Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 4, 1922 — page 144: what you’re looking at

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

454 “Yes. The fight is finished. There is nothing more to call us back on this side of the divide. My job’s finished, and we can ride on now. We are free.” They mounted their horses, and took the long trail over the shoulder of the .divide. As they wound down on the western slope the keen night wind brought a fresh whiff of buckeye and mesquite. Another hour’s ride brough them to the country of pinon grass and drouth-resisting forage. Here they found a sheep-herder’s hut on the scarp of one of the lower mesas. Quade’s wound was properly washed and dressed. For supper the wizen little herder brought out a pot of Mexican beans and a jug of wine. Both the visitors ate hun- grily. After the meal they rested for a ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. while outside, drinking in the pure cool air and gazing far down into the valley which they were to traverse together. Presently they could see a flock of sheep browsing on the fall of hillocks. The herder came out and stood behind them. “You never saw a better flock than that,” he said, as he puffed up a spark in his pipe. ‘“ You see, that flock has never been molested by rustlers or cow-men. Can’t raise sheep over in the range you just been ridin’. There’s a big boss there called Smoo Taurog—as maybe you know. Keeps sheepmen out. But this side of the divide we never hear of Taurog.”’ The girl turned her face toward Ouade as the herder concluded: ‘‘ And we never hear of Taurog’s gang, We’re free here.” (The end.) her room and peered out. Even the light from a heavily shaded lamp made her blink uncertainly. She had dressed in the dark. She wore her hat and coat and carried a traveling bag in one hand. In the other she had her shoes. The hall seemed endless as she tiptoed down its length. She held her breath as she passed the doors behind in which the family slept. The stairs were broad and massive, and ] ‘secon pushed open the door of "Helen A. Holden made no protest to her light tread. She had almost reached the bottom when a noise brought her to a sudden stop. She sank quickly to the step, holding her breath as she glanced back along the way she had jusst come. There was no one in sight, and all again was quiet. She decided it must have been the slamming of a door by a careless maid in another part of the house. Getting quickly to her feet again, she fled down the few remaining steps. A few COMmMiCMoolks.Gonmn