Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 27, 1925 — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

$78 IC she had another chance she must strive to efface that hurtful impression. These thoughts went flashingly through her mind as the four figures slid in a silent cue along the narrow bar of shadow, turned the chinked corner of the house and entered its main room from the rear. There, inside, was yellow lamplight and Aunt Erie stood stiffly waiting. Covey Small went over to a chair and dropped healily into it. His face was stamped with an expression of acute suffer- ing which he was making no effort to dis- semble, and in Wade Murrell’s pupils glowered the darkness of a grim preoc- cupation. For a little space it seemed that no one wished to be first to break the silence, and when Enoch Wade assumed the rdle of spokesman he took up the task heavy heartedly. “TJ reckon thar hain’t no use ter make no idle pretenses, Covey,” he said. “I reckon we all seed right plain what ye had hit in head ter do out thar. We kin make a right shrewd guess fer why ye doffed yore hat an’ showed vore face ter ther la'rel—fer why ye raised up yore voice so quick an clear—fer why ye stood thar stock still with yore features turned up ter ther moon-sparkle.” He paused, and there was no answer. The man in the chair appeared to bend lower as if years had been all at once added to the weight of age on his shoulders, and the speaker went on, forcing his words gravely: “ Ve reeco’nized thet hit warn’t no Skid- more layin’ out thar—hid in ther bresh with a riflegun, Covey— Ye reeco’nized the right likely whosoever hit war, he wouldn't seek ter shoot at you—I hed ther same notion, too— Thet’s why I tarried a minute—ter make sure.” Covey Small came to his feet with an effort. His voice was tortured. “Es God jedges me,” he expostulated. “J don’t know naught more—for dead sure —than what either one of you knows! Es God jedges me, I don’t!” ‘No, Covey,” the answer was sober, and as Enoch made it, Wade Murrell stood silent with folded arms and a troubled face. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. aw ‘No right-thoughted man wouldn’t sus- picion ye of a dastardly thing like thet. But yit we could see what ye suspicioned. We couldn’t holp seein’ hit. “Ye’ve done contended yore boy didn’t hev no real harm in him—yit when thet shoot was shot—ye periled yore own life ter stand out thar betwixt Wade an’ ther gun— Yore suspicion was strong enough fer thet—an’ ye sought ter protect each one from t’other. “Ef so be hit war anybody else save only yore own boy, ye tuck a right* gay chanst of dyin’ when ye jumped-out thar an’ stood like a livin’ target-board— Ye hed thet much suspicion, seems like.” Covey Small had no words for reply. He only groaned again. “We kin see ye’re right sore-hearted, Covey,” went on Enoch, “ an’ so be we. Atter all we don’t know fer dead sartain- sure thet hit was Daws layin’ out thar seek- in’ ter slay Wade— We don’t know it— an’ yit we don’t know naught ter contrary thet mistrust—an’ we kin see hit’s a mis. trust ye shares yore own self.” } He drew himself up and turned his face toward his nephew. “Dm still holdin’ ye ter be ther head man of ther Murrells, Wade,” he said, “ but seein’ es how this shoot was shot at you, I’m shiftin’ this matter ter my own shoul- ders?” Wade nodded silently, and in a tone of judgment his uncle continued: “ We hain’t a goin’ ter seek no evidence erginst yore boy, Covey—an’ we knows thar hain’t no man livin’ more plumb trustworthy than what ye be yore own self. So we looks ter ye ter run this matter down an’ handle hit fer us. Ye’re ther one body thet kin compass hit—an’ ef ye finds thet hit was Daws thet shot thet shoot, then Daws has got ter go away—an’ stay away. We passes hit right up ter you with full trust an’ confidence.” Covey Small moved forward. The tall figure that had been as self-reliant and statuesque as that of a sagamore out there, when he faced the hidden rifle, moved now with a shambling uncertainy of nerve and muscle, but his eyes were as grateful as 8 dog’s. “ Hit’s es much es I kin rightfully ask,” GOMIGDOOo C SS Co