The Argosy, Vol. XXIV No. 2 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

THE TRACK OF MIDNIGHT. 233 whether the inmate was prepared for the aitack? ‘To fire upon him as he crept up would be to alarm the remainder, while the flash of the rifle shot would at once locate the place where Wilton was hiding. On the other hand, if he were alone, there would be plenty of time anda better opportunity when he emerged from the hut, as he was sure to do di- rectly he discovered that Wilton was not within. Discretion was certainly the better part of valor, if either of these ideas were correct, and with his finger still on the trigger, Wilton moved his rifle slowly round so as to cover the advancing figure, and be ready to fire at any moment. He saw him reach the shadow of the veranda and stand up, and, as he did so, Wilton noticed that he was clothed. It was sufficient to tell him that the man was white, and an ugly suspicion crossed his mind. Warrigal had spoken of Midnight as being in the neighborhood, but what if he had been merely a spy sent forward by Midnight to learn ome many men there were in the hut? What if the man who was now at the door of the hut were Mid- -night himself? Wilton felt his heart leap at the thought. He could cover him directly he came from the hut, and fire when he was sure of his aim, and then with the great outlaw dead or wounded, he could claim from his neighboring squatters a recognition better even than that which he had already received. He lay, scarcely breathing, as he heard the hut door pushed gently open. Then an unbroken silence reigned, and he knew that the man, whoever he was, was creeping towards the stretcher where, under ordinary circumstances, he himself would be lying asleep. A shudder passed over him as he thought of his fate had he been in the hut, for he had little doubt now but that the man was bent upon assassination. And what resistance could he have offered had he been suddenly awakened to find an armed man standing over him, perhaps with the muzzle of a rifle pressed against his forehead, or the point of a dagger at his throat. Then came the sound of rapid footsteps from the interior of the hut, and, gripping his rifle tightly, Wilton watched for the man to reappear. The hut door grated as it was flung back, and just as the last of the moonlight flickered the ground, the man stepped from under the veranda and glanced round. Wilton felt his heart stop, and then beat and throb in the excitement of the moment, for there, barely fifty yards away, stood the unmistakable figure of Midnight. With his rifle aimed point blank at the broad chest of the outlaw, he pulled the trigger. The report of the shot sounded so loud to his overstrained nerves that he sprang up as he heard it, and so was able to see over the smoke that hung along the ground, able to see the bushranger stagger back, and hear the hoarse exclamation which broke {rom his lips. Wilton shouted in the ecstasy of victory as he leaped forward, pistol in hand, to challenge the man to surrender or die. But he had forgotten who his opponent was. As he came out of the shade of his protecting bushes, he saw Midnight raise his rifle. In the recklessness of the excitement which was upon him, Wilton aimed his pistol and pulled the trigger. here was a little flash and CORniclaoolks