Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

THROW UP YOUR HANDS. dyin’ by slow degrees, stranger. I came yere to fetch him whisky t’ ease his suf- ferin’s. I promised him t’ come straight back. Yere’s th’ whisky, on my hip!” And he slapped the hip in question. ‘Th’ only thing whut made me stay yere was th’ chance of seein’ Red Wilpin and his gal swing from that cottonwood. My pal’s a dyin’. Mebbe th’ whisky would save him. Now I’m torn and rended with in- decision. Shall I stay yere on the chance that they’ll hang Red Wilpin and his gal— or shall I hit th’ old trail and carry th’ whisky t’ my pal? Whut shall I do, pardner?”’ The one-eved cattle rustler thwacked him on the nearest shoulder-blade. “Stay and see th’ trial, of coss! You and me’ll drink th’ whisky, and in th’ mornin’ we'll go out and give yore old pal a decent buryin’.” “Ya'll promise to go with me?” the prospector said sternly. ‘¢ Shore!” They shook hands. Such was the char- acter of the men before whom Red Wilpin and Margery Corbin were about to go on trial for their lives. ‘ Jest the same,” the prospector growled, “it ain’t nothin’ but a plumb waste of time.”’ Belle had overheard this last. ‘ Be yore- self,” she said indignantly. ‘“ Ain’t ya yere t? see some fun? Ain’t th’ gal and her lad a goin’ to swing In th’ end? And ain’t she a goin’ to suffer up to the bitter end? Jest watch her wiggle and squirm, boys. Look at her eyes now. Ain’t they jest blank with fright and terror and fear? And look how pale and weak she is! Boys, this is a goin’ to be one big night in Hell’s Delight!” What the dance hall girl had said of Mar- gery Corbin was cruelly true. She was not inured to hardships; the day in the moun- tains had been a trying one physically, and the last half hour had been harrowing. She was delicate, almost fragile, and it did not seem possible that she could keep her chin up and her shoulders back any longer. But the flame of courage was re-awakened in her large dark eyes when Red Wilpin spoke. “I’m proud of you, Margie. I never knew a gal could be so brave. Keep right D47 on lookin’ ’em in the eye, honey. We're goin’ t’ swing, but nobody can say we died yaller. How’s the little ole upper lip?” “* Stiff,” she said in a brave little voice. The voice of Julius Yost sounded slur- ringly in her ears. “Well, my dear,” he said with his cynically amused smile, “ things are be- ginning to look darker and darker, aren’t they?” ‘I’m not afraid to die!” she cried. “Ah, yes, I know, I know, the little martyr going bravely to her doom and all that. But it may not seem quite so pleas- ant when they place that hard, prickly rope about your soft white throat. Martyrdom is a graceful gesture, my dear, but is kick- ing and writhing at the end of a rope for a final breath of air so graceful—while a mob of horse thieves and painted women hoot and jeer and laugh? Think, my dear, think!” She wrung her small white hands. ‘““Oh, why do you torture me so?” she whimpered. ‘“ Aren’t you satisfied with what you’ve done? When your mother called me a shameless little gold digger, and declared that I had been trying to steal your love, why didn’t you speak up as a real man would have done and tell her that I had tried and tried and tried to make you keep away from me?” He only smiled at her. “And why,” she wailed, ‘“ when she accused me of attempted mur- der—of pushing you from the cliff—why didn’t you speak then? You know you walked off the cliff of your own accord. If I had not gone with Larry Wilpin when he held up the stage you would have permitted her to put me in prison in Rattlesnake Junction!” “Are you so sure?” he said gently. “‘Wouldn’t you?” she gasped. “It depended entirely upon you, my dear. I had made a friendly little sugges- tion that you were to meet me in San- Francisco—”’ “Oh, you beast!” ‘And now,” he said, still smiling, “ you are going to hang! How sad, how un- utterably tragic!” ““You—you cad!” COMIcloo S C@