Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 126: what you’re looking at

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

116 he managed to free himself by wriggling out of his coat. The crackling above con- tinued. Gradually, by some fresh arrange- ment of debris, the weight was lifted from his legs. And now the pain was terrific. What was it Linda had left? He fainted. It was night when he came to. The crackling had ceased. Water, blessed water, was trickling into his face. He heard voices, but he could not muster a sound from his own throat. “ Greeves! Mort Greeves! they called. If only some of that water would trickle into his mouth, maybe he could answer. He tried to cup some of it in his hands. He was too weak. A voice—Wimple’s— said solemnly: ‘‘ Well, boys, they’re gone, I guess!’”? Women were there, too! He caught the thin treble of their voices. Maybe Linda—looking for Canfield! Then some one said: ‘“ We might as well go home. We can’t help the poor lads none!” Every thing grew still. Their footsteps soon died away up the dirt road. He lay, half fainting, for a long time. A very little strength came to his limbs. With great exertion he began to crawl about. He found that he was literally in a cage, made of broken machinery and debris. Safe enough, as long as he kept quiet. But the least jar might bring some great weight down upon him—as his still had tumbled on Canfield. He perspired coldly at the thought. What was it Linda had left? Again he fainted. It seemed a long time afterward when he awoke again, and re- membered his cage. But it was still night. ‘Good God, I can’t crawl round in a circle forever!’ he thought, and pulled reckless- ly at a heat-distorted pipe. To his surprise nothing disastrous happened. He pulled some more, working like mad. Ah! He was free! Under the stars! Breathing sweet air! He went down in a heap. But soon he began to crawl again. He tried to get up and walk, but that was impossible. He could only crawl a few feet at a time. But he kept on. At dawn he found himself in the woods Canfield!” THE ARGOSY. near the still-works. Trees, clean and cool, lulled him with soft sounds. Moss and grass invited his wracked frame. He tried to call, but his voice was still gone.” He tried to think, to plan. Too hard. There was a little brook there, and he dipped his hands into it, sucking the water eagerly. Then he slept. Real slumber. At dusk he awoke, with a half-scream. Rest had restored his voice. He could think, now, too. But that was no comfort, for all he could think of was: ‘“ Linda— Linda!” He beat the ground with his fist, crazily. If only he, and not Canfield, had perished! For she wanted Canfield! He took a long draught of water, and started to crawl again. He tried to formu- late a plan, to have a definite object. But that was still too exhausting. So he just kept on, crawling, resting, dozing, all through the night. At length he came out of the woods, and painfully made his way across a road. Then, after a sleeping spell that must have been longer than usual, blinding sun- light smote him squarely in the eyes, through an opening in some shrubbery. He looked about curiously. He was lying close beside a white building, effectively screened by thick shrubbery. A fugitive could not have found a better place. He was no fugitive, but he was thankful that there were no curious eyes to behold his weakness. What was this white building, anyhow? It couldn’t be a farmhouse, for no one moved about in it. And the schoolhouse was red brick. Why, it was the church! Of course. Strange—and funny, too. He and Linda had been married here. Musing unhappily, he fell asleep again. This time a pleasing sound awakened him. Singing. In the church. A hymn, too, ‘““ Must be Sunday,” he muttered. He raised himself on one elbow. A string of buggies lined the roadside. And a slim blue auto- mobile. That was queer. Young Payne never went to the church. But no one but young Payne had a slim blue car. Merciful Heaven, there was the hearse! ‘“Who’s dead?” he muttered. The hymn ended, and the voice of the old COMICLO© S C©