Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

PRIDE OF TYSON. “Oh!” cried the girl. Her face was alight with a smile of eager- ness. The stone dropped unheeded to the ground. She made a step toward him. Tyson grew strangely thoughtful. He con- sidered the shining face of this stranger, the five dollars he had spent on this neck- tie, the single dollar remaining to his pocket, the six long days which would intervene be- fore Saturday’s pay. — “Do you like it?” silk in the sun. _“ Oh!” she murmured again. . Then, with the directness of a child: ‘‘ Give it to me!”’ He followed his first impulse and extend- ed it toward her; he followed a second thought and closed his fingers over it. And at the same instant she snatched at it. They stood facing each other, each clutching an end of the tie. The girl was panting with excitement; it seemed to Tyson that her eyes alternately widened and expanded; she was like a hunted animal brought to bay. And he could ‘not tell whether in the next minute she would turn and race off among the trees—or, spring at his throat. It sent a tingling up his spine. “T'll sell it to you,” said Tyson. . She frowned. “Not for a money price, things you can tell me.” “What things?” “Why, your name, for instance.” ‘Rona Armitage Carnahan.” She jerked the necktie from his fingers and leaped away, but at the edge of the clearing, glancing back and seeing that he did not follow, she came to an abrupt halt and faced him again, The yellow-black of the silk.-was pressed to her breast. Tyson sat down at the edge of the stream, cross-legged, his back to a broad _ stone. He began to whistle. It was all the inspiration of a moment, but it worked perfectly, for in a moment he knew from the corner of his eye that she was stealing back toward him with gliding noiseless steps. His whistling was almost destroyed by the thought of this girl stalking Aim. Her shadow fell over him. She was sit- ting upon the top of a near-by stone, frown- ing curiously down on him, the necktie still clasped in both hands. And he flashed the But some 69 ‘Why did you give me this?” she asked. ~“T didn’t give it. You took it, you know.” | . “Oh!” she cried softly. “ Then I sup- pose I should give it back?” Before he could speak she went on: “ But I don’t think I will.” ‘Padre Miguel will be very angry when you tell him,” suggested Tyson gravely. “Oh, he is always angry when I speak of a man, even of the Big Man.” “I knew,” growled Tyson, “ that there was a Big Man in it somewhere.” “But,” she pursued thoughtfully. “I think you would have given it to me, any- way, in another minute. Wouldn’t you?” ‘““T suppose I would,” admitted Tyson. “Why?” . | “For the same reason I crossed the creek, IT think.” She was silent a moment, her chin resting on her clenched fist, studying him. “That’s odd,” she pronounced at last. “ But youre different from the rest, aren’t you?” pet ‘““Not quite so snaky?” he suggested. » “Not quite,” she said grudgingly. It came to him that she spoke amazingly pure English, this waif of the Chiluah. He turned a bit, so as to face her more square- ly, and he took off his hat. At that,she gave a delighted cry and clapped her hands together. “ What is it?” he asked. “ May I touch your head?” “Why the deuce do you want to do that?” ‘“‘T'll do it ever so gently.” “Fire away, then!” Her hand stole out, cautiously; her lips were parted in awe and delight. So she touched his hair and then snatched back her hand and studied the tips of her fin- gers. ; “Tt isn’t paint,” she said; frankly amazed, and then looked down to him with a new wonder: ‘“‘ What makes your hair so —yellow?”’ “Tt just happens that way.” . She frowned, like one who will not be put off with a light answer. “Padre Miguel will tell me then.”~ She edged closer to him on the rock, smiling. COMICLO© SS C@