The Argosy, November 1908 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

AN ELUSIVE LEGACY. fingers for a comb, was surprised to find how really fit he did feel. ‘Tt’s this mountain air, I suppose,” he ruminated.. “And, Jove, what an appetite it does give a chap by the way! I won’t do a thing to the first eating-joint I strike! But before that I must attend to business.”’ : And with a self-restraint worthy of a Spartan, he drew up his belt a couple of holes and turned his face away from the tempting flesh-pots of Verdee toward the mysterious ravine. Nor did the investigation of this prove any light task. In the first place, he had to make a wide détour down the moun- tainside to get to it, in order to avoid observation from the smelter; and after he got close by he felt it further incum- bent upon him to get down on his stomach and wriggle through a dense and mosquito-ridden underbrush. These latter precautionary measures were undertaken in deference to his recollection of certain exploits in the “yellow-back” literature of his youth, and he persisted manfully at them until fhe had reached the ravine and found out what he wanted; but when it came to leaving in the same fashion his spirit re- belled. ‘“There’s evidently nobody on watch around here,” he grumbled. ‘“ What's the use of my going through all this tom- foolery a second time and being stung to death by those pesky gnats, merely in order to pretend I am doing something venturesome ?”’ Thus it was that a somnolent moun- taineer, reclining behind some bushes on a farther slope, chanced a few minutes later to have his attention attracted by an unwonted commotion among the sap- lings at the head of the ravine, and, con- tinuing to stare earnestly in that direction, was ‘presently rewarded by seeing Behan come skulking out of the woods and take the trail toward town. There was a shorter cut from where the mountainecr lay to the trail, inter- cepting it close by the smelter; so Dick had not long passed that point before the other was practically upon his heels. The fellow seemed so unconcerned, however, so utterly bucolic, that the pho- tographer never for a moment thought of suspecting him, and, quite at ease, 627 proceeded on his way until he reached the village and the Palace Hotel. Five or ten minutes later the moun- taineer likewise strolled into the office of that hostelry, which was also the bar, and, jerking his head in greeting to the pro- prietor, inquired nonchalantly: ‘Takin’ to feedin’ tramps now, Jack? I seen one jest come in.”’ ‘“‘ He ain’t no tramp,” indignantly pro- tested the proprietor. ‘“‘ Guess you ain’t on to the latest fashionable wrinkles down East, Lank Rake. That air gent is on a walkin’ tower fer the benefit of his health an’ in order to enj’y the scenery.” “Jest so,” scoffingly. ‘I seen a bunch of the same kind ahoofin’ it down the rail- road track yesterday—fer the benefit of their health an’ in order to enj’y the scenery. Gosh, Jack, 1 thought you'd been too long in the business to have a hobo trick like that turned on you. The feller’s simply playin’ to beat you out of his grub an’ a shack fer the night.” The other raised his eyebrows in su- percilious disdain. ‘“No need to strain yerself to look out fer my welfare, Lank,” he observed dryly. ‘I ain’t a sayin’ but what looks may be agin the young feller, him havin’ lost the trail an’ got mixed up with some scrub-oak a comin’ across the mounting ; but as it happens, them four-flush sur- mises of your’n is beat by these four deuces,’’ opening his cash-drawer to show four two-dollar bills, “ which said stran- ger hands over to me in liquidation of his board an’ keep. Hoboes, so fur as my observation goes, ain’t in the habit of payin’ in advance fer the best room in my house, nor of demandin’ a bath, which at present is heatin’ fer Mr. Behan in the b’iler on the kitchen-stove.”’ Even the mountaineer’s skepticism had to give way before such an accumulation of evidence. He covered his defeat by motioning with his head toward one of the bottles behind the bar, and as he filled his glass repeating questioningly, “Mr. Behan?” “Yes,\Mr. Richard Behan, of New York City,” pushing forward a dog-eared register which lay at one end of the counter. ‘‘ Thar it is,’ and the landlord pointed out Dick’s hastily scribbled sig- nature; ‘‘an’ here it is ag’in, on a telly- gram which he give me to send,” pro- Comicbooks.Com