The Argosy, Vol. XXV, No. 3 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

444 THE ARGOSY. blasted fool! A man with such a wife and such a child! / never owned either. He should have done better.’’ Then, as though ashamed of having said so much, he turned back to the tables. ‘‘T am sick of the whole business,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘ Here, you men, take your money and go home to your families—those of you who have families. You are a lot of thieves—yes, /hzeves, taking what belongs to those whose care you took upon yourselves—those to whom you owe care and shelter.’ As his voice rang out on the heavy air, the woman raised her head, as a horse does, hearing the familiar whistle of his master. She seized the boy’s hand and almost flew from the shed. Disregarding the sobbing pants of the breathless child, she tore on, then suddenly fell against a heap of stones at the side of the road. The boy tried to help her up, but in vain. She had fainted. He raised his childish voice and wailed loud and long. ‘‘Why, what’s the matter, littl man?’’ said a passerby. ‘‘ What’s happened ?”’ -‘* Tt is mother, sir. She’s fallen—she’s killed, I believe !’’ Big Fleming knelt down in the mud ; he lifted the woman in his strong arms. In the dim light, he noticed that where the mud stuck fast on her forehead a darker and wariner stream was gushing. Hastily calling to the child to follow, he strode back to the saloon. A few words to the bartender, and Anne was stretched out on the lounge in the warm, back room. Fleming knelt beside her, washing away the mud and blood, chafing her cold hands. They poured brandy down her throat, and in about half an hour she opened her big, blue eyes. The bartender had taken the child out into the kitchen ; the man F lem- ing and Anne were alone. He saw her eyes open and ieancd over her. ‘‘ Anne,’’ he whispered ; ‘‘ Anne, my old sweetheart—my good angel, speak to me !’’ ‘“Tom !’’? she cried. ‘' Zom/ Oh, this is the worst of all my sorrows ! You—you—whom I held to my heart as the one good man, the one bright spot of my dark life—you, now a desperate gambler, one who steals away the earnings of the poor, hardworking fools of the camp ; who takes bread from the children’s mouths ; wrecks the lives of their mothers !. Oh, my God ! my God! Have y ip 2? “Anne! Anne!’’ groaned Tom. ‘‘ Listen! It is notso bad as that. I have not been at this work more than a mouth. I went into it thoughtlessly. I began to win, to take everything I touched, and the excitement proved a boon to me—a boon to make me forget you! For ten long years I have wandered about the West, working, striking luck. I have plenty of gold. I do not need that of other men, but I went into this excitement to hide the hurt. Oh, Anne! Anne! You cannot know whatI have suffered at loss of you!’’ ‘‘T do know,’’ she sobbed. ‘‘ I judge by myself.” ‘Oh, little Anne! My good angel. I will go away from these holes, and I swear to you, as I would swear to the God to whom we sang in the old church at home, that never a card will I touch again. J’ll make restitution Eomicbooks (S)