Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

oo 16 From my brief experience with Pe- ters, I believed I had gained to a cer- tain extent at least his good will. It he had any spark of manliness in him, and I believed he had, he ought to feel grateful to me, for he owed me much. My resolution was to retain and strengthen. that good will, so far as the opportunity might present itself. How all this was to be brought about must be left to the future, but nothing was more certain than that the events which had opened with a rush would continue to be interesting to the end, and that end in the nature of things could not be far off. The evening meal was marked by perfect freedom of conversation. One of the deadliest enemies of the house- hold sat at the table, and had he and the head of the family met an hour later in the woods, they would have flown at each other like a couple of tigers, and never rested until one or both were killed; but now no long separated brothers could have been more cordial than they, although each knew the real feelings of the other toward him. Remembering that Tom had spoken of a son, I inquired about him, and was told that he had gone out on a “ hunt- ing” excursion that afternoon, and was liable to return at any moment or might be absent until the morrow. When the meal was finished, Tom threw ‘several logs on the fire, and lit his corncob pipe, first offering one to Peters, who accepted and began puff- ing it. ‘‘ T hain’t any more pipes,” Auckland said apologetically to me, “and I’ll bé obleeged if you'll smoke first and [ll foller.” “T never smoke a pipe,” I replied, “thanking you all the same.” Opening my traveling bag, I brought out a handful of cigars, and offered them to the two men. They declined, preferring the corncobs, while I, of course, stuck to my Perfectos. One problem gave me no little con- cern. What disposition was to be THE ARGOSY. made of Zach Peters, our prisoner? The question threatened a new and troublesome complication, but I wisely decided to leave its answer to events as they developed. It was quite evident that, despite the sharp tongue and temper of the wife, the husband was master in that house- hold. He did not say much to indicate this fact, for 1t was not necessary, but it was apparent from the manner of the couple as well as an expression dropped now and then by the shaggy Hercules. Supper being ended, and_ the “things ”’ cleared away, the wife re- sumed her sewing at the table. What- ever attention was demanded by the cow and domestic animals had been given by her before our arrival. She took no part in the conversation unless © directly appealed to, but the expression of her hard, wrinkled face and her man- ner showed she was keeping up a lot of thinking, while a furtive glance cast at intervals toward the imperturbable Zach Peters left no doubt of her senti- ments concerning him. The conversation among Auckland, Peters, and myself was curiously unre- strained. I took pains to act out my character of the agent of a syndicate of capitalists, hunting for coal and iron lands, and impressed upon the prisoner that if he or his friends held any tracts that hinted of mineral wealth it might be to their interest to cultivate amiable relations with me. All this was good enough in its way, but I could not shake off the impres- sion that neither of the two men be- lieved a single word of my statements. Their pretense of doing so was too thin to deceive me. By some strange fatality they had hit the truth. I was a newspaper corre- spondent in quest of information, and Zach Peters had not failed to note my sudden interest in the fate of Dick Montgomery, the missing representa- tive of The Ptoneer. A curious train of circumstances had placed these two men unceooilige tic < eco