The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

THE GOLD tered something in his own tongue, and drew the flat of his blade across his coat. “ He’s not dead, but that was close,” commented Jeffries, kneeling at Whip- ple’s side. “How about it, Jeffries?” came the stifled voiee of Tom Travis. An angry oath dropped from the foreman’s lips. “ Chombo and I will take care of this end of the deal,” he returned. “ Have you got the bag of bullion? ”’ 6¢ Yes.”’ “Then go to the horses and wait.” “What have you done to Whipple? You said there wasn’t to be any ”? “Will you get out of this?” inter- rupted the foreman hotly.. Tom turned away and vanished in the direction of the office. “Put up that knife, Chombo, and give me the ropes,” Jeffries continued, turning to the Mexican. Two stout cords were handed over, and while the foreman was binding the unconscious manager’s wrists and ankles, Chombo was scaling the side of Tank Ten. Sitting astride the rim, he reached down and caught the limp form under the arms as Jeffries lifted it up. A brief period of tugging and strain- ing followed, and then Whipple was roughly dropped to the bottom of the vat. “Now off to the horses with you, Chombo,” ordered Jeffries in a harsh undertone; “I can attend to the rest.” Chombo lowered himself to the ground with an ill-omened chuckle. Standing by the tank for a moment, he patted its rough side with his hand. “ Por Dios!” he breathed exultantly ; “the tank will finish the work, amtgo mi! Ah, ha! The tank is better than the knife.” Then he, too, made off in the direc- tion taken by Tom. Jeffries lost not a moment, but hur- ried to the closed valve that regulated the supply of cyanide solution for Tank Ten. With a savage jerk of the hand he opened it, then raced back and laid his ear against the brown staves. The gurgle of in-flowing waters, heavily laden with the “ White Death,”: could be distmetly heard. GLEANERS. 107 A curse burst from the foreman’s lips, and he struek the rounded side of the vat with his clenched fist. Nor did he linger after that, but fled away into the night. CHAPTER XV. HOW THE MANAGER ESCAPED THE “ WHITE DEATH.” ALL was quiet and peaceful in the (Jonzales home this night of the mur- derous attack on the manager ; neverthe- less, as the evening wore on there was some anxiety manifested by the madre. At forty the madre was an old wom- an; not so old that she was unable to attend to her household and her hoard- ers with the assistance of Teresa, but faded and declining, like all Mexicanas whose lot it is to blossom early. When young, she was as beautiful as her daughter; her olive cheeks as full and round as ‘Teresa’s, her eves as bright, her blue-black hair as lustrous, and her form as plump and graceful. Now she was thin and wizened, streaks of gray dulled the gloss of her hair, and only one last remnant of beauty lin- gered in her eyes. Also, she was more prone to anxieties than once she had been. The house capped a rise of ground, giving a view of the undulating hills on one side, and of the tanks and tailings piles on the other. From her sitting-room window the madre could look out through the dark- ness and catch the flitting gleam of the padre’s lantern. The padre, likewise, could see the glow from the sitting- room window until the lamps were turned out and his loved ones sought their rest. As he moved to and fro among the tanks, the padre was wont to cast fre- quent looks at the house on the hill, and often he would wave his lantern, know- ing full well that the madre came manv times for a glimpse of the twinkling light. She might sce the signal or she might not, but he took pleasure in giv- ing it as a proof that the little brown woman was ever In his thoughts. Now, on this fateful night a strange thing had befallen. A dozen times had the madre gazed from the sitting-room COME OO YN Ss) COL