Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

THROW to pay a purty high price to escape from. And that’s entirely up to you. Its a ht- era! question of to die or not to die, and I cain't rightly help you to decide.” Margery Corbin stared in anguish frem one man to the other. Red Wilpin, under the tan, was pale, and his eyes were of a deeper blue than she had ever seen them. She knew that every sense was alert; that his hair-trigger mind was acutely sensitive to all that was taking place in the room— the arrangement of a seat behind the bar for Judge Oglethorpe, the disposition of a chair against an outside wall for a witness stand and of a cluster of chairs nearby for the several witnesses; the undercurrent of impatience that still ebbed in a flow of mur- murs amongst the crowd; the imminence of heavily armed men near by—significantly near by—who would shoot Red Wilpin in his tracks at the slightest suspicious move. She knew that he was sensitively aware of all this, and she marveled at his coolness, his audacity in the face of it. And from him she stared at Julius Yost. The eyes of the Easterner, always so murky, were aglow with a meaningful fire; and a familiar smile of cynical amusement was twisting his pale, thin, cruel lips. He saw that she was gripped with indecision and doubt, and he was quick to profit there- by. ‘“Remember, dear heart, what I’m offer- ing to you, many other nice little girls have been delighted to accept. And it isn’t so distasteful, you know—a luxurious apart- ment with every modern convenience, your own French maid, your own limousine and Japanese chauffeur, the very latest Parisian gowns, jewels by the quart, an unlimited allowance, travel to strange and _ fascinat- ing lands, all the new plays, the opera, fine horses if you care for horses, a yacht per- haps, and, in addition, the loving care of a husband who will adore you to the tips of your little pink toes!” ‘“ And against that,’ Red Wilpin put in, ‘hangin’ by yore neck from a cottonwood tree until you’re daid enough to be shot full of holes by these yere desert rats, hoss thieves, cattle rustlers, scarlet women, and so on.” ‘ But—but,” the poor girl stammered, UP YOUR HANDS. 549 ‘you don’t mean that you want to marry me, do you, Mr. Yost?” ‘The dilettante chuckled. ‘I am not the marrying kind, as I told you this morning. But—yes, 1 will marry you!” The girl wrung her hands. Hell’s De- light was a garish blur through her tears. ‘Ts there no other choice?” she wailed. ‘“] don’t want to marry you!” ‘“And there’s mighty little time left,” Julius said curtly, “ to make up your mind. Court is going to be called to order very Shortly. Speak up, my dear! What is it to be—a life of ease and contentment and luxury—or a violent death at the end of a rope and then--a nameless grave?” Despairingly she looked from the face of one man to the face of the other. Red Wil- pin’s lips were set in a thin line. His ex- pression betrayed not the slightest emotion. His eyes were fixed upon some object across the room. It was as if he were not in the least concerned with the momentous deci- sion with which she was confronted. It was, Indeed, as if she had ceased to exist for him. And from his expressionless visage she glanced at Julius Yost. His smile was no longer cynical, but gentle and tender; and his brown eyes were warm with affection and hope. “Think, my dear, think!”’ he counseled her. “ But make your choice quickly. Is it to be my loving arms and the luxuries and peace my fortune can afford you—or a disgraceful death and a nameless grave?” Suddenly Hell’s Delight was filled with a reverberant pounding as Judge Oglethorpe, seated on a pile of soap boxes on which a chair was mounted behind the bar, ham- mered with the butt of an automatic pistol. . “Order in the court!” he thundered. ‘ Quick!” cried Julius. Margery Corbin threw back her head and drew in a long breath. She flung out a hand toward the witness stand. } ‘“Go up there,” she panted, “and he yourself black in the face, you despicable coward! I prefer to die! Larry, I’d rather hang than surrender to him. I love you and —I’m not afraid to die!” The indifference of Red Wilpin had sud- denly vanished. An uprush of crimson CO OO