The Argosy, November 1908 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

614 den spasm of fury, ‘‘ that you will escape with your booty. I will denounce you to Parana. He will see to it that Senor Ulysse Gaspado, the clever, the able, the promising young statesman, meets the same punishment as the meanest sneak- thief from the streets.” In a tempest of rage she swept out of the room, shouting for her coachman, leaving Gaspado dazed and motionless, as if stunned by her outburst. But his stubborn Flemish blood soon helped him to rally from the shock, and before Sefiora Dacosta had roused her sleepy servants from their midday siesta, her disappointed lover was galloping swiftly homeward, alert and ready to meet this sudden change in his affairs. Gaspado was too shrewd a man to have only one string to his bow, and he had foreseen the possibility that his way to Europe might be barred. The alternative was to strike direct across country to the neighboring republic of San Jerome, where he would be safe, and whence he could easily take an east-bound steamer. He would make for the frontier of Los Diablos, where the new railway crossed the American-built trestle-bridge over the Blanco River into San Jerome. Once on the other side, he could laugh at pursuit, and then for Paris and the delights of civilization. It was characteristic of the man that he did not mourn for his lost love as he rapidly assumed the disguise he had pre: pared, and stuffed the crisp English notes and rustling American bills into a thick leather wallet. Ulysse Gaspado was never one to cry over spilt milk. Sefiora Dacosta’s coachman was lazy, and her horses were fat; so that, at the very moment when bland clerks were assuring the indignant lady that it was out of the question to see Senor Parana at that hour, but that she might apply to his secretary, Senor Gaspado, an unpre- tentious little man with gray hair and whiskers trotted briskly out of the town in the direction of San Jerome on a horse that might perhaps have seemed rather too good for so humble a traveler. As the splendid animal settled into his stride for the fifty-mile journey, Gaspado thanked the saints not only for his escape, so far successful, but also for having re- THE ARGOSY. vealed to him in time the absurd and uncompromising honesty of the lady he might have married. ‘And to think,” he muttered, “that her late husband was also a politician! No wonder the poor man is dead. Who would have imagined that she would have behaved like that? She did seem so in- telligent.” _ With a sigh of wonder at the strange- ness Of women, he dismissed the subject and devoted himself to pleasant dreams of a glorious future in the capitals of the Old World. The town of Los Diablos was on the other side of the Blanco River. Two miles this side of the river there was a small station, then the line of the railroad swept up in a great curve to the new trestle-bridge which spanned the foaming torrent. Though Gaspado did not expect that he would be traced, he prudently avoided the station, and, dismounting shortly be- yond it, unsaddled his weary horse and sat stifly down to consume a _ hurried meal, preparatory to walking over the bridge into San Jerome. It was now half past ten o’clock, and there would be a train an hour before midnight. The heat had been followed by thunder and torrential rain, which soaked him to the skin, and the flooded stream roared loud in his ears as he plodded wearily round the curve of the track on to the bridge. .. He had gone only a few yards when - his foot slipped on the wet planking and he fell full length across the rails. He lay half stunned for a moment, and then tried to get up. He could not rise; his leg seemed caught. He struggled to move, in vain; the foot was gripped tight between the timbers. He made a strong effort, raising him- self on his hands and pushing with his other leg, but failed utterly, and sank down breathless. Supposing he could not get loose; he would miss the train. The train! Good Heaven, he lay right in its path! The thought set him wrenching madly again at his imprisoned leg, fighting, sob- bing, tearing at the slippery wood in an agonized strain upon every muscle in his body. comicloooks.conn