The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

THE MAN WHO MUST BE HANGED. “ Maw, what’s all this here purple streak- in’ in the buttermilk?” The old lady set the goblet before her guest. “That-all purple-lookin’ mark? Waal, las’ week, we uns was alayin’ off to wash and we put the clo’es to soak in the churn. Then looks lak we couldn’t git around to wash, noway, so come churnin’ day I dumped out the clo’es and dumped. in the cream, and I never notice where one of Ed’s socks stayed in. It kiad of bled, lak, in the cream. So that’s all it is, mister, it won’t pizen no person.” The district attorney had raised his glass; he set it, as if absently, on the table. Here, a diversion offered. The door of the lean-to room opened, and a girl came in—-the girl McRae had seen on his former visit. He rose. Now, standing by the table, he had for the first time a view of the alley of floor space between the two feather beds. It showed the muddy prints of large shoes. His host was barefooted, that morning. Moreover, there was a firmness and neat- ness about these large footprints that was irreconcilable with the Missourian’s char- acter. They were not the footprints of the girl. Her feet were light and small as a dancer’s and she wore neat slippers tied with black ribbons. McRae’s mind recurred to the violin he had overheard, then to the evident uneasiness of his host when he entered. What species of caller had this girl been entertaining? Rawley Lord was in custody. Again the man called Ed entered the con- versation. “Airy, there,” he complained, “fis the one what brung us all out West. She hearn of free larid and couldn’t take no rest till she got us moved hyar. No wonder this lan’s free; it don’t grow nothin’ but tumbleweed.”’ ‘“‘ Unless,” Hilairy inserted, ‘‘ you happen to plant something else.” Her voice had a sound as if she might have come from the same section of country as the others; but her speech and manners indicated an entirely different stratum of society. McRae glanced from her to Ed; vague 31 suspicions stirring in his heart. He thought he heard a sound in the lean-to room, but Ed’s voice broke over it: ‘“ Mister, you uns ain’t used yo’ milk. Cayn’t you relish it?” The district attorney had out his watch. ‘““T have just remembered an important engagement. I mustn’t stay to drink it— really.” He had slipped a coin under his glass. - He hurried out of the shack, for he now felt a degree of uneasiness in these sur- roundings. But when he turned, after pass- ing the threshold, he saw that Hilairy had followed him. She wore a thin, pink frock, the sleeves of which were flattened against her arms by the cold wind. The snow drove against her face, as it swept with a wild noise around the shack. But she seemed unconscious of the weather. ‘““T began to feel as if you’d never come back to see me.” Her voice was like a com- plaining bird’s. McRae started; he felt a trifle alarmed, but did not want to go away. “It’s good in you to remember,” he said. They were standing just outside the win- dow of the lean-to room; but the shed- kitchen jutted between so McRae could not see the window. Just then, he did not want to look into the lean-to room. Her eyes, almost golden in color, were misty, and appealed. She lifted them to meet McRae’s. ‘Where it’s as lonesome as it is out this way, a person always remembers,” she said. McRae smiled and laid his hand on the tar-paper wall. Then he caught himself with severity. “Your husband,” he asked by way of reminding her, “ finds it hard to get on in this new country?” Hilairy changed color and laughed. “Oh, you thought I was married to Ed! He’s not my husband, he’s my brother.” It was impossible to believe that a blood relationship existed between the man within and this young and beautiful being. The district attorney did not argue with himself; though, in a misty way, he knew that she lied. He ought to have known she was not a oO Comicbooe S CO