Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 218: what you’re looking at

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

AN AFRICAN SECRET. Murdock was silent a long time. “It will be better,” he said finally. “ Irene will admit as much when I re- turn.” “Mr. Murdock,” said Bradshaw, in decided tones, “if I had found proot of your death, I should have returned to America before now, and Irene would have been satisfied. She would never forgive me, and I should never forgive myself if, having found you alive, I should return without you.” His persistence seemed to rearouse the old man’s resentment, for his voice, that had been subdued during his later remarks, was harsh again as he said: “To linger here will mean your death, young man.” “As well die here trying to help Irene as return to America without you,” retorted Bradshaw. “You are determined to risk staying, then?” “ Until you consent to go with me.” There was another long interval of silence. At length, with a deep sigh that seemed to announce that he had come to a decision, Murdock said: “It is all the more important, then, that you put out your campfires and do everything possible to prevent your presence becoming known.” ‘ Shall we not start at once? ” asked Bradshaw eagerly. “No. I have said that would be i im- possible, but it shall be as soon as I can see the opportunity to do so with safety. I know the situation here, and you must trust me.” “T will, and I do, Mr. Murdock.” “That is right. Meantime, having no fires, and being under necessity of shooting no game, you will suffer for food. I will see that you are supplied.” “Tt won’t be necessary. We have supplies that will do very well for a time. We can dispense with fresh meat.” Murdock stirred uneasily. He lifted his face and looked toward Bradshaw, but it was too dark now for either to see the other more than dimly. 209 ‘ Iam sorry,” said Murdock, in that low, sullen tone that he had used earlier in the conversation, “that you reject the little hospitality that I can offer.” “ Good gracious!” exclaimed Brad- shaw, with a sharp twinge of regret, “ I didn’t mean to do anything of the kind. You seemed to fear that we should be in want and I intended only to reassure you.” “You have come so far and are so kind,’ muttered Murdock, “that I should like to share with you what Iit- tle I have.” “Please pardon my apparent rude- ness,” pleaded Bradshaw; “by all means send up some meat. I shall be delighted to think that in a way I am at your table. I used to take dinner at your house sometimes when I was a boy, you know.” “Yes,” said the old man doubtfully, as if he failed to remember the circum- stance, or as if he were thinking of other things; “ I will bring you a dish prepared by myself. It will not be safe to send it. There is no one I can trust sufficiently. -But I do not want any of your people to see me. That might be dangerous, too.” “T shall respect your wish, but how shall we arrange it?” “T will be back within an hour. When I am near your camp I will whis- tle softly. Come out then alone and mieet me.” “And at that time perhaps you can say when we may start for the coast.” ‘“ Perhaps.” “Till then, Mr. Murdock.” Bradshaw held out his hand, hut in the darkness the old man did not see it. There was no similar offer on his own part. With a mumbled “ good by,” he had turned abruptly and start- ed down the ravine. It was with mingled elation and sad- ness that Bradshaw hurried back to camp. There was natural exultation that his quest had met with success. All his friends at home, all except Irene, had said that avowed De the CO