The Argosy — page 309: what you’re looking at

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

Within their Gates. 293 “‘There’s nothing for it but to wait until somebody comes by who can direct me,” he said to himself. ‘ And I don't think I need push on so very exhaustingly,” he added. ‘Surely this place is remote enough. It seems to be the fag-end of a desolate wilderness.” The tree stood on the strip of green that bordered the highway. He put his back against the trunk, and in a few minutes was asleep from sheer weariness. An hour later he still slept—doubled up now in a curious position, with his head on the moss-cushioned root of the tree—when the stillness of the road was broken by the roll of wheels and the tramp of a horse’s feet. The sounds might have been heard for a minute, or two before the cause of them appeared. Then a white-faced horse came into sight, proceeding at a sedate trot and drawing a large gig, in which a middle-aged man and a young woman were seated. The former looked like a substantial farmer; no doubt was one; he had a strongly-marked, intelligent face and iron-grey hair. The girl was pretty and blooming, plain in dress, lady-like in appearance, very quiet in manner. She had untied her bonnet, so warm was the evening, and sat with an elbow on the wing of the gig, and one dark- gloved hand pressing her face thoughtfully. In the approaching gloom of the evening neither of them observed that dark object under the tree, with his valise lying beside him; but the horse, passing close to it, chose to be startled. He shied, and darted off sideways across the road. “Whoa !—Steady !—What is the matter with you, Billy?” cried the farmer, pulling sharply at the reins. “Some one is lying down there,” whispered the girl. The start of the horse, the noise of the driver, conspired to awaken the sleeper. He sprang to his feet and stared at the cause of the interrup- tion ; a curious look of alarm, a quiet alertness, in every line of his face. “Who are you? What on earth are you doing there?” growled the farmer, vexed at the contretemps. ‘‘ Do you see you have frightened my horse?” “I beg your pardon,” said the young man, haughtily. ‘ How was I to know that a sleeping man would frighten your horse? I sat down here to wait until I could meet with some one who would inform me whither these different roads lead.” “They lead to several places—none of them very near at hand,” answered the farmer, still indulging in a steady stare at his interlocutor. “Night is coming on apace. May I ask how you are travelling ?” “T am travelling on foot—taking a walking tour,” answered the young man, curtly. “Where do you come from?” “That is not of any consequence. But I like to know-where I am going. Whither will ‘iat road take me?” r2e0 ty 4OOR| comicbooks.com