Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

“arr Sf yf r Daisies cin 14 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. He leaned forward in his chair, his hands like claws, clutching at the arms, winding about the wood, tearing at it. “Yo’re afraid of men, and yo’re afraid of animals, yo’re afraid of the round-up, an’ yo’re afraid of the sight of blood. In all the years you’ve lived, I’ve never seen you shoot a gun. In all the time you’ve spent on the range, I never seen when you acted like a man. “A woman, that’s what you are. Why, you’ve got the hands of a woman. Look at them.” - He stretched out a claw and grasped one of David’s slim, firm hands. “Smooth and shapely as a girl’s!” he cried. ‘“ An’ clean of the mark of any man’s work. You got a woman’s face, an’ a woman’s heart. A chicken heart, afraid of blood or powder smoke. “Like a woman you come to me this mornin’ and whimper agenst the fear of fightin’. Do you think I made the place I have without fight? D/’you think that the range hands a man his livin’ on a silver platter? D’you think men can live without - others die? “No. You got to crawl for them, an’ whine for them. An’ God, it’s a fine sort of man you whine for. Preest, a gunman and a thief!” ““There’s a law to deal with him,” said David. He was eying his father with a strange, dark gaze. He seemed to brood upon a problem which in his mind he could not solve. “I’m not afraid,” he added. “No. Yo’re not afraid,” sneered his father. ‘“ When the boys ride out to the round-up you skulk at home with the women.” “ The round-up’s cruel,” said the boy. Parmelee lurched forward in his chair, seeming as though he would throw himself upon the youth. “Cruel as a man is to a man!” he snarled. ‘ That’s what a man must be. When I came out to this country, there was no law here then. The range belonged to the strongest, an’ I had to fight like a wolf fights with the pack to win my place an’ to hold it. “ D’you suppose I’m goin’ to let the law take that away from me now? D’you sup- pose a louse of a cattle thievin’ coyote can come an’ take away the things I have fought for and worked for an’ torn out of the desert with bare teeth? An’ then I’m to let the law take care of him.” His voice arose of its own impetus to a terrible discordant level where it rasped on restrained with savage resolution from the frenzy which boiled in the heart of the man. He was pouring out a burden which his-mind had _ carried overlong. ‘“Yo’re my son! An’ you grovel for a horse thief more yellow than he’d be ashamed to show. David! That’s a fine name for a thing like you. David killed Goliath, didn’t he? He fought with a giant, didn’t he. An’ he tore the big man down, an’ ripped his head from his shoulders, an’ waved it, bloody, in the face of his enemies. By God, that’s funny, that is! And yo’re named David. You, who’re afraid of a puppy’s squeal!’ “No,” said David, “ I’m not afraid.” “It was yo’re mother gave you that name. She wasn’t much better. She didn’t no more belong in a country like this, than a Kentucky filly belongs on the open range. “She shrank when the guns went off. She paled at the sight of pain. And she sickened an’ died. It was her that called you David. She was strong on the Bible, an’ such. David!” He gasped con- temptuously. “T suppose if a man struck you in the face, you’d turn the other cheek, wouldn’t you? You'd lick his hand if he struck you, wouldn’t you?” “No,” said David, “I wouldn’t.” He hadn’t changed his position. He stood with his face darkened by the peculiar brooding in his eyes. He gazed on his father with a strange intensity. When Parmelee had spoken of his moth- er, a glint of flame had appeared in his eyes and in his cheek. But his smooth, brown face remained calm, his satin skin unruf- fled. He stood with his hands at his side and listened to the aroused man in silence. “ You wouldn’t!” Parmelee leaned for- ward, his eyes alight with anger. ‘‘ You’d run away! That’s what you’d do!” His voice changed, ringing with a deeper dis- sonance. “ An’ time comes heavy on me. The work I’ve done an’ the fightin’ press me Gomichbooks (E@)