Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

ON THE TRAIL OF A MYSTERY. ing flush to that fearfully pallid coun- tenance. I complimented him on his improved appearance, and he replied with the belief that he would soon be entirely recovered. The distribution of liberal payment, before we lay down for the night, did much to win the good will of man and wife, and when we made our start on the morrow, Dick riding the pony Jack, both father and son offered to accom- pany us, but we declined with thanks, and with my traveling bag strapped behind the saddle, and Vic Hawkins’ Winchester resting over my shoulder, we set out for McVeyville where we arrived an hour before meridian. Another piece of good fortune await- ed us here, for Dick had just time to board the train on his way to Louis- ville. Wishing each other good for- tune we separated ; for, although I had been wonderfully successful in restor- ing my old friend to liberty and safety, I by no means considered my obliga- tions to The Pioneer at an end. The experience of each of us was invaluable, and without claiming an undue amount of credit, I may say that I did satis- factory work for my employers while avoiding dangerous complications with the men of whom I was obliged to speak in severe terms. I was in Manchester, and saw Tom Baker shot while in the custody of the State Guard, after which, as the reader will recall, there came a lull in the feud. My final dispatches to The Pioncer were of so lurid a character, that I knew it would not do to remain in the section, where I had long been under suspicion. Accordingly, when the paper, with my scorching exposé, arrived in Manches- ter and the adjacent towns, I was be- yond reach of all harm. It hardly need be added that I had won the hearty good will of Editor Forsythe and made myself solid with The Pioneer, the grateful Dick Mont- | gomery giving me much assistance in attaining sp coveted a position. When Dick reached Louisville, he 6r was obliged to leave the train and go to the hospital; but his condition at no time was serious and he rapidly mend- ed. During his convalescence, he wrote a long letter to Meg Wickliffe, ad- dressing it to the care of Tom Auck- land at McVeyville. I suspect Dick became somewhat sentimental, and magnified the services of the young woman, which really amounted to nothing, although he denies the charge. It was not until he had fully recovered and returned to his duties on The Pto- neer, that the long delayed reply reached him. “T wrote,” he said, “to the young woman, because gratitude and duty required it. I frankly told her the whole story, knowing she would spread it through the neighborhood. [I told her my insanity was a pretense and but for it I never should have escaped the bloodthirsty wretches who had ren- dered accursed one of the most beauti- . fal regions of Kentucky. I thanked her for what she had done for me, though, under the circumstances, that was hardly a wise thing to do. “Then I sprang the little scheme that had gradually taken shape in my brain. It was that she should go to the Harrow School at Cumberland Gap and spend two years in perfecting her education (you see, I did not intimate that she was not already educated up to a certain point). I offered to pay all her expenses, and dwelt in glowing . terms upon the good she could do in a community so sorely in need of mts- sionary effort. That was another of my numerous blunders, for the charge touched her pride and she resented it. Here is her reply: ” The letter was written on a soiled sheet of foolscap in a scrawling hand that was almost unintelligible. The following was the body of the missive: I deklin ure ofer of marridge, for thats what ure adriving at. I doant bleve u purtend- ed to be crazy, for ure crazy now. U'd bet- ter save ure mishunarys for ure oan folks, for COMIC OOOkKS (C eco