Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 4 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

Author of “’ Not Under Control,” **On the Face of It,”’ etc. COMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE. PROLOGUE You can hear the harassed and restless dead wailing round the Rock—the natives will tell you so, and bid you listen. You laugh, and say it is the wind. They turn their faces to every point, and watch a feather fall straight down; then ask you: where’s the wind? A freak, you say; a queer current that whistles up out of the gorge. All right. But how about the pines? Hear them—the rustling of shrouds. You shrug—the wind; they catch you up quickly, reminding that there is no wind. And why this knot of pines about the Rock, with not another pine in sight for miles? Can’t you.see that the pines are here because this is a sighing place of the damned? ? Aren’t the pines themselves condemned under sentence of everlasting wakefulness and weariness, never allowed to bend their backs in rest, but only to suffer the more when the tempest assails them—condemned to stand straight and ever green because they betrayed the Son of Man to the Pharisees? Hark to the rustle ‘of the shrouds among them, fit dwelling-place for ghosts! A fantasy, you say, born of the imagination of those who live in the silences of the hills. Yet—you listen! They smile triumphantly, the natives, as you stand still and thoughtful while that eery whish-ew! comes from about the Rock, and the pines go shrrrsh! shrrrsh! shrrrsh! | | There—they point down the sheer face of the Rock to the creek—mark that ‘groaning, and the turmoil of torment and pain. Why should the waters grow turgid here, when for every other foot of its course the stream moves placidly? That, too, in a countryside where the normal stream goes tumbling and smashing constantly over fall and rapid; where a calm flow is seldom seen. Look at it, writhing and grumbling, racking them in eternal hurt, keeping them sleepless and suffering! With moonlight you would understand bétter. Then watch the shifting beams— the twisting shadows. Pay heed to that wilder moaning from the rock; the shriller sound of the turgent waters. It’s when the moon is brightest that they strive most to break their bonds, these souls, and attain peace. Observe that blotch of darkness cast by the Rock—on the side that the moon should light—and stand in it among the Voices! 599 (C(O) nN) ( (O) JOO SJ (CO)