Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

FLIGHT TO be silenced her. She felt all afloat in un- stable and strange waters. “ T stopped hyar afore I went down inter thet highway,” he told her, “ because I aimed ter make ve understand me if so be I could. Ye kin crawl back thar inter ther bed of this jolt-wagon afore we turns outen this trail, if ye’ve a mind ter do hit. Thar’s some hay in thar that I was totin’ along fer ther critters an’ thar’s a kinderly kiver thar thet ye kin pull up over ye. Nobody hain’t ergoin’ ter meddle round peerin’ inter this jolt-wagon whilst I sets on ther box. “Tm a right ignorant sort of a man- person, but someways I’ve done tutored myself. I knows some law. No sheriff ner deputy, ner yit no milishyman kain’t stick his nose inter my jolt-wagon without he shows me a s’arch warrant—an’ hit’s got ter be a plum legal s’arch warrant. So long as we fares along that road an’ so long as ye stays outen sight inside thar, I reckon ye kin feel tol’able safe. When we gits ter Cowbell Mounting, I reckon them officers ye dreads won’t skeercly find ye.” The young woman with the bobbed head and the absurd Broadway finery leaned for- ward and laid a trembling hand on his forearm. “Why do you do these things for me?” she asked. ‘Why do you take this trouble?” ‘““ Mebby I’ve done been in trouble myself afore now,” he answered. ‘‘ Mebby I’ve done needed friends ter hide me out, an’ then ergin—” He stopped suddenly and his voice changed. ‘ Mebby,” he added, “I’m jest aimin’ ter beguile ye twell I gits ye out thar in them hills whar ye kain’t defend yoreself erginst me.” “The funniest thing about it,” she de- clared, ‘is that I’m not worrying about that last thing. I did for a minute, but that’s over. You're a good scout.” ‘All right, then, I reckon we kin start onward,” suggested Murrell. ‘So soon es ye’ve done laid down in ther jolt-wagon.” As the girl started to climb back he added slowly: | ‘Ye hain’t give me no name ter call ye by yit, an’ hit’s kinderly handy ter know a body’s name. “It’s Cynthia—” THE HILLs. a01 Before she could finish he stopped her. ‘Hold on,’ he enjoined. ‘* Sometimes when a person finds hit wuth while ter change from one dwellin’ place ter another fer reasons thet’s th’ar own business, hit’s kinderly thoughted ter change names es well es places. What I don’t know I kain’t tattle erbout—even ef I gits swore on ther Bible. Stop an’ study a minute afore ye gives me any name at all—an’ whilst ye’re erbout hit ye mout jest es well think up a pretty one.” ‘Call me Cynthia Stokes,” she said, laughing in spite of herself. Because she was suddenly enveloped in a sense of secure protection, she laughed without restraint, and the man thought it a musical sound. She was back now in the covered wagon, stretched at Jength on sweet smelling hay with a tarpaulin where, at need, it could be drawn up to cover her from head to heel. Wade Murrell handed a bulky something back to her. ‘Ye mout put thet under yore head fer a pilow,” he said. ‘‘ Them’s my saddle- bags, but be kinderly heedful not ter lose ‘em outen ther jolt-wagon because thar’s thirty thousand dollars inside ’em.”’ CHAPTER V. IN OUTLANDER GARB. NCE the wagon had toiled down the rough declivity and turned into the white road, it lumbered along with less bone racking, and with the bed of hay under her, Cynthia Meade’s tired body re- laxed. For awhile, each flare from the Jamps of a passing car caused her to start into fresh wakefulness and palpitation. But the motors always swept by without paus- ing, and that anxiety gradually dulled until she found herself growing drowsy. At length, she heard a seemingly strange, shrill voice crooning a song, and half sat up with a start. She had not yet learned how these mountain people, when they sing, change into thin minors that are almost falsetto, or with what a weird sadness they resort to minstrelsy. But she assured herself it was only Wade Murrell, and she settled back again, letting CO DOOKS