The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

GOLD GRABBERS. “Oh, Pll stay, but I don’t pay for no bunk-house windows.” “Tt’s only fair that you pay for them, but Ill not insist. Go up to the mill.” The amalgamator tramped out a little more heavily than he _ had tramped in. The new boss was afraid to give him his walking papers! He looked back at the door and chuckled in his hairy throat. time he’d have another chance at Brem- erton, and they’d see which of ’em could run that camp. He was pawing the bruise on his temple and _ still chuckling as he walked to the head of the mill. King, little as he knew about the management of men, thought that Bremerton had made a grave mistake. At any cost, Bryden should have been made to go. Among themselves the men won- dered. Most of them came to the same conclusion as Big Steve and thought that Bremerton was afraid to get rid of the amalgamator. Others, who remembered Chombo and the way Bryden had been man- handled at the climax of his lawless- ness, could not accept the easier con- clusion and were at a loss to under- stand the queer move. The superintendent was well con- tent to let the matter rest as it was, so long as his real reason for keeping Bryden in the mill was not known. He was also chuckling over the incident when a beat of approaching hoofs drew his eyes to a near-by window. From the rim of the valley a rider was advancing along the trail. The rider was a woman. She sat her horse manwise, and her graceful figure. swayed rhythmically as she galloped. Bremerton’s face hardened. “Talk about nerve!” he muttered. “IT told her to keep away from me, yet here she comes. Well,” he added grimly, “when she’s done with this visit she'll never make another.” He started to rise, preparatory to leaving the office and meeting the girl Some 507 outside. Something held him to his chair, however, and glued his eyes to the window. Mariquita Mallory presented a picture, beautiful by contrast with that seared and blasted valley. It was’ not that she rode with skill and grace. It was the girl herself that added a touch to the ugly environment—a soft- ening, exquisite touch which caught and held Bremerton’s eyes in spite of him. There was a place in the Mogollons where the sun sets as nowhere else in the whole world. He had camped on the spot for a week just to see the flaming ball go down, watch the crim- son and gold fade and then feast his eyes on the purple afterglow. It was a far cry from the Mogollons to the Bitter Root range in Montana, and yet Bremerton knew of a height in the Bitter Roots where the sun never rose as it rose there. In the Southwest the brazen shield pops upward from the desert’s rim as though flung abruptly from a mighty hand. One moment it is dawn, and the next, day. But over that height in the Bitter Roots it comes slowly, flinging out streamers that grow and grow until the whole east is filled with orange and yellow, and the faint western stars are blotted out one by one. Bremerton had a soul for the finer things of life. He saw beauty where others would pass it by. With the eye of an artist he watched that free, galloping figure. The girl wore a_ broad-brimmed hat. Her costume was mannish in other ways, and yet, oddly enough, there was that about her which made it feminine to the last degree. Bremerton was still staring as she drew close. Their eyes met through the dusty window. She smiled and waved a gauntleted hand. His face grew stony with the dark thoughts that suddenly surged within him. He did not get up and leave the headquarters adobe to meet her. CO 1TOO S CO@