The Argosy, Vol. XXV, No. 3 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

464 THE ARGOSY. ing sun lighted a scene of desolation and of solitude. I asked myself, ‘‘ What of the man, what of the camp?’’ ‘The music of the torrent was my answer. ‘‘ When the sun sets you will have ceased to live.’’ I repeated the words, laughing at them, yet unable to silence them in my ears. I was but thirty years of age, and misfortune had left my hunger for life unsatisfied. Whatif the rising sun of tomorrow shone down upon my grave? ‘The mystery of our end would be a mystery to me no longer. A trench cut in the hills would be my bed ; the water soaking through the soil my meat and drink. And I had left England for this. For this the gipsy girl had led me through the mountains—that I should be shot down by a “man whose name I did not know at the dawn of day. ‘Rage at my impotence, at the grotesque folly which had brought me to such a place, came upon me asa fever. ‘‘I will not die,’’ I said. And then I laughed aloud, saying, ‘<A jest, a jest.” | The red light vanished from the pine woods; the sky was no longer aflame with crimson radiance; the misty grays of night began to gather over the mountains. ‘‘ The sun will set in ten minutes,’’ I said. Yet no one came to me. Silence reigned in the woods; I could hear no step upon the moss without. As the minutes were numbered, I began to watch the passing of - the day with a sick man’s fear of the darkness. Five minutes—ten minutes! No longer a cap of light upon the snows abeve. A little spell of waiting— and still I stood alone ! From this time I shut my eyes and began to count the minutes. ‘‘ It will be dark in five minutes—in ten,’’ I said. When next I looked out toward the woods a file of men stood before the gate anda priest was unlocking the door. ‘The hour had come, then ; the man had not jested. I drew my cloak around me and turned to the priest. After all, I was a soldier and had been with death before that day. ‘‘ Hxcellency,’’ said the old man, advancing into the prison and laying a gentle hand upon my arm, ‘‘ you know why I have come here ?”’’ ‘‘T know nothing,’’ I said. He shook his head. ‘You are of our blessed faith ?’’ he asked. ‘‘T am an Englishman, and have English friends.’’ ‘You would listen to me if I speak to you?”’ ‘« By all means, if you have anything to tell me; though why I should listen to you, God knows.”’ ‘You shall listen to me because you are going to die.’’ ‘‘In that case we waste time. I ask only one favor—be quick with it.”’ He raised his hands as though to say, ‘‘ It is not my work.’’ I remember that his benign and kindly face was the only face I saw when they tied a bandage round my eyes and set my back against the wall. Of other recollec- tions I have few. It isin my memory that I felt behind me with my Hands to be sure that I stood quite close to the rock. My dread of falling face downward when the bullets struck me was childish. Max Pemberton. (TO BE CONTINUED. ) Eomicbooks (<(0)