port me!” -“ Why—why—” Dave did not know ex- actly how to deal with this unexpected turn, ‘“ Ain’t we partners?”’ Then Molly turned from the stove, where she had put the potatoes to boil, and laughed a ragged laugh. “Why, Dave! You've put in re vou’ve earned since I been here—you can’t keep on doing that!” “T got my pay back all right,” said Burns, ‘Don’t you cook and wash and THE ARGOSY. ~ mend for me? I ain’t been taken care of like that since I was knee-high to a grass- hopper and lived at home.” “ That don’t amount to anything!” This time her laugh was wrought with a little note of pleasure. ‘‘ That’s what I’m for, I guess!” “If I ain’t left out of this,” came rum- bling from Stowe, “I'll say I guess we are pardners! Same house, same grub, same traps, same wife, same—”’ “Harry!” Her utterance of his name was more poignant than a scream. It stopped him, and he and she faced each other, motionless. He _was too saturated with the sullen- ness of the discontent he had been nursing to feel the import of the moment—but it went to Burns, after a fashion. Dave knew that Molly had been given a wound that would leave a scar, although it might be ever so minute. He saw it in her hurt, blue eyes and in the slack muscles of her face. As for him, his first impulse was to cata- pult from his chair and strike down the in- solence of that outburst. Then the thought of the woman held him, and reason told him that Harry Stowe did not mean what his mouth had said. And it was so; for a deeper red than the snow and wind had given brushed Stowe’s face from chin ‘to forehead and his eyes fell before the com- bined gaze of wife and friend. ‘“‘ Aw, don’t get on your high horse!’’ he exclauned, apologetically. “I’m onlf talk- ing! It’s no joke to be kept off the river when we need money the way we do!” “You can go, Harry,” said his wife, very quietly. ‘You didn’t marry a doll!” “You can stay right here and work or the place,” put in Burns. ‘“ We’re pard- ners—and that goes for what I earn this spring!” Stowe swept his sheepskin coat from its peg and jabbed his arms into it. He put a hand to the door-latch. “TY won’t go in debt to nobody,” he mut- tered, and swung himself out into the driv- ing white curtain that flapped and sifted into the room before the door closed be- hind him. Dave and Molly looked at each other; GOMmlepoo (-) CO